I cannot tell you how much I would rather be at the Cotton Bowl tomorrow than here in New Zealand.
I would gladly trade my clean, green, primordial back yard for the smell of deep fried everything and the creepy, booming, non-stop chatter of Big Tex.
I would make the ultimate sacrifice of drinking beer and eating nachos for breakfast on the State Fair midway to prepare myself for the 11 a.m. OU-Texas kickoff.
I would be wearing a Sooner hat and shirt and wristband. I would be wearing Sooner clothing in places best not discussed here.
I would enter the Cotton Bowl as soon as they opened the gates, to take in the atmosphere that I have missed for two decades.
My chest would swell when the Puhhh-ride of Oklahoma charged onto the field playing Boomer Sooner for the first of 10,000 times.
I would almost certainly scream myself hoarse by the end of the first half, especially if the Big Red offensive machine were rolling over the hapless ‘Horns. (Makes me smile just to think about it).
I would need to be wearing one of those fighter pilot piddle packs, or maybe Big Red Depends undergarments, because I would NOT be moving from my seat until the last dog, er, longhorn, was hung.
I would do my best to avoid screaming “Texas Sucks”, because an old man should not do that.
But in my mind I would be screaming exactly that and remembering Sooner days gone by when:
My buddies and I spent hours walking in circles on Commerce Street, behaving like total Big Red Morons, but having a great time and not once ending up in the clink, though we got reasonably close that one time;
I watched an incredibly cute co-ed squat and relieve herself in the parking lot after the game, and when we made eye contact, it was Boomer Sooner magic;
My high school buddies and I gathered from all corners to watch Saturday’s game, and then spent Sunday at a theme park only to find that we were smack in the middle of an alternative lifestyle event being covered by all major TV networks, NTTAWWT.
I’m sure I would feel somewhat removed at first, because I know nothing about any of today’s Sooners, except Mr. Belldozer. But I also know that I’m Sooner Born and Sooner Bred so, by halftime, I’d be totally infused with key Sooner stats.
In my head, I’d be hearing the voices of Bob Barry and Mike Treps and Barry Switzer, and in my mind I’d be watching Little Joe flying over tacklers, Steve Owens crushing linebackers, and the Selmon brothers wreaking absolute havoc on the poor, poor Horns.
I bet I’d think back to the dozens and dozens of games that I either watched or played at Owen stadium, back when I had no idea that they would be some of the defining moments of my life.
Yep, I’d give an awful lot to beam down to the Cotton Bowl tomorrow, eat a corn dog, drink a beer and rejoin the Sooner Nation.
Ah well, I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with listening to live play-by-play coverage over the Internet, and screaming Boomer Sooner enough to get the Chinese Missus really riled up.
Because, that’s how you roll when you’re an Okie Downunder.
Rah Oklahoma. Rah Oklahoma. Rah Oklahoma.
(Editor’s note: 20-36! WTF? Even so, I’d still loved to have been there. Boomer Sooner!)
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