How Bout Them Cowboys??

As I sit down for my traditionally untraditionalBeing a supporter of the hometown team lets
Thanksgiving meal this year, I am faced with ayou enjoy Sunday afternoon tailgates at the
conundrum happened across by many astadium, allows you to read more than a one
vagabond sports fan. As is tradition, Thanksgivingparagraph blurb in the sports pages, and makes
is inundated with the sights and sounds ofyou feel accepted as you drive to work Monday
professional football. My dilemma, however, is notmorning in the same good mood as everyone
what to watch, rather, it is a question of who toelse on the roads because, "a W is a W no
be pulling for as mounds of turkey and stuffingmatter how ugly that 12-9 win was."
are being shoveled into my extremely gratefulThen, there is tradition and dedication. Tradition
face. With my traditional, "always leave room forlike singing, "Bear Down, Chicago Bears" or
pie" sweatpants on, I am faced with a decisionwatching "The Super Bowl Shuffle" every
between hometown heroes and childhood chums.summer to remind you that hope is only 17
Yes, it is the Tampa Bay Buccaneers traveling toweeks away. Dedication, like wearing cheese on
Dallas, Texas to take on America's Team, slightlyyour head all day long, strapping on battery
less known by the moniker, the Dallas Cowboys. Ipowered, heated socks to a playoff game in the
grew up with those Cowboys. In fact, as I'msnow, or cooking bratwurst in a hail storm
watching the pre-game proceedings, my motherbecause pork and mustard can cure any ill. Things
is rustling through a distant closet in an attempt tolike that make you remember, they bring families
find my hand-knitted Cowboys helmet I donnedtogether across generations. Dedication like that
as a tot watching countless Cowboy games. Itgives fathers and sons who can barely be civil at
was the kind that came down over the ears, Ithe dinner table something to talk about, if only
suppose to keep my bulbous head warm duringfor a couple hours once or twice a year. Tradition
those severe Texas winters, however, more andand dedication like that strike deep in the soul. I've
more I am starting to believe that it was toseen these things, first hand, and know how
serve as a buffer between my infant ears andpowerful they are.
the array of colorful language being spewed bySo where does that leave me? Sitting here
various members of the family in betweenThanksgiving, only my mother and I. The third
involuntary chants now and then of, "How BoutThursday of November, and I am a man torn.
Them Cowboys?; another holiday tradition, yet IThe Bucs are "my team". As a college kid looking
digress. On the other side of the field, however,for any excuse to over-do it, I tailgated the
were the Pewter Pirates a.k.a. the Tampa BaySuper Bowl at Ray-Jay , just to say I was there,
Buccaneers. I moved to Tampa straight out ofregardless of if it was the Ravens against the
high school to attend college at The University ofGiants. A year later I was knee deep in the
South Florida. Immediately I adopted the localpandemonium that swept the bay area after
sports teams, as having lived in Daytona BeachChucky led us to the promise land. I mean, these
didn't offer me such luxuries, as there were nowere the guys I listened to every week on their
teams to be found. I was always taught, andradio shows. But what about tradition? How 'Bout
believe to this day, that rooting for theThem Cowboys?
hometown team is a good thing for so manyPerched in front of the television with a mound of
reasons.food waiting to be devoured, I had to make a
I moved around a bit as a child, from mydecision. As a self respecting sports fan, I had to
hometown of Amarillo, Texas to the meanpick a side, and ride that pony hell or high water. I
streets of Minneapolis/St. Paul to the suburbs ofwasn't going to be "that other guy" who is happy
Chicago, all along the way, adopting the timeeither way. That's not what sports are about. You
honored traditions of each community and itsare either elated and obnoxious, pointing out your
teams. Rooting for the home team offers a fewweekly dominance to anyone in earshot, or you
modest conveniences that make life so muchare devastated and obnoxious, spouting
more enjoyable. The first, and foremost, is thatobscenities to anyone in earshot (including the dog
you aren't "that guy" (ladies, I apologize because Iwho has learned the bathtub is probably the
know you're sports fans too, but you'll understandsafest place on football Sundays). That's what
better once the title is explained). "That guy" issports is all about. So, what's a guy to do? The
the one who just won't let go. He comes to thegravy is getting cold, and my mom has since
sports bar wearing his commemorative, 1983given up on finding my crocheted helmet. It was
Philadelphia Phillies hat that looks like it had gone ondecision time. So, with a conflicted heart, I turned
an epic journey, the likes of which Odysseusto my mom and said, "You know, I've rooted for
couldn't imagine. "That guy" trots proudly into thethose Cowboys every Thanksgiving of my life.
stadium donning a Flyers jersey to watch theHelmet made of yarn or not, I'm going to root
Tampa Bay Lightning take on the Washingtonfor those Cowboys with you in the name of
Capitols, all the while going on about his glory daystradition, and with Texan pride on the line." I made
back in "tha delphia" when he sat in the samethat decision with a heavy heart, for it wasn't
restaurant booth that Phil Esposito sat in twoeasy to root against those Pewter Pirates. But,
weeks earlier, or making sure you know that histradition prevailed this time, along with Dallas, and I
brother's girlfriend's uncle once knew a guy whodozed off on the sofa with stars (and those
has an actual loch of Mitch Williams' mullet. Youfamous cheerleaders) dancing in my mind. Next
know the guy. He has season tickets to everyweek, I'll still read about the Bucs, and will root
team in the area, but refuses to admit he is athem onto the close of what is already a
fan. He doesn't hesitate, however, to load up hisdisastrous season. But, for today at least, tradition
1988 Oldsmobile as he heads to an autographgives me a bond with my mother, a nostalgic
session with a duffel bag full of Wal-Mart sportingfeeling in the only corner of my stomach not
goods and a kid in tow that is being trained in theoccupied by pie, and a reason to feel proud of
intricate ways of being the absolute mostwhere I came from. So, How Bout them
obnoxious human being on the planet, but he isCowboys?
certainly not a fan. You know "that guy".