Eenie, meeny, miney, mo,
so many choices, which way to go?
Too many days at 100 degrees
has turned my noggin to mushy peas.
Now comes September,
I remember a year,
leaves were a burning,
a nip in the air.
The schedule says football
now starts at UT,
the next day the Cowboys,
the Bears on TV.
Guys hitting home runs,
crack goes the sound,
Babe is twitchin’
deep in the ground.
Hurry September,
I say I can’t wait.
I yearn and I itch,
so much on my plate.
Be wary of wishes,
or so they say.
Wishes fulfilled
don’t save the day.
The Horns are big winners.
The Bears make me cry.
Sammy and Mark,
the balls sure do fly.
Big deal I say,
this isn’t so cool.
Just one more day
at one hundred and two.
Wishin’ and hopin’,
I ponder my toe,
inny meeny miney mo.
Saturday, 6:06pm,
Darrell K. Royal�Texas Memorial Stadium:
High in the press box,
Run Ricky run…
Okay, sorry. Enough. My point, in case you missed it, is: This UT game means more to me than just another season opener… which is all it is. Sitting in the frigid press box, cold enough to keep a room full of cadavers fresh indefinitely, I struggle to find something to tell you.
Of course, there’s the beginning of a new era crap, but can’t I do better than that? Against a weak football team like New Mexico State, I guess not. I find myself thankful I don’t have to cover Kansas State, which opens with Indiana State, Northern Illinois, and NE Louisiana. I’m wondering what those guys take to stay awake.
No, aside from doing nothing to cure my summertime blues, a game like this is what it is: a start. The real season for UT begins next week in Los Angeles. Surprises? After all the talk about “attacking aggressive defense,” I’m dismayed at how familiar (not a good familiar, I might add) the Texas defense looks. I kick myself for forgetting, again, that systems are bullshit. Attack. Read and React. 4-3. 3-4. The Bear 46. Just words. Tom Landry did pretty well with a “passive” defense when he had Bob Lilly and Lee Roy Jordan being “passive.” Buddy did okay with Dent and 10 other All-Pros. Systems don’t matter, they just sound good to the media and fans. Players do. Surprises? Can’t any of Brown’s freshmen break into this undistinguished starting line-up? I’m thinking, that won’t last long. Surprises? A brand new penalty, “illegal touching,” is called.This baffles one and all in the press box. I’m thinking some kind of Nineties, PC thing. I leave at halftime with Texas up by 28. A huge, orange full moon is rising over the new east stands. Good omen? An ominous warning perhaps? The next evening, aficionado of Longhorn minutia, State Representative Elliot Naishtat and I discuss a mutual premonition of an upset against overrated K-State in a few weeks. Much wine. Brave talk.
The next day: Maybe the college opener was a little disappointing, but today the big boys play. I did my good boyfriend things early to clear the way for a guilt-free afternoon. We go out for breakfast. I help build something. I don’t read the paper all morning. I happily go along on errands. Because at 12:00, the fall really begins! And don’t think I’m not ready. The room will be dark. The satellite’s aimed. My DirecTV Season Ticket is all paid up. For days, I secretly plan which games I’ll watch. Short, quick looks at Peyton Manning and Ryan Leaf. Check in to see if Dallas is losing, watch more if they are. Vikings/Bucs looks great. See the Bears get killed by Jacksonville. I can’t wait. By 3:00 I’m bored stupid. The house feels oppressively hot. I’m stunned to hear it’s only 98 outside. It feels like the hottest day in the history of the hemisphere. To Kelly’s surprise, I offer to make another trip to the hardware store. I’m sick of football. Fall never seemed farther away.
My sportsfan instinct is drawn back to the summer game. Baseball. Red-clad fans gasping for air in the late summer, oxygen-deprived, humidity-enhanced atmospheres of Busch and Riverfront Stadiums.
The most entertaining sports of the Big Weekend is the Great Home Run Chase. Sixty-one home runs in only 142 games. What an impossible accomplishment. I’m wondering what Ford (the asterisk) Frick would say about this?
Sammy Sosa, out of nowhere, with 58. Even Kelly, not a fan, got goosebumps watching McGwire pass Babe and tie Maris.
Sometimes, I must trust the laws of nature will apply. I chant these affirmations: Summer will end. A cold, rainy day to watch football will come. Meanwhile, in St. Louis and Chicago, summertime makes a final stand.
Write me: Coach36@aol.com
This article appears in September 11 • 1998 and September 11 • 1998 (Cover).