It’s quiet now without Broncos’ loudest fan

William Bryan, Special to the News

Published November 27, 2006 at midnight

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Some people like food, others breathing. Mom liked the Broncos.

In 1980 my mother screamed like the world was ending, and I looked up and noticed the Denver Broncos. Perhaps Dave Preston had fumbled or Craig Morton had thrown an interception or Louis Wright had blown a coverage. I do not remember the circumstance. I remember only that my mother called my attention to professional football.

Mom cared. When the Broncos played on Monday night, I was allowed to stay up until the end of the game. There would have been no point in sending me to bed. Mom was too loud. Our neighbors once came over during a game to see if she was all right.

During "The Drive," my mother turned her recliner over on herself.

She had her favorites. Defensive end Simon Fletcher came to Broncos’ training camp in 1985 with his toddler daughter Miss Ashley and could henceforth do no wrong. It probably helps that he holds almost all of the Broncos’ individual sack marks. She also loved Ron Egloff, an overachieving tight end out of the University of Wisconsin, which is just down the road from my mother’s hometown. She convinced me when I was 7 that he was related to us.

When Mom took up photography, we went up to the Broncos’ training camp in Greeley so she could take a picture of Rich Karlis’ butt. When he went through his troubles, she would defend him by pointing out how much more difficult it was to hit the upright than to actually make the field goal.

Truth be known, she never cared much for John Elway. He was too exciting. She never understood why he always had to wait until third or fourth down and until the fourth quarter. She thought he could have put her through less heartache by being brilliant a little earlier. She probably never forgave him for the recliner incident.

Mom’s real ire was saved for the Raiders. She did not like the Chiefs, but she hated the Raiders. If the television network flashed a Raider’s picture, my mother would begin to accuse the player of all varieties of non-football related crimes. When Chester McGlockton played for the Broncos, she continued to hate him as though he was still a Raider.

My sister used to tell people that if opposites attract, our parents met at a football game. When my mother turned over her recliner, my father probably exhaled. These days, he sits impassively while my sister and I attempt to help the Broncos win games. The tendency to scream at the TV is passed down on the mother’s side, you know.

Mom died in February. She was too young, but she did get to spend a few years with her eldest grandson, and she did finally see her beloved Broncos win back-to-back Super Bowls. We miss her terribly and our first football season without her has been a little dark.

The games seem so quiet now.