Man, is our new area football obsessed.
At first I thought that it was a cliché: if you’re a
Texan, you’re into football. You know, the “Friday Night Lights” thing and all.
Yeah, I have a brother-in-law who’s a Lone Star native and who’s been pushing
the Texas Longhorns on us for years. But it started to hit home when we learned
my daughter’s high school football team, which normally practices on a
five-acre lot of prairie, will be playing its games at The Star, the Dallas
Cowboys’ practice facility.
So, yes, it seems football is a big deal down here.
Now, football used to be a big deal for me, too.
My father played some low-level college football and
wound up a high school defensive coordinator. My godfather, his best friend,
tried out for the New York Jets in the sixties. I watched football with him, as
well as with my two uncles when I got older. Both uncles were diehard Giants
fans, and it wore off. My friends during my teens and early twenties were
Giants fans, too. This was the Parcells era when the Giants were a dominant
team and went to the Super Bowl twice.
Later I worked for a company whose owner was a diehard
Giant fan. I saw Eli Manning, and could’ve chatted him up and shook his hand if
I were a little more courageous. The wife was a Giants fan and we watched three
Super Bowls together. I was finishing my daughter’s nursery when Eli started
his first game.
Then around 2016 the whole kneeling thing happened. I
am opposed to kneeling. To me, it’s disrespecting the flag and all the great
things this country is about. Yeah, we’re not perfect, but we’re the best place
on the planet to live. You don’t see migrant caravans storming the beaches of
Cuba to get in.
Anyway, I digress. I’ve watched a grand total of three
football games in the past five years. I’ve spent zero dollars on the NFL. As a
result, I no longer consider myself a football fan, despite many happy years of
chugging beers, barbecuing, watching the games with my pals. No more.
So it was a bit of a culture shock when, last week, my
wife took us to The Star.
Now, not only is it the Cowboys’ practice facility, it is also a massive mini mall. Eateries, shops, museums, and plenty of office space. The Mrs. wants me to nab a job at a company that leases space at The Star, that’s how close it is to our new house.
She had to pick up some housewarming items from a local boutique at The Star, one she follows on Instagram. We drove in and had brunch and an interesting place somewhere across from the turf below the Jumbotron along Cowboys Way. I’m sure Jerry Jones got a nice percentage of our brunch bill, probably $10, to add to his net worth of $800 billion. Anyway, the food was good, and the boutique was phenomenal, at least according to my wife.
But walking around this Mecca for Dallas Cowboy fans sure gave me a weird vibe. Set in the concrete walkways were slabs devoted to Cowboy stars of the past, their names, position, active years and jersey numbers etched into concrete. Flags displaying current local team members adorned every light post. Stores sold buttons, pendants, posters, bumper stickers, kitchen magnets. I didn’t see a pro shop, but I’m sure several of them were strategically positioned around The Star for Mr. Jones to get his fair share of memorabilia revenue of the team he invested so much in.
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