As the Saints prepare to play this week against the Denver Broncos, I am reminded of my time in Colorado. I was at the last Monday Night Football game at Mile High Stadium, where the Raiders played the Broncos, and I was working security guarding the Raiders' fans section. The Raiders' fans apparently all caravaned to Denver in order to secure an entire section of the stadium as Raiders' territory, only to scare the bejesus out of my friend Donny and me. When Donny and I arrived in the Raiders' fan zone, the person we replaced informed us that all of the fans were warned not to throw any more bottles or trash or else they might be ejected from the game--something Donny and I would have to take care of, of course. We arrived after halftime to this section, which, if there were a Raiders' bible, it would dictate a Raiders' fan shall have become well-inebriated by halftime. These were definitely followers of the Raiders' doctrine.
After a few minutes of fearing both falling over the railing and being pushed over the railing by a Raiders' fan, someone came to my rescue by asking if either Donny or I would like to contain a much safer section down below. I left Donny behind. All I had to do at this point was to keep the aisles clear. Done. No Raiders' fans in this section--at least, not until after the game is over. I had to actually prevent the Raiders' fans from throwing garbage and spitting on the Broncos' players as they walked to the locker room. Raiders' fans are all the proof I need that we have come from some sort of lower life form, since, even Raiders' fans evolve eventually. They turn into Cowboys' fans.
