They say that confession is good for the soul. So I’m going to ‘fess up. I like sports. Whatever the season, I’m pretty much into it. Football, baseball, basketball, the Olympic games, I’m all over it. Volleyball, golf, hockey, and even a little tennis can capture my attention.
But my playing days are over. My glove is in the closet. My cleats were taken to the second-hand store years ago. Balls are stored in the tubs for grandkids. My jock is officially hung up.
Even my golf clubs and bowling ball have been collecting a lot of dust since the heart bypass and knee replacement surgeries…though there is still hope.
These days, I am reduced to spectator fandom and arm-chair quarterbacking. And I love watching. Sometimes a little too much. There. I feel much better with that bit of low-priority, spiritual shallowness lifted off my shoulders. I’m sure God is resting easier with me back in the fold.
But not so fast my friend (in my best Lee Corso voice). Let the true confession begin…
Living here on the Grand Prairie for the past 24 years, I have learned just how much the beloved Dallas Cowboys mean to the faithful here. The greatness of Tom Landry and Roger Staubach was not tasted again until the early 90’s when they were the toast of the Chisholm Trail, with Michael, Emmitt, Troy, Jimma, and the almighty Jerruh. And its been pretty dry since then.
And this leads me to my next confession.
I am no saint. I have my sins and shortcomings and crummy baggage that weighs me down and chokes my spiritual life dry, when it is not dealt with swiftly and completely. I do things I am not proud of and embarrass me when they are found out. Many times I just need to be put in time out and then sent to bed with no dessert. This is that time.
I enjoy watching Jerruh lose.
I know. I may be dancing with the flames of hell lapping at my backside, but I just can’t help myself. Jerruh needs to feel my pain.
(For those of you unfamiliar, Jerruh is Jerry Jones, the owner, General Manager, part-time coach, and Sugardaddy of the Dallas Cowboys since 1989.)
Here is my beef: Jerruh stuck his snotty nose in where it didn’t belong. As the most powerful and influential owner in the NFL, he lead the way in helping my (as in my, mine, my very own, not yours, not his, not anybody else’s) San Diego Chargers pack up and leave for…uh…excuse me…I just threw up in my mouth…Los Angeles.
Jerruh cozied up to the owner of the Chargers and whispered sweet dollar signs in his ear and convinced him he could double the value of the Charger franchise by moving it two hours north (where nobody wants them, nobody watches them on TV, nobody attends their games, and they have become the laughing stock of LA and the entire sporting world). And, by the way, the move would line Jerruh’s and the rest of the NFL owner’s pockets with new found wealth by jumping on the Hollywood bandwagon.
So glad he is making more money at the expense of my sad little broken heart and torpedoed memories.
Why can’t you still be a Charger fan, you ask? Phffft. No self-respecting San Diegan would ever root for the city of Los Angeles…especially when they’ve turned into sheep stealers.
Why can’t you just pick a new NFL team to support? Phffft. No thanks. Every owner was complicit in the thievery of my team…and profiting off of my pain.
Why can’t you embrace the Cowboys as your team? You live in Texas. They are America’s Team, for crying out loud. I have found I am much better at shouldering people’s pain, now that I have experienced such a deep and painful loss. My Cowboy friends need a friend like me.
Why can’t you just get over it? Let bygones be bygones, you say? Move on. Stop living in the past. Forgive and forget. Bury the hatchet. Hold out the olive branch. Kiss and make up.
Nope. Not gonna do it. I would rather sit in my sandbox with my arms folded, watching college football on Saturdays and Netflix on Sunday afternoons…and savoring those moments when Jerruh is checking his bank account to soothe his pain over another Cowboy loss.
I am petty. I am childish. I am frivolous. I am shallow. I need forgiveness.
I can wait.
I am also the master of the overstatement.
But it was fun.