In Dallas, a Dark Night of the Soul

To my surprise, the sun actually came up over Dallas this morning. I could see it as soon as I crawled out from under the bed.  (It’s just a game, it’s just a game.) 

 The papers and the radio shows are filled with grim post-mortems. (Just a game, remember.)

Sportswriters and talk jocks are questioning guts, brains, courage, desire, preparation,  the whole package. (Really, it’s just a game.)

Jessica Simpson now joins Lee Harvey Oswald and J. R. Ewing among the  Great Civic Villains of Big D History. (But, y’know, it’s just a game!)

Why in the world do I feel bad about this? Romo and Witten and T. O. and the rest are still strong young millionaires today, just as they were yesterday. They will not be selling pencils on downtown street corners.

 If I pursued this train of thought a while, I’d probably come up with some self-damning stuff about living vicariously through the team’s success, etc. (Yes, I’ve got a cold and I need to get an oil change and  pay  my quarterly taxes, and I may look like an anonymous li’l dweeb, but by gosh, I’m part of A FAMOUS WINNING DYNASTY!)

And I’d have to admit again, as I have in the past, that I’m a front-runner. I like winning. Don’t like losing. (Pause to ponder virtues of losing. Hmm. None.)  Never did like losing,  even in Little League. Hated trudging across the field to congratulate a bunch of morons who just stomped us 18-2.  I could never have been one of those “Amazin’ Mets” fans who somehow loved the worst team in baseball.

 So, yeah, I’m confirming the worst stereotypes about Dallas: A bunch of spoiled, entitled glory hogs who think any Super Bowl without the Boys  is somehow illegitimate. All I need now is a big-haired socialite on my arm and a membership in the Dallas Country Club, y’all.

 And here’s a chilling thought: I’m not even among the most fervent fans! I  probably watched, in all, two games this season before yesterday–a quarter here, a half there, etc. I’m not what you could call a diehard fan who bleeds metallic blue. If I feel this bad, how do the real fanatics feel?

Don’t answer that. And remember, it’s just a game…just a game…just a game….

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