scottsp
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Some of my earliest memories were of my father carrying me out of Texas Stadium after games in the early 1970s. Until about 1974, I couldn't tell you much about those events, though I do recall a home loss once to the Vikings. My parents stayed up most of the night discussing that one over coffee, and just couldn't understand how a football game could keep them up so late.
I was seven years-old when Tom Landry was carried off the field in the Superdome. At the time, my mother worked Sundays, so it was just me and Pop watching at the house. The thing I remember is, how happy he was, but he didn't quite know how to relate that sort of euphoria to someone my age. Good thing is, I would finally come to understand how he felt, though it took about 15 years to get there.
But from the time I was very small until I graduated high school, if games were blacked out, we were always either at the stadium or we made the hike north to Sherman. This included the preseason games that were broadcasted, though a lot of times they were not. The one blackout trip I remember was a playoff game against Tampa Bay. Monte Hunter, of all people, sealed the win with a pick six.
A year earlier, in 1981, my father and I watched the same Bucs come into Texas Stadium only to be taken to the woodshed, 38-0. The very next weekend, at the tender age of ten, I witnessed - what remains to this day - the most crushing defeat I will likely ever suffer. Joe Montana to Dwight Clark gave my generation a taste of what the Ice Bowl must has been like for my father and his contemporaries. Utterly brutal stuff.
And that's when I knew where my heart was.
I was seven years-old when Tom Landry was carried off the field in the Superdome. At the time, my mother worked Sundays, so it was just me and Pop watching at the house. The thing I remember is, how happy he was, but he didn't quite know how to relate that sort of euphoria to someone my age. Good thing is, I would finally come to understand how he felt, though it took about 15 years to get there.
But from the time I was very small until I graduated high school, if games were blacked out, we were always either at the stadium or we made the hike north to Sherman. This included the preseason games that were broadcasted, though a lot of times they were not. The one blackout trip I remember was a playoff game against Tampa Bay. Monte Hunter, of all people, sealed the win with a pick six.
A year earlier, in 1981, my father and I watched the same Bucs come into Texas Stadium only to be taken to the woodshed, 38-0. The very next weekend, at the tender age of ten, I witnessed - what remains to this day - the most crushing defeat I will likely ever suffer. Joe Montana to Dwight Clark gave my generation a taste of what the Ice Bowl must has been like for my father and his contemporaries. Utterly brutal stuff.
And that's when I knew where my heart was.
