Football Has Been Berry Berry Good To Me
The other day Timmy told me I needed to get into the Cowboys. He intimated that I was uncool because I didn’t know Terrell Owens from Terrell, Texas. (On that, he is wrong. I so know they named the town after him.) Anywhoo, last night I gathered with a couple of male buddies and watched the game on a ginormous HDTV. I could see TO’s nose hairs easier than a knee going down in a mass of humanity on top of that third quarter fumble. So Timmy, I’m back, but not as a Cowboy fan. I have hated the Cowboys since 1962 when I was a devoted Dallas Texans fan. Lenny Dawson, Abner Haynes, Hank Stram were my idols and they would have never committed a horse-collar penalty. The way I see it, the ‘Boys pushed my team to KC. Which brings me to the Texans Huddle Club, a pep club for kids who sat on the splintery benches of the Cotton Bowl while their parents sat on the 50-yard line sipping whiskey sours from silver flasks. And that brings me to Richard Pennington, a sports writer who contacted me Saturday. He is writing a history of the Kansas City Chiefs. He Googled “Dallas Texans + Huddle Club” and found me. I’m now contributing to his book and I promised I’d poll the FB Nation to see if there are any other Huddle Clubbers out there? Or Spur Club? Or people who can explain what pulling from the shoulder pads has to do with a horse collar. Thanks.
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