Lights of Arrowhead. A Tribute to Lamar Hunt

[BigRedChief]

THE LIGHTS OF ARROWHEAD
I.
A wind swirled through the stadium on that night.
Red and gold confetti swirled in metallic reflections of light.
It was a reminder of the day’s fight.

A lone figure stood at the fifty-yard line.
Torn divots had smeared the great KC crest to pale grime.
The aroma of sweat, beer and peanuts still hung in the air.
It was still like that first game in the Cotton Bowl, many seats bare.

One bank of the great stadium’s lights flickered and faded out.

II.
From then until now, how many victories, how many defeats.
He was told how foolish he was, but he stuck to his beliefs.

He founded the league of rebels.
Oh, how the National Football League was bedeviled.
The American Football League he remembered with pride.
The AFL would thrive, even as the NFL wanted to push it aside.
Ten years the two did thrust and parry.
He made it so that the two as equals would then marry.

A second bank of lights lost their electric hum and faded out.


III.
His AFL child was orphaned from its birthplace.
It was Kansas City though that turned out to be the perfect place.
And in 1969, it was glory for the many great men he brought together.
It was a time Kansas City would remember forever.
“Chiefs, World Champions!” the people would sing.
They had brought home the ring!

The years went on and there were no more championships.
Sometimes close, but from the grasp they would slip.
Sometimes the years were very unkind.
The loyal supporters he knew wondered, “How much more time?”
He so wanted to see exultation on their faces.
Those loyal decked in red cheering, filling the seats spaces.

All he wanted was one more game day.
He just wanted a chance to compete, come what may.
Many times the day’s toil ended in defeat.
Yet, he preached patience, and improvement, never retreat.

The third sets of lights blinked, blinked again and were out.

IV.
Now the remaining lights cast a long shadow on him.
Then another shadow could be seen in the dim.
From the stadium’s tunnel, the shadow walked into the end zone.
“C’mon Lamar,” said a gentle voice from a body of stone.
He walked towards his old friend, Buck Buchanan.
“My friend,” number eighty-six said, “You are done.”

He crossed the goal line.
He was out of time.
The stadium clock read zero, zero.
Then other friends appeared, all great heroes.
There was Fifty-eight, seventy-five, thirty-seven and many more.
They all told Lamar he had won, the final score.

The last bank of lights bluish white glow faded dark.

V.
Through the light of the tunnel, he left with his friends.
You could hear cheers at the end.
Is the measure of a man in the wins and losses of life?
For him, to be sure there was triumph and strife.

Victory can be counted in many ways.
Ultimately, it is in how you spent your days.
He only knew what is learned in Sunday school.
Rich man, poor man, everyone should be treated by the golden rule.
So, humbly he lived his life with class, kindness and decency.
Surely for this man were life, joy and victory.

By

Team Doctor