Great piece on Don Meredith that gets into a little more detail about his time with the Cowboys and what he's doing now:
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/112609dnspomeredith.39
(Thanks to Ron Brand over at SnS for the link)
bdd5f.html
Interesting was why he threw in the towel so suddenly--like everyone else, I had assumed it was because he grew tired of playing under Landry's stiff regime. No, apparently, it was a family deal and it reminds that though these fellows made good money in their day, it wasn't something that was going to set them up for life. Nice to hear, also, his former teammates offering their support to Meredith and confirming that he was the toughest Cowboy of them all. Salud, Dandy Don.
Spent Thanksgiving in South Texas. My father in law died last Thanksgiving and one of the daughters thought it would be a fine idea to celebrate Thanksgiving at the ranch where he hunted for so many years. All fine and good except that the daughters were last at the ranch as children (they're in their forties and fifties now) and had no recollection of how remote and otherwise how ill equipped it is to accommodate thirty or so people for something like this. Best thing I could do was to simply go with the idiocy and not worry about who gets stuck trying to get into the ranch, how one transports hot turkey and dressing, etc. there, or how many arguments and outright screaming matches occur. To do this, I dropped off the females Wednesday evening at the Falfurrias Holiday Inn Express (actually quite nice) and headed out to the ranch to stay in the bunkhouse and to meet a couple of brothers in law and engage in outdoor urination and eating beef off the fire. Splendid. Woke up the next day, sat in a blind for a while, and then waited for the onslaught of the females and a few girly men who didn't want to rough it. All in all, it actually went well. My own girls got to see where dad used to run off to sometimes when they were kids. They got to ride around in the back of a truck (I got to drive around sipping a beer--can't recall the last time I had), everyone ate a lot of food, and no one was bitten by a snake or poisonous insect, or had a mesquite thorn go into their eye. A success.
Drove back at around 3pm on Thursday. Light traffic and everyone was getting along. Then, it hit. At somewhere around San Marcos, I heard and felt an unusual rumble. Not something typical. I fumbled for a Tums and dismissed it. Then, at before Buda, a distinct descent of something in my intestine downward occurred. Something like maybe a chunk of molten lava. In short, I needed to shit. But, we'd made it three hours without a stop and by God, dad wasn't going to stop now--I could make it...I thought. About thirty or so miles. Grit my teeth and get this thing done... I thought. There have been times in my life that I had an imminent discharge working but never in the history of gnashing molars was there one like this. I attempted every ruse known to man--deep breathing (for the record, I think that actually makes it worse), baseball, engaging wife in conversation, looking at things off the road, thinking about why the fuck seventy two virgins in heaven?, "Godfather" dialogue, trying to think of everyone I knew, but, not thinking about sex or other bodily functions or food or anything else that would only more intensely remind me that there was something large and sizzling and boiling and greasy and angry and it wanted out, OUT and I was fighting a pathetic rear guard action (get it?) to keep it in. Horrible beyond belief. I blew into town, exceeding the speed limit on any road I navigated by at least twenty miles per hour--at least. Finally, FINALLY pulled up to the curb, jumped out (leaving the family wondering just what in the hell was wrong with old dad) and did this sort of wobble trot to the toilet in the NICK of time let loose with an explosion that I'm pretty sure cracked the porcelain. Waves and waves of chocolate delight as I sat wondering is this what it feels like after you climb Everest? Don't know. Anyway, I pray, PRAY that this never repeats itself. But, just in case, I placed an old pair of khakis in the trunk.
Be prepared.
http://www.dallasnews.com/sharedcontent/dws/dn/latestnews/stories/112609dnspomeredith.39
(Thanks to Ron Brand over at SnS for the link)
bdd5f.html
Interesting was why he threw in the towel so suddenly--like everyone else, I had assumed it was because he grew tired of playing under Landry's stiff regime. No, apparently, it was a family deal and it reminds that though these fellows made good money in their day, it wasn't something that was going to set them up for life. Nice to hear, also, his former teammates offering their support to Meredith and confirming that he was the toughest Cowboy of them all. Salud, Dandy Don.
Spent Thanksgiving in South Texas. My father in law died last Thanksgiving and one of the daughters thought it would be a fine idea to celebrate Thanksgiving at the ranch where he hunted for so many years. All fine and good except that the daughters were last at the ranch as children (they're in their forties and fifties now) and had no recollection of how remote and otherwise how ill equipped it is to accommodate thirty or so people for something like this. Best thing I could do was to simply go with the idiocy and not worry about who gets stuck trying to get into the ranch, how one transports hot turkey and dressing, etc. there, or how many arguments and outright screaming matches occur. To do this, I dropped off the females Wednesday evening at the Falfurrias Holiday Inn Express (actually quite nice) and headed out to the ranch to stay in the bunkhouse and to meet a couple of brothers in law and engage in outdoor urination and eating beef off the fire. Splendid. Woke up the next day, sat in a blind for a while, and then waited for the onslaught of the females and a few girly men who didn't want to rough it. All in all, it actually went well. My own girls got to see where dad used to run off to sometimes when they were kids. They got to ride around in the back of a truck (I got to drive around sipping a beer--can't recall the last time I had), everyone ate a lot of food, and no one was bitten by a snake or poisonous insect, or had a mesquite thorn go into their eye. A success.
Drove back at around 3pm on Thursday. Light traffic and everyone was getting along. Then, it hit. At somewhere around San Marcos, I heard and felt an unusual rumble. Not something typical. I fumbled for a Tums and dismissed it. Then, at before Buda, a distinct descent of something in my intestine downward occurred. Something like maybe a chunk of molten lava. In short, I needed to shit. But, we'd made it three hours without a stop and by God, dad wasn't going to stop now--I could make it...I thought. About thirty or so miles. Grit my teeth and get this thing done... I thought. There have been times in my life that I had an imminent discharge working but never in the history of gnashing molars was there one like this. I attempted every ruse known to man--deep breathing (for the record, I think that actually makes it worse), baseball, engaging wife in conversation, looking at things off the road, thinking about why the fuck seventy two virgins in heaven?, "Godfather" dialogue, trying to think of everyone I knew, but, not thinking about sex or other bodily functions or food or anything else that would only more intensely remind me that there was something large and sizzling and boiling and greasy and angry and it wanted out, OUT and I was fighting a pathetic rear guard action (get it?) to keep it in. Horrible beyond belief. I blew into town, exceeding the speed limit on any road I navigated by at least twenty miles per hour--at least. Finally, FINALLY pulled up to the curb, jumped out (leaving the family wondering just what in the hell was wrong with old dad) and did this sort of wobble trot to the toilet in the NICK of time let loose with an explosion that I'm pretty sure cracked the porcelain. Waves and waves of chocolate delight as I sat wondering is this what it feels like after you climb Everest? Don't know. Anyway, I pray, PRAY that this never repeats itself. But, just in case, I placed an old pair of khakis in the trunk.
Be prepared.
1 comment:
Thank you for sharing that. A special lifting of the glass to Father-In-Law Bulba, as well. A special man, I'm sure, and certainly a special place, his hunting camp.
Additionally, I'd like to thank you for sharing the details of your holiday, including the return trip. As you are keenly aware, I'm a tad more focused on Relic of the Bum issues than your average Bear, possibly even more so than Peter G and Dr. "I'm sorry; I'll fix it."
As I grow older and am forced to deal with trust in relation to the matter of fecal air departure, I find myself more focused on the growing frequency of unexpected delivery that can take place. Your A.D.D. moment to follow--Of course, this harkens back to parts per million discussions on the balcony of University Place circa 1980, the DTG/DVZ days.
Anyway, after reading the tense and sweat inducing recollection of your last half-hour or so of driving, one might offer that you had the right stuff to have been in the Mercury space program all those years ago (or at least in the movie version with Quaid and Shepherd and Glenn and Harris and Ward). Just be thankful you were able to hang on those last few feet and didn't have to shout, "SHE JUST BLEW!" to your family as they encountered the horror....the horror....the horror.
God blesses everyone.
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