Let’s Break Down The ‘Yeehaw at GEHA’ Last Night

While the Chiefs were stepping in their own shit up and down the field last night, a calamity broke out. Let’s break down “the Yeehaw at GEHA”…

Yes, that is world famous Chiefs superfan and well-known all-around terrible human being, X-Factor, who has impressively continued to coast on a nickname that was relevant in the early 2000s. More information came out today as to what started the fracas last night. Check out the foam hat cartoonishly bopping off his head in the screen cap. Art.

That is a straight up renaissance painting. Hang it in the Nelson.

Given the missing context of the first video, I had to keep digging. Was this the result of some sort of pent up Cass County drama? Sure enough, it was. The guy who slept X-Factor is, himself, a former superfan! X-Factor took to Twitter to address his feud with the artist formerly known as RedXtreme, another superfan who clearly drew inspiration from the late 90s and early 2000s for his superfan name.

RedXtreme is a savage. With one shot, he injured X-Factor so horrifically, his injuries could have come from a bad car accident. Surely, X-Factor will sue him for the injuries. Oh, wait a sec – X-Factor actually was in a single car accident last week.

Can’t trick a trickster. These people have seen that move a thousand times. The perils of sharing every facet of your life on social media. Especially the insane detail about you FALLING ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL OF A VEHICLE ON AN INTERSTATE GOING 85 MILES PER HOUR. Yes, God was certainly with you and your guinea pigs in that moment. Just casually admitting on the timeline that you narrowly avoided committing vehicular manslaughter.

But the drama doesn’t end there. A Twitter user claiming to be RedXtreme’s wife got in on the action and defended her red-faced hubby to the end in a way that would make Patsy Cline proud.

Rule of nature. When engaging in conflict on the internet, pray to God that no one has the receipts. Mrs. Xtreme brought the receipts.

X-Factor would eventually leave the stadium in a wheelchair, like a true pro. These are the kind of photos you want out there when preparing for a hilarious civil suit against your alleged attacker.

That’s a pro move right there. That’s the move of someone who has watched hours, if not days, weeks and months of Judge Joe Brown and The People’s Court. Drum up that public sympathy. It’s your only shot.

I’m obsessed with NFL superfans. When I got into writing in high school, my mom encouraged me to interview a superfan to find out what makes these guys tick. “I mean, these guys wake up the next morning and go to work,” I remember her saying. Which is true. These guys have lives outside of Sunday.

“So, Gary. What’d you get up to this weekend?”

“Well, Bill. I drank a pint of Seagram’s gin, smoked 27 Newports, stole some old soggy Ruffles from an abandoned tailgate in Lot N and got my face rearranged during a weather delay. What about you?”

The life of a superfan is a hard life. It’s a nasty life. It’s not for everyone. It should not be for everyone. When you’re not nearly being decapitated by a windshield in what sounds an awful lot like a stimulant-induced slumber, you’re catching strays and getting alpha’d by the guy who used to show up in full redface to watch Herm Edwards teams get 40-burger’d by Kyle Orton.