Flashbacks can be scary. Within a 24-hour span, I have gone back in time twice.
Sunday night, I began to care about the Dallas Cowboys again. I started getting actual emotions about it. And then they reminded me of why I had become emotionally detached–they again were Jerry Jones’ Cowboys and not Tom Landry’s and Jimmy Johnson’s Cowboys. But what really scared me was that it made me angry, just like the old days when I wore my Cowboys love on my sleeve. Yes, even the great Cowboys teams lost on occasion. It’s not good to talk to me much when I’m angry.
Then, Monday night, I began to care again about the Texas Longhorns. My orange pride surfaced as the Texas footballers faced what looked like a bunch of pansies with their stylish uniforms. But the Longhorns didn’t play like Texans ought to play their national sport. They were slower than the Ducks, less sophisticated than the Ducks, and out-quarterbacked by the Ducks. Texas high schools produce more top flight quarterbacks than any state and yet our state university didn’t seem to get one. I got football angry for the second time in 24 hours.
I don’t get angry much, so why does the play of some essentially meaningless games get under my skin? Gosh, I hate football.
Oh, but I also love it. I’m not sure completely why, but following the game of football is both the most frivolous thing I do and one of my great passions. Give me talk about religion, politics, and football and I’m a satisfied man.
With my football addiction revealed and my football anger confessed, I do at least take some comfort in my two newly adopted teams–the Baylor Bears and the Green Bay Packers. Green and gold look better and better to me all the time, but I think somewhere deep inside me that Cowboys blue and burnt orange will always have a place. Yuck!