Waning Mojo

This column was published September 18, 2025 in the Manhattan Mercury.

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The beginning of this football season has me questioning my priorities. 

Patrick Mahomes hands off to Isiah Pacheco and I find myself reading the defense, literally leaning forward, jerking my upper body toward the hole between the edge rusher and the outside linebacker. Then we get stuffed at the line of scrimmage. Isiah and me.

Avery Johnson takes the snap and every instinct in my being, informed by a half-century of football fandom knows, with absolute strap-on-the-helmet certainty, the key to success. “RUN!” I holler. Under pressure, my strawberry lemonade-hawking quarterback throws an errant incompletion.

All of this vicarious living is done from the comfort of my easy chair, Pepsi Zero Sugar (the official soft drink of the NFL) and Wavy Lays within easy grasp.

It is only when the teams that I expect to win, don’t, that I begin to understand how deeply football has been woven into my psyche and subsequent emotional well-being.

The Chiefs kick off the season losing in the southern and northern hemispheres and have picked up where they left off stinking up the field in the Super Bowl. The Cats travel to Ireland to lose, barely escape North Dakota (North Dakota!) get outplayed by Army, then get their Powercat hindquarters handed to them in Tucson.

This is not a column about what’s wrong with my teams. I’ll leave that to the sportswriters. This is a column about the way I feel after we lose, and whether I have the wherewithal to do something about it.

The solution is simple, doctor. Don’t take it so hard. My job is not on the line if my teams’ mojo is waning. The sun will still come up in the morning. My teams will win some games this season, I don’t see how they can avoid it. If, however, I hear the “losing develops character” spin one more time, I may fall back into the pocket, protected by the loveseat and ottoman and launch the Wavy Lays downfield, or downfamilyroom.

My character is molded, thank you very much, complete with an edge that cuts through the propaganda. And as difficult as this may be to fathom, I must admit it is entirely within the realm of possibility that Andy Reid and Chris Kleiman may just know more about how to win football games than me.  

A year ago, when we moved to a bigger house, football was uppermost in my thoughts as I suggested a bigger TV. We had a 70-incher, and I started the husband-wife negotiations at 100-inches (shorthanded to “the hundo” in family nomenclature), settling eventually on an 85-inch model. I know, I know, first world problems. 

Losing sucks. Watching the losing on an 85-inch screen in high definition and surround sound sucks more.   

All this losing has me thinking about how I value things. I once wrote it’s only when you don’t know how to value things that you begin to develop a good value system. Even in the midst of all the losing, I still covet the hundo. Clearly, the values still need some attention.

The Cats lose. So, deflect. Enjoy the company of those with whom you attend the game. It’s called Bill Snyder Family Stadium for a reason. Be grateful that you even have a Power Four team. Think about your Wavy Lays-pounding counterparts in Pullman and Corvallis. There, but for the grace (and cunning) of an aggressive Big 12 commissioner, go we.

The Chiefs lose. Turn off the 85-incher, stow the Wavy Lays, go outside and throw some frisbees for the dogs. Stay inside and do something nice for your wife. With apologies to Jim Morrison (the dead rock star, not the city commission candidate), if I do those things, I may just find the mojo risin.’ 

Columnist, heal thyself.

Mike Matson’s column appears every other weekend in The Mercury, and he hosts ‘Within Reason,’ weekdays at 9 a.m. on NewsRadio KMAN.