Silver and blah! I should never have bet on the Broncos

Bringing it HomeJoelle MilholmGlenwood Springs, CO Colorado

I have never had to pay such a heavy price for gambling as I did this week.I’ve been to Vegas, lost more than I can make in three solid days of work (yeah I know that’s not a lot, but I don’t have a lot to work with), lost dozens of office March Madness pools and even tossed away a chunk of change in fantasy football, but never have I suffered like I did this week.

I foolishly engaged myself in a bet, confidently thinking that the Broncos could beat the Chicago Bears. After all, Denver had won two in a row, knocking off the Chiefs and the Titans, and I thought the boys in orange and blue were finally getting on the right track. Against the Bears, I thought it was a safe bet. After all, who can’t beat Rex Grossman? The guy makes decisions as well as Michael Vick does when picking friends.As it turns out, it wasn’t him so much that beat the Broncos during that 37-34 fateful overtime loss on Nov. 25, but that darn Devin Hester and the Broncos’ own stupidity.Had I foreseen or thought through the consequences of my bet with Bear fan and GSPI photographer Kara Pearson, I never would have agreed. The stakes were horrible.

If I won, Pearson would have to buy and wear a Packers T-shirt – a nightmare for any Bears fan. I thought I was safe; I was already thinking of jokes when the Broncos went ahead 34-20 early in the fourth quarter, but that’s when the tables turned.The Broncos folded, Grossman led two unbelievable drives, Robbie Gould hit the game-winning field goal in overtime, and my worst nightmares came true. There would be no Packers apparel for Pearson. Instead, I would shamefully have to purchase and wear a dreaded Oakland Raiders T-shirt.My hatred for the Raiders, like most Broncos fans, can’t be described in words. When I see a Raiders sticker on a car in front of me, which happens too occasionally on the road, the thought of slamming on the gas and hitting the crap out of them momentarily passes through my mind.Now I was going to have to buy one, and wear it to work. When I clicked on the confirm purchase button online to order the shirt with the smallest Raider logo I could find, a wave of guilt and anger consumed me. That was nothing compared to when the box came in the mail. After kicking it around and throwing it in my apartment for a while, I took it out and glared at it, knowing the next day I would have to treacherously wear the filth.I didn’t sleep well and awoke grumpy and dreading the day. As I slipped it on, over a black long-sleeved shirt because I can’t stand the thought of the cloak of horror touching my skin, feelings of nausea slammed into me like a brick wall.

I wore the gut-wrenching, atrocious attire all day. Luckily, I did not have to leave the office as all events were out of town, and I escaped outside scrutiny. I just suffered through a couple of photographs and jokes by colleagues and, by the time I got off, was ready to shed the shirt.Walking to my car in the parking lot, I ripped it off and threw it own the ground and stomped on it for a while. If anyone driving by thought I was crazy, you may be right, but at least you have an explanation. I slammed it in my car door a few times, backed over it with my car, put it in the trunk and went home.When I got there, I threw on a Broncos sweatshirt and wore it most of the weekend. I don’t care how bad the Broncos are, I, like Whitney Houston did her bodyguard, will always love them as much as I despise the Raiders.At least now the bet is over and I can sleep soundly, with thoughts of how the shirt went up in flames when I made sure no remnants of Raiders memorabilia would be left in my possession. As the blue-based, orange flames engulfed the grimy garment, I felt a sense of relief and hoped I was being forgiven for my betrayal.Contact Joelle Milholm:

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