Scotman
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I don't create a lot of new threads. In that there is a natural lull in Cowboy's news, perhaps y'all would indulge me in a trip down memory lane. And, maybe, you would even share some of your own.
I was bound to the Cowboys success at a young age. Most of my happy moments as a child were on the days I got to watch the Cowboys play. I was about 12 years old and, despite a lifetime of hard times, idolized my dad. He was a true blue Cowboy's fan. In fact, the last present I ever bought my dad before he passed away was a Cowboy's jacket. Surely the best gift I ever gave him.
My first indelible memory of our Cowboys came a long, long time ago. I remember the day being somewhat yellow outside, like a faded photograph. Our twelve inch black-and-white tv was propped up on a metal tv stand. Some of y'all might remember those rickety things. I was sitting on a stool just to the right of the TV holding the tin-foiled rabbit ears in just the right position so that the signal could come through. I actually had to be touching the right one for the reception to be clear.
It had been great season. I don't remember the individual games, but I remember this overwhelming feeling of pride and confidence in Roger Staubach. I always felt like we could win as long as he was out there. On this particular yellow day, we were a family of five living temporarily in a one-bedroom motel. It was the third or fourth place we had lived that season. My dad was seated directly in front of the tv...literally on the edge of his seat. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the left sleeve. He had one cigarette hanging from his lip and another behind his ear. None of them were lit. 78 had been the hardest year my family had endured. Not the worst we would ever have, but the worst up until that point. But, the bright spot was always on the Sundays when my dad and I would watch the games. Even when things were bad, this was good. Staubach made me feel like, even when life was tough, you just didn't give up. And if you didn't give up? You'd always come back to win.
The Boys were at about the 10 yard line. The game was coming to a close. I KNEW that we would win this game. I could feel it. The ball was snapped and Staubach dropped back. He looked right and then he seemingly lofted the ball into a the arms of a wide-open receiver in the end-zone. TOUCHDOWN! I looked back at my dad who was already jumping from his chair, the cigarette falling from his lip.
And then it happened...I wasn't looking at the TV...I was looking at my dad. His entire expression changed from joy to hate. The day went from yellow to black. He let out a coherent stream of uninterrupted cuss-words the likes of which I have never heard rivaled.
I learned a lot that day. One, my dad's years as a sailor were not wasted. He had developed a seldom-used, but quite extensive vocabulary. Two, even when it looks like there is no hope for victory, you simply need to hang in there and an opportunity will eventually present itself.
I was bound to the Cowboys success at a young age. Most of my happy moments as a child were on the days I got to watch the Cowboys play. I was about 12 years old and, despite a lifetime of hard times, idolized my dad. He was a true blue Cowboy's fan. In fact, the last present I ever bought my dad before he passed away was a Cowboy's jacket. Surely the best gift I ever gave him.
My first indelible memory of our Cowboys came a long, long time ago. I remember the day being somewhat yellow outside, like a faded photograph. Our twelve inch black-and-white tv was propped up on a metal tv stand. Some of y'all might remember those rickety things. I was sitting on a stool just to the right of the TV holding the tin-foiled rabbit ears in just the right position so that the signal could come through. I actually had to be touching the right one for the reception to be clear.
It had been great season. I don't remember the individual games, but I remember this overwhelming feeling of pride and confidence in Roger Staubach. I always felt like we could win as long as he was out there. On this particular yellow day, we were a family of five living temporarily in a one-bedroom motel. It was the third or fourth place we had lived that season. My dad was seated directly in front of the tv...literally on the edge of his seat. He was wearing a white t-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the left sleeve. He had one cigarette hanging from his lip and another behind his ear. None of them were lit. 78 had been the hardest year my family had endured. Not the worst we would ever have, but the worst up until that point. But, the bright spot was always on the Sundays when my dad and I would watch the games. Even when things were bad, this was good. Staubach made me feel like, even when life was tough, you just didn't give up. And if you didn't give up? You'd always come back to win.
The Boys were at about the 10 yard line. The game was coming to a close. I KNEW that we would win this game. I could feel it. The ball was snapped and Staubach dropped back. He looked right and then he seemingly lofted the ball into a the arms of a wide-open receiver in the end-zone. TOUCHDOWN! I looked back at my dad who was already jumping from his chair, the cigarette falling from his lip.
And then it happened...I wasn't looking at the TV...I was looking at my dad. His entire expression changed from joy to hate. The day went from yellow to black. He let out a coherent stream of uninterrupted cuss-words the likes of which I have never heard rivaled.
I learned a lot that day. One, my dad's years as a sailor were not wasted. He had developed a seldom-used, but quite extensive vocabulary. Two, even when it looks like there is no hope for victory, you simply need to hang in there and an opportunity will eventually present itself.
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