Krieger: Broncos worship became fanatical art form
By Dave Krieger
The Denver Post
Posted: 12/06/2009 01:00:00 AM MST
Tim McKernan, the Barrel Man, died Saturday at age 69.
The whole thing was slightly nuts, of course. That was the genius of it.
Here was a grown man — a tough, burly airline mechanic, for crying out loud — running around in nothing but boots, a hat and an aluminum barrel on football Sundays cold enough to turn his exposed skin Broncos orange and blue.
It was a getup that could have gotten Tim McKernan arrested, or at least detained and given a sobriety test, almost any place except Mile High Stadium. But there, in the Broncos' temple, it made him an icon in a cowboy hat, ultimately recognizable all over the country.
Broncos great Randy Gradishar spoke for many fans when he recalled seeing the Barrel Man for the first time: "Tommy Jackson and I were like, 'What is this guy doing?' We were only guessing what he had on underneath that thing."
On Thanksgiving, his family sent out word that the ailing McKernan, no longer able to attend games, would get a kick out of receiving fans' Barrel Man recollections. I sent out a message on Twitter with the address. A stream of affection flowed back. No Broncos-related message I've sent out before or since received such a unanimous response.
I have a feeling McKernan's family will be getting mail at that post office box long after they've said their last goodbyes to the venerable Barrel Man, who died Saturday morning at 69. Somewhere along the way he became a community touchstone, a high priest of our state religion.
He was just a fan, he always said. And he was too. Only one thing distinguished him from the other 75,000 members of the congregation who gathered in north Denver on select Sunday afternoons: They could sit down.
Let's face it — as apparel, the barrel was wildly impractical. This could be why nobody else thought of it. Yet, extending from mid-paunch to tastefully above the knee, it had a certain panache on the Barrel Man, especially with that neck strap that came down across his chest like suspenders.
In a lark, on a dare, McKernan came to embody all the commitment, passion and questionable sanity of America's football fans.
To see the occasional bunch of shirtless, alcohol-fueled young men spelling out the object of their devotion on their chests was to remember your first hangover.
To see the distinguished Barrel Man stomping up and down Mile High Stadium's risers in those cowboy boots week after week, exposed except for that barrel, raising his arm in that salute, was to watch an artist at work.
The Barrel Man was a performance artist before performance art was cool, a naked cowboy long before that dude in his underwear on Times Square.
Like many of the all-time greats, he tried to walk away. But the barrel always pulled him back in.
In 1992, he showed up in the Broncos' media room to hang up the barrel for the first time. "I just want to go out on top," he said.
Dan Reeves posed for pictures with him. The wretches covering the ceremony didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The Barrel Man often had that effect.
He was back almost immediately. "I missed it," he explained.
To think that it all started 32 years ago because of a bet with his brother. "He wanted to see me on TV out in California," McKernan explained to 9News when he hung up the barrel for the last time.
"I had painted a barrel to make a drum out of it to look like an Orange Crush can, told him about it, and he bet me 10 bucks that I didn't have the guts to wear nothing but the barrel to a ballgame."
For 10 bucks, McKernan assumed an alter ego that would galvanize Broncos fans in the days before scoreboards told them when to galvanize. "The more I can get the fans into it," McKernan said, "the better the team plays."
It certainly seemed that way. No one has ever had a better rookie year.
After 17 years of futility, the Broncos went to the Super Bowl following the Barrel Man's first season. A barrel signed by members of that team now occupies a place in the Pro Football Hall of Fame.
For 30 years, he prowled those risers, moving with the Broncos from Mile High to Invesco Field, where he symbolized a simpler time, before marble-topped club level bars and corporate suites.
He was one of a kind, a Colorado original. And he died with the affection of thousands who never knew him, forever a part of Broncos lore.