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