Story: The Cowboys

Here's something I wrote long ago:

The Cowboys

The smell of stale beer and hot dogs hangs heavy in the air, a familiar perfume on a Sunday afternoon. My dad’s worn, faded Cowboys jersey – a relic from the Aikman era – chafes slightly against my skin, but I don’t care. This is it. This is where I belong. The roar of the crowd is a physical entity, a wave crashing over me as we take our seats in the nosebleeds. From up here, the field is a miniature canvas, the players tiny, ant-like figures scuttling across the green. But I know them. I know their numbers, their strengths, their weaknesses. I’ve lived and breathed this team since I was a kid, clutching my plastic helmet and mimicking Troy Aikman’s quarterback sneak in our backyard. 

Today’s game is against the Giants, a bitter rivalry fueled by decades of triumphs and heartbreaking defeats. My nerves are a tight coil in my stomach. Every snap is a prayer, every incomplete pass a gut punch. My dad, ever the stoic, mutters commentary, a blend of seasoned analysis and fatherly encouragement. He's seen it all, the highs, the lows, the heart-stopping moments that have etched themselves into our family history. The first half is a nail-biter. A fumble here, a spectacular catch there. The Giants are playing tough, their defense a brick wall. My hope flickers, then flares up again with every promising drive. The tension is almost unbearable, a palpable energy that vibrates through the stadium, connecting us all in this shared experience of ecstatic anticipation and agonizing uncertainty. Then, it happens. A long pass downfield, a breathtaking catch, a touchdown. The stadium erupts. The roar is deafening, a tidal wave of pure joy. I'm jumping, screaming, high-fiving strangers, lost in a sea of blue and silver. For a glorious moment, the world melts away, and there’s only the game, the team, the shared euphoria. 

The second half is a blur of action. There are more tense moments, near misses, and moments that make my heart leap into my throat. But the Cowboys hold on. They fight. They claw. They win. As the final whistle blows, an indescribable wave of relief washes over me. The confetti rains down, a celebratory blizzard. Around me, people are hugging, laughing, crying – a collective sigh of satisfaction. My dad pats me on the back, a rare show of emotion. His eyes shine with pride, and I know he's feeling the same overwhelming sense of victory. 

Walking out of the stadium, the night air feels crisp and clean. The taste of victory lingers, sweeter than any hot dog. I’m exhausted, hoarse, but utterly exhilarated. This isn't just a game. It's a ritual, a bonding experience, a shared passion that connects generations. And tomorrow, I’ll be back, ready to do it all again. Because this is more than just watching football. This is being a Dallas Cowboys fan.

Jacob T.

5/20/17