Cowboys 2011: Of Mice and ‘Boys

Tell me about the rabbits, George?

It’s a bittersweet story that Lennie requests repeatedly in Of Mice and Men. At its core, it’s a soothing, happy-making tale but also one built on a blatant disregard for logic, the obvious and present circumstances Sometimes reading this forum, I am reminded that the homers, the realists, the dreamers and the haters often want to hear about the rabbits, too, rather than just the facts. Or, the possible. Or, the contrary. We find comfort in the familiar and the like-minded. I, for one, though am tiring of the echo chamber’s redundancy and, this past Sunday, forced myself to tune it out. I remembered that I watch my beloved Dallas Cowboys to be transported, not just entertained. The brilliance of live sports and fandom is the combo’s capacity for enabling us, for three hours or more, to live exclusively in the moment.

Like many of you, I thrive and dive along with the fortunes of our team. I have since I was six years old and celebrated my 47th birthday this Monday basking in the luck of Sunday’s victory over San Francisco and the quick-gelling legend of Tony Romo‘s fractured fairy tale.

That said, it was not always apparent this game was to have a happy ending. Dan Bailey shanks a chip shot and, at the commercial break, I’m in the Zone checking to see who else is worried. A drive stalls and I’m back. And again. And again. But reading the feed did not provide solace but the opposite. Sure, others shared concerns but too many were ready to write off not only the game but the entire season after one bad half. I was reminded of the lesson of folklore’s rabbit who names his fears and in so doing, calls them closer — sort of the reverse of The Secret, a form of negative visualization… for the most pessimistic. Worse, it reminded me of my father and brother who used to half-heartedly watch games with me when I was a kid, constantly screeching what an a**hole this player was or what an “incompetent turd” another was. They said they were fans yet seemed happiest not when the team would win, but instead when they tried to squash my faith… as if by squelching another’s belief they’d be freed of the burden of their own potential disappointment/s. Back then, I was too naive to know any better and simply ignored them, cheering the Cowboys on — to myself, for myself — knowing at all times, that anything is possible — any comeback, any Hail Mary, any post-season glory. I patted my legs, silently chanting “Let’s go Dallas, come on Cowboys.” My father and brother tried to beat me down verbally during games and physically beyond, yet I never gave up hope. I may have doubted my own happiness but I never abandoned hope for my team.

So, after halftime this Sunday, I turned away from my intermittent visits to CZ, just as I had shut out the belabored harangues of my family decades earlier. I tuned out the noise and focused on the game, far from certain it would end well but determined to allow for that possibility and thus enjoy my time spent viewing. I didn’t need to drink the Red Kool-Aid and I didn’t need to don rose-colored glasses, I just needed to let go of expectation and replace it with the joy of the not yet determined. And, I began chanting again. To myself. Let’s go Cowboys. Let’s go defense. Let’s go Tony. Of course they couldn’t hear me… or perhaps I was actually summoning luck to our side.

Many are quick to reply to optimistic posts by suggesting there are no such things as moral victories. Fine. But if you accept that theory, shouldn’t you also accept that there are no such things as, well, moral defeats? I can’t believe the legion amongst us who find dark clouds engulfing silver linings and foxes in the rabbit patch.

Tony Romo (helped) beat the 49ers and, moreso, his critics — the harshest seeming to come from his own corner, our team’s alleged fans. He played hard knowing his effort was as valuable as the win, a lesson we might all want to adapt from his heavy mettle. I will never forget this game nor our quarterback’s courage. It will embolden me to keep the faith if for no other reason than because it just feels better that way. There’s no shame in trying, plenty in giving up.

At the end of John Steinbeck‘s classic novel, Lennie begs to be told about the rabbits one more time before George puts an end to it, an end to his friend. It is an act of incredible kindness. May we now put to rest our weekly proclamations of falling or clear blue skies and consider such extremes only exist in poorly told tales; the most engaging stories are those we can’t anticipate, the kinds of stories that unfold on any given Sunday if only we remain quiet enough to hear them out.

Listen closely and you can still hear Jesse Holley celebrating.