Yeah, so I met a President...

Last weekend may have been one of the greatest weekends of my life, plus I got a whole bunch of other stuff to throw in yo face. Hold on, here we go...

On Saturday night I got a phone call from my buddy, and co-TPC writer, Pat. He had just left the game where SMU whooped Marshall and was calling to tell me of a very special opportunity: running the flags at the Dallas Cowboys game. Now let me give you a little background on this. When I worked as referee for SMU, my boss was one of the guys who get to go down on the field, run out of the tunnel at the introductions, and run across the end zone after touchdowns and field goals. In fact, out of the six guys that do it every Sunday I know four. So every now and then someone can't do it and they need a sub, or in this case two subs. Enter Patrick and I. Pat had done this before, but I hadn't. So we get up early Sunday morning and head to Texas Stadium after we meet up with the other guys running the flags. We enter the stadium through a special entrance that until later that day was one of the coolest things I had ever done. I mean think of when you go to an event and see people you don't know walking into the "player's only" or "special personnel only" entrances. Don't you immediately just hate them? I mean how are they more special than you, and how do they get to go down to the field? Not even fair. Anyways, I was that guy you hated on Sunday.

So we walk in and go directly on to the field. All the while, I am trying not to act too much like a complete spaz. But as hard as I tried, I still felt like Sean Astin in Rudy during that scene when walks on the field wearing a Notre Dame uniform for the first time. The only difference was that while Rudy was actually a player in uniform and the crowd was cheering for him, I was wearing an orange fleece and no one seemed to really notice I was there.

(Side Note: I didn't actually have my field pass yet at this point. Somehow I just walked right past the security at the special gate I mentioned earlier, and right past all the field personnel like I was Vincent Chase from Entourage. Just a great feeling. Although I couldn't help but feel that I might be tackled to the ground by security at any moment. In fact I was pretty certain that someone was going to do their Bobby Boucher impression and put me painfully into the turf if I so much as sneezed at one of the players.)

Anyway, I get my pass and we being to put on our required apparel (cowboy hat, boots, jeans, and white dress shirt) in a room that is located across from the Houston Texans locker room. Cool thing about this was that it allowed us to be five feet from people like head coach Gary Kubiak, former Green Bay coach Mike Sherman, and Texans QB David Carr as they walked by. So we are changing into out clothes when we hear a buzz out side from a small crowd that is just outside the Texans locker room. We scurry over there standing on our tiptoes, looking like mierkats cats, trying to figure what the noise is about. Some people quickly lose interest and leave. Like the curious star-struck twenty-somethings we are, we stick around.

Next thing we know, the locker room door opens and out comes none other than the 41st President of the United States, George H. W. Bush followed by a slew of Secret Service men. I am motionless. Mainly because I had a quick flashback to when I had a little run-in with some other federal security, which didn't turn out too well (you can read about that here). Regardless, we stand there and he walks in our direction before deciding against getting any closer to us. Maybe he heard about me? Either he saw our jaws on the floor or our wide eyes and decided that we were not worthy to speak with and began to leave. I want to say something to him. Pat wants to say something. Nothing is said. Suddenly, President Bush turns back and walks directly up to us. We stand at attention like soldiers. He extends his hand and beings talking to us. This is the point where I go blank. I mean if this whole situation were a car wreck, that is the moment when the car veered of the muddy embankment into the ditch. The only comprehensible thought I had this entire time he spoke to us was, "Man, he looks so much like his son its not even funny!" That's all I thought! This was my moment and I froze, but in retrospect I think I would have only managed to say something in such broken English that the Secret Service might have jumped me out of sheer confusion. I did manage to say something along the lines of "its an honor to meet you," before he left.

(Why is it that when we meet someone like President Bush we all stand up straight and try to look dignified? I mean its not like he's going to offer us a job. Really, think about. Do you we really think that he was working on a letter of recommendation earlier that morning just in case he runs into some random person he might meet in a deli that impresses him? Of course, if he suddenly pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me, I would flash it around regardless of what it said. He could have written "Jujubes" on there, and I would wear it like a Medal of Honor. And yet I digress...)

Anyways, he left us and went upon his way leaving us standing in pure amazement. I mean it's not everyday that you meet a former leader of the free world and a guy whose most famous moment was throwing up on a Chinese minister. As he left Pat looked at me and said, "If I had known I was going to meet a President I would have shaved." To which I replied, "Yeah, and I would have worn a shirt with sleeves." Oh well, I am sure his interaction with us stayed in his memory for about seventeen full seconds after he walked away. And that's the first seventeen seconds a President has ever thought about me.

On the way home from the game, Pat was sitting in the car with me eating some snacks when he said some thing that pretty much summed up the whole situation, "I am eating with the same hand that I shook President Bush's hand with. It tastes like money, power, and Fritos." Just like we thought it would.

Other quick hits from the game:
--Nothing is cooler than being in the tunnel before the game; Bledsoe and Parcells were one foot away from me. One foot! In real life, I am bigger than Bledsoe. Also in real life, I am terrified of Parcells. There's something about that man that makes him about as cuddly as a spider crab.

--Before we ran out of the tunnel during the intro, I was unanimously picked by the others to be the guy who falls down and immediately trampled by an ensuing professional football team on national TV.

--When we ran out at the intro for the Cowboys, all I could think about was the fireworks and the cheering. In fact, to tell you the truth, I have no recollection of the team following me out. As soon as I hit mid field I just imagined the crowd was cheering solely for me. It was Gladiator only without me actually doing anything that might merit me glory or injury. Gladiator-lite we'll call it.

--T.O. caught his first two TD passes ten feet from me. If you watch the highlights you can see Pat and me in our attire bracing for celebration.

(Funny story. On T.O.'s second TD catch, Pat and I went running across the end zone, but ran right into the Cowboy's celebration. Consequently, I almost went head on with a flag into Drew Bledsoe, while Pat got hit in the crotch by the football after it was spiked. Ah, how famous people affect your life, some wait for you to get out of their way like Bledsoe, and others, like T.O., just throw a bounce pass into your manhood.)

--There is a lot of work that goes into preparing the halftime shows and small contests and we had to help. That sucked. I have a new appreciation for halftime shows, but I still refuse to watch them.

--Despite creating a mental list of all the good things I have going for me, the players still had no interest in talking to me. Not one of them.

---I was about two feet away from the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. Two thoughts on this: First, it was very wet and rainy at the game, causing the cheerleaders to get soaked from head to toe (Somehow I could feel my girlfriend glaring at me even as I wrote that sentence and we're not even within fifteen miles of each other right now), but after the half they came out with newly blow-dried hair, ruining the collective fantasy of every male in attendance. Just thought you should know that. Second, no matter how many times the cheerleaders look over at you and give you one of those "this may be your lucky day" smiles and you know you no chance, you still confidently lean over to your buddy and say, "I think the brunette is digging me" nearly every time. It's his job then, to slap you or give you the obligatory, "Yeah I know what you mean; that blonde in the front has been checking me out all day."

Your 2007 World Series Champion Texas Rangers: I know this is old news by now, but the Rangers fire manager Buck Showalter ushering a new era in Rangers baseball, a World Series team. Yes, there is no longer any need to play next year's season because the Rangers have staked their claim as champions with Buck gone. How do I know? Well every true baseball fan knows that the year after Showalter is fired, his former team wins the World Series. Ask the New York Yankees or the Arizona Diamondbacks. This is more predictable than professional wrestling.

Also, I am just going to go out on a limb and say that the Rangers will hire Trey Hillman, who is currently managing in Japan. Lock it up.

Old NFL news: After watching the Denver Broncos beat the Baltimore Ravens on Monday Night Football last week, the MNF crew came on and started discussing how the win would shake up the AFC. The analysts were then asked to rank the top five teams in the AFC. Most of them had something that involved the Chargers, Bengals, Patriots, Colts, and Broncos. Michael Irvin then came on and gave his top five, which somehow included the just defeated Ravens and omitted the Broncos, who had just won. How, I ask you, do you have two teams play right in front of you where one team is clearly better and yet you rank the other one among the top teams in the AFC while leaving out the team who won? After throwing a plate of chicken wings at the TV, I remembered that Michael Irvin smokes crack. Everything made sense after that.

Also, who else saw the Broncos Tatum Bell run to the sidelines in the first quarter, take off his helmet, and shoot a very visible and very disturbing snot rocket onto the ground? Its times like this that I wish that little memory eraser from Men in Black existed.

Stingray Revolution: So am I the only person who is a bit concerned over the fact that two people have now been stabbed in the heart by stingrays? Stingrays?!?! Come on. I mean aren't we allowed to pet them at the Sea World and the zoo? What is going on? Did the stingrays get together in some under sea cavern and just make a decision not to take anymore crap from anyone?

"Hey, we're part of the shark family. We don't need to put up with this shit anymore. People always petting us and bothering us. Fuck them; go for the heart. We will revolt! We take down Steve Irwin, killing the snake by cutting off its wretched head. The rest will follow. Ok, see you guys at the potluck dinner."

This whole stab people in the heart thing has movie serial killer potential all over it, doesn't it? Couldn't you see a B movie with this premise on FX in the next six months? All I know is this has me nervous. This must be how plantation owners felt when slaves rose up and started realizing that this whole work for no money and get treated like ass thing wasn't working in their favor anymore, only with stingrays.

Mavs are back!: One time in the fourth grade I was eating lunch from the school cafeteria and I got a chicken fried steak. This being one of my favorite meals put me in a good mood early that morning when I realized that it was, indeed, chicken fried steak day (or "the best day on the whole world" as I commonly referred to it). As I put my knife into my savory piece of school-made goodness, my utensil met an unusually small amount of resistance. In fact, there was no resistance. More so, there was no meat. All that made up the chicken fried steak on my plate was a dubiously hollow crispy bread crust shaped like a piece of meat. I don't know how this happened, and I'm not sure it’s ever happened again, but it sucked and it ruined my day and even my week.

Where am I going with this? That's exactly how I felt the other day when I sat down to watch the Mavericks play their season opener only to find that Dirk, Stack, Jet, and every other recognizable player didn't bother to make the trip. It was like that CFS without the meat. This Maverick fried steak wasn’t filled with yummy, hearty Dirk, but with runny, yucky Austin Croshere. I may not ever get over this. And yes, that was possibly the gayest sentence I have ever written.

Zinger of the week: My girlfriend and I went out with Drew and his date only to have our plans ruined by the lame people at AMC Northpark. I won't get into it. I will say that it landed us at Trinity Hall drinking beers and listening to an Irish band. Regardless, one point in the night, a man walks in wearing a jacket and pants that did not match, but I can only describe as "taking full advantage of Technicolor and mankind's ability to decipher color through eyes." Drew's date put it best when she said, "Well, I guess the whole Mr. Bojangles look just works for some people." Perfect.

Movie time: Just in case you are interested I have a few things to say about some movies. I saw The Departed last night. Go see it. That's all I have to say. Go see it now.

My buddy Conway gets us into free early movie screenings, and he got us in Flags of our Fathers a few weeks ago. Now I read this book a few years ago and loved it. I mean this book blew me away, it’s my all-time favorite. The movie? Not as good. I hear its getting rave reviews, but I thought it was a colossal disappointment. The problem is that of the five or six main characters in the book, the movie only operates around three of them. Regardless, I think its worth a viewing, but go read the book afterwards. I mean it. It will change your life. Go read it now.

Daily RT: Ryan sent me this message the other day after confirming with me that both of us were, indeed, watching the Tigers/Yankees game on ESPN's Gamecast online:

"I love the pulsating yellow dot that is Melky Cabrera."

Somehow I think if he had said, "Brandon Inge" it wouldn't have been as funny.

An incident involving flying insects and windshields: My buddy Reed was in town not too long ago and decided to leave me with this parting text message as he headed back to Lubbock:

"Leading cause of butterfly fatalities on interstate 114? My truck!"

Somehow I immediately pictured Reed hunched over his steering wheel with one of those maniacal devilish grins; eyes darting about looking for the colors of butterfly wings fluttering about. Does the fact that I thought of this say something about him or something about me? I'm not sure I even want to know.

More daily RT because I wrote most of this last week: RT and his girl just got back from the Yamboree in Gilmer, Texas (the self-proclaimed sweet potato capital of the world). I got this e-mail this morning:

"You missed the crowning of the Yam queen last night, let me tell ya, it was hot.
Okay, it was ridiculous, but that's beside the point."

I would comment, but I still can't get over the fact that he drove to a place called Gilmer for the Yamboree. Just absurd. I could have said, "Gomer, TX for the Turkey Gobbler Fest" and it would have made just as much sense to me.

Of course, I wouldn't have gone to that either.