So it begins: KC roots, Chiefs talk, Allen talk…

Welcome to the inaugural post of 65 Toss Power Trap. Enjoy. 
It’s harder than you’d believe to relate to people what it’s like being a sports fan in Kansas City these days. If they’ve never spent any time there, or didn’t have the pleasure of growing up amongst the sounds of jazz and smells and tastes of the World’s Best Barbecue (Gates’, if you‘re wondering), it’s damn near impossible to make them feel our collective pain.
Fleeting stories of 1985 and 1970, the town’s last championship years of any merit, are all we have to tie us to the historic successes of our now-mediocre pro franchises.
That’s part of the reason we established this little ditty, you know, to vent some of those frustrations and, hopefully, stimulate some discussion about the state of sports and fandom in the Second City of Fountains. It’s a split city, of course, with its majority lying on the Missouri side, and a thin slice suffering the unfortunate fate of geography which locates it in the third-world territory known as “Kansas”. The split is reflected in the city’s politics, its music, and its social life as well — a reality which has more influence on the lives of its citizens than an outsider would ever believe.
The title of the blog, like its authors, is reminiscent of a fairer time. Sixty-five toss power trap, as any true Chiefs fan or avid NFL Films consumer would tell you, was the play that won our beloved Chiefs their first and only Super Bowl, one that KC legend and head-coaching statesman Hank Stram called joyously from the sideline again and again, pounding a then-weak Minnesota Vikings defense en route to a 7-3 victory. 65TPT was also the play that scored the game’s only TD.
So, yeah, we’re nostalgic. What choice do we have? The Chiefs haven’t won a playoff game in 15 years, and last week, the team topped off its worst season in the past 30 by drafting LSU defensive tackle Glenn Dorsey with the No. 5 overall pick. 

By public consensus, the Chiefs got a steal in Dorsey. But, as usual, minor success was tempered by monumental failure, as the Chiefs’ front-office succeeded in pissing off and trading the team’s best player and fan favorite, former DE and NFL sack leader Jared Allen, a week before the draft commenced.
For those of you unfamiliar with his background, Allen was a PERFECT star for KC — the one player fans would have identified, if asked, as untouchable. Drafted in the fourth round as a potential long-snapper, this beer-guzzling, handlebar-mustached honkeyascended [don‘t panic: we’re honkeys, too, and are qualified to use the term] — apparently by sheer balls and endless thirst for the quarterback’s blood alone — to the starting slot at right DE for the Chiefs. He wore #69 for Stram’s sake, and we loved him. Two DUI’s and a two-game suspension later [neither of which threatened his demigod status in the 816], GM Carl Peterson called Allen a “young man at risk” — a presumptuous assertion from the greasiest front-office man in sports. And so, the fallout began.
Long story short, Allen claimed he’d never sign a long-term deal with the Chiefs, and implied that his supernatural self-motivation, likely supplied by all the beer and that mustasche, would disappear like a thin fart in high wind. The Chiefs traded Allen in that week before the draft — to the Vikings, ironically [or fittingly, for our fellow cynics] — in exchange for first- and third-round picks in the ‘08Pickstravaganza.
Don’t get us wrong, we’re not upset with the outcome of the trade. The Chiefs got fair value for Allen’s production on the field, but, as usual, the team failed to account for his popularity amongst its unbelievably faithful fan-base. Allen likely sold thousands of tickets [and innumerable twelve-dollar stadium beers] at every Chiefs home game, and that’s a void Glenn Dorsey will likely never be able to fill.
Stay in your seats, Chiefs fans — we LOVE Dorsey, don’t get us wrong. When Al Davis’ senile ass drafted McFadden at four, we just about soiled our Arrowhead-covered undies. He’s a once-an-era player and, hopefully, he’ll anchor a D-line that will sorely miss Mr. Allen. How-ev-ah, Dorsey will never touch our inner honkey like Allen did. And if that’s racist, Jason, you can call us Bull Connor. At least we can admit it…