Happy Birthday TEXAS!

Poor Little Dillo; Couldn’t Handle His LoneStar

Brother Dave on Texas:

Today is Texas Independence Day!

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Texas

THE ORIGINAL DIXIE CHICKS

Sorry the photos are fukked up.

I don’t know why WordPress tries to get ‘Cute.’

Actually, I DO KNOW:

WordPress is Fucking Useless!

An Original Press Photo (photographer unknown)

LAURA LYNCH – EMILY ERWIN – MARTIE ERWIN – ROBIN LYNN MACY

(Above and below) MARTIE ERWIN – ROBIN MACY – LAURA LYNCH – EMILY ERWIN

Live at Poor David's Pub 1995, founding members in center

Original Dixie Chicks–Dallas

1989–1995: Original bluegrass group

The Dixie Chicks were founded by Laura Lynch on upright bass, guitarist Robin Lynn Macy, and the multi-instrumentalist sisters Martie and Emily Erwin in 1989. The Erwin sisters later married and each changed their names twice to Martie Seidel, then Maguire and Emily Robison, then Strayer. The four took their name from the song and album Dixie Chicken by Lowell George of Little Feat,[5] originally playing predominantly bluegrass and a mix of country standards. All four women played and sang, though Maguire and Strayer provided most of the instrumental accompaniment for the band while Lynch and Macy shared lead vocals. Maguire primarily played fiddlemandolin, and viola, while Strayer’s specialties included five-stringed banjo and dobro.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

****

My Erstwhile Step-Sister, Madelyn told about this group, after seeing them perform in Dallas.

Circa, 1990

Thus began my love affair.

With The Dixie Chicks; Not with Madelyn

HOMESICK TEXAN!

FOOTBALL! The Stuff That Makes Dreams

“Welcome to The Real America.”

I was Born in Texas.

I grew up in Texas.

This is my fault.

However…

This is (Above) THE BEST Television Show About Growing Up Texan That Ever Was,

Or Ever Will Be.

Case Rested.

Believe it not, I lived this life.

I grew up, immersed in this culture.

Ass-Deep.

And I loved every second/minute of it!

Will never lose those memories.

TEXAS!

Texas!

Texas FOREVER!

Now!

And Forever!

Y’all!

Vid Compilation/Share Credit: Chris Spags. Orig Vid: K. Ryan Jones

Clear Eyes

Full Hearts

TEXAS!

Forever!

*****

Late Entry:

I wanna be Tim Riggins.

Shit! I WAS Tim Riggins.

Still Am Tim Riggins.

Conceited conceit?

Yep.

But Truth.

“I’m happy, and I can honestly say that.”

–TR/LM

(Vid compilation Credit: Nic Ignite)

****

It wasn’t my fault.

I know this now.

(I think)

William Henry

Football Heroes come in all shapes and sizes.

(And IQ’s)

TEXAS FOREVER!

PLEASE WATCH THE VIDEO

Of COURSE I read the book.

Thrice.

 

 

 

 

Back in 1974 I found myself at Warrior Stadium, Watching the HG Warriors kick the ever’ loving shit outta those Fannindale (dale?, del?)  Ladonia! I was born in that town, ’57! Guess I can call their football team what-ever-the-fuck I want…  Falcons.

I should have been on the field, but I had opted out my senior year, because I was tired of the whole “Friday Night Lights” shit.

And I was too busy.

Seated on opposite sides of me were Joe Whitley (Who was a math teacher and a rancher and father of my girlfriend, and also my employer) and William Henry—Local Big Boy and World – Famous Drunk.

Local lore and legend has it that William Henry once killed an entire gallon of Mogen-David wine without taking a single breath. And was able to walk away under his own power.

We were seated near the top of the stadium, nearly to the “Press Box.”

William Henry looked behind and spied something that interested him.

Behind the stands was the ‘Practice Field’ of the Famed Honey Grove Warriors.

There was a ‘Blaster Machine’ parked there.

Joe and I watched William Henry navigate down the stands and make his way toward same.

We watched with great curiosity as William Henry studied this machine.

He backed up ‘bout fifty foot and charged head-long into it.

Boom!

It slid back ‘bout ten feet.

He shook his head.

Went back another fifty foot.

Charged again.

Hit it full force.

Boom!

Slid back another ten foot.

William Henry in earnest now hit it with all his might (and his head)

Boom!

Still did not get through.

(Blaster Machines are a one – way street)

Joe and I watched him navigate his way back up to our seat.

He sat down, and with blood running into his eyes, said,

“Ya know, you gotta be one tough sumbitch to play football!”

True Story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_3yfyhmNc8

 

FOOTBALL! The Stuff That Makes Dreams

“Welcome to The Real America.”

I was Born in Texas.

I grew up in Texas.

This is my fault.

However…

This is (Above) THE BEST Television Show About Growing Up Texan That Ever Was,

Or Ever Will Be.

Case Rested.

Believe it not, I lived this life.

I grew up, immersed in this culture.

Ass-Deep.

And I loved every second/minute of it!

Will never lose those memories.

TEXAS!

Texas!

Texas FOREVER!

Now!

And Forever!

Y’all!

Vid Compilation/Share Credit: Chris Spags. Orig Vid: K. Ryan Jones

Clear Eyes

Full Hearts

TEXAS!

Forever!

*****

Late Entry:

I wanna be Tim Riggins.

Shit! I WAS Tim Riggins.

Still Am Tim Riggins.

Conceited conceit?

Yep.

But Truth.

“I’m happy, and I can honestly say that.”

–TR/LM

(Vid compilation Credit: Nic Ignite)

Birth of a Writer, Via a Football Coach—Ludicrous—I Know, But A True Story.

Young writer searching inspiration, with an old typewriter.

No one cares about your novel!!!

Sitting in a classroom.

Football Coach at the helm.

Year: 1974

Assignment: Write an essay.

I was, back then, a better middle linebacker than I was a ‘writer’

But, what the hell!

I gave it a go.

Tried to anyway.

Sat at my desk, pen in hand, staring at a blank page.

For two minutes.

Then something magical happened:

Very, very Young Muse

Touched me

(Yep, Same One Who is Still With Me, all these years later)

She was, of course, younger, and Prettier, but then again, so was I.

Some ‘Magic’ Happened.

I started writing.

Wrote a long story about a young soldier serving in ‘The Nam.’

He was ‘short’, — Meaning he had just one more week ‘till he got to ride that ‘Freedom-Bird’ back to ‘The World.’ The land of the Big PX and the ‘All-Night Restaurant.’

He was Happy.

But, one last order of business:

One more routine patrol.

No worries—He had been there, done that, too many times to even think on.

He geared up with his platoon.

Day-Dreams flooded his mind.

Dreaming of his young, beautiful, wonderful wife

Dreaming of his farm in Texas

Dreaming of fishing for trash fish in the ponds on his land

Dreaming of how his wife would laugh at him for being such a lousy fisherman

Dreaming of just going to a Texas Bar and ordering a ‘Lone Star’ beer

Dreaming more and more of kissing his wife

****

“Move out!”

(Shattered his dreamy state)

The Platoon was ‘on-the-move’ now.

Pretty much routine, far as that goes.

Began routine enough

Walking down a path, M-16 at the ready.

Looking left, looking right.

Quiet.

Then

Fire!

Firefight!

Ambush!

Pandemonium!

He caught one in the chest.

And got busy with his dying.

Lying on the floor of the jungle, he managed to pull the photo of his childhood sweetheart, his wife, his LOVE out from beneath his flak jacket.

He regarded it, gazed at it, put it to his lips and kissed it.

Then he died.

*****

I handed in my paper when prompted.

Coach read all the submissions as we all departed for lunch.

Came back to Home-Room after lunch.

Coach said,

“Y’all did real good with your writing assignment. I am gonna read one of them.”

Coach read my story to the class.

Then he said, “I never knew Lance could write. He is just average as a linebacker, but as a writer, he is good.”

Did I give a shit for his praise?

Nope.

Remember, I was an asshole back then.

Still Am.

That was a ‘Red-Letter-Day’ in my ‘Writing Career.’

However, I had a football career to attend to:

“Go! Honey Grove Warriors!

Beat Cooper!

I love My Texas!

The HG Warriors Stole this as our ‘Fight Song,’ as most every other School-Boy Texan HS Football Team did back in The Day. We were all so very Proud of Our Texas Longhorns!

They kicked some serious ass back in those bye-gone days

Knowing full well that the Dixie Chicks can still bring out ire and even bona-fide rage in some folks, I drop this in anyway.

I did not, never did, will never, agree with Natalie’s politics.

HOWEVER, 

I stood by her then and I stand by her now.

I have spilled a lot of virtual ink on these Gals

She is, in my not humble opinion, a prime example of the Quintessential Texan Woman:

Outspoken

Brave

Fearless

Loud & Proud

(And Gorgeous too! LOL)

“Nat, You GO Girl! I have your back!”  

(Love You Emily!–Marry Me?)

PLEASE.

I’d Stop drinking for You–But Only For You.

There is too much Nat in this Vid and not nearly enough Emily!

Just Sing, But Never Shut Up! This is Still a Free Country

P.S., I won’t lie (I do not write Fiction)

I never got shot at while in The Nav, well, maybe a little, by Dem Iranians,

While ‘Independent Steaming in the Northern ‘Moist’ Part of the IO.

But I did get shot up,years later, as a Civilian,

Just outside of Fallujah.

Fallujah.

That was my Baptism of Fire.

I saw my entire life replayed in my head that day.

In an instant

Cheers!

Hey! Fuck You WordPress!

You are lame!

There’s My Trouble.

With You

William Henry

Back in 1974 I found myself at Warrior Stadium, Watching the HG Warriors kick the ever’ loving shit outta those Fannindale (dale?, del?)  Ladonia! I was born in that town, ’57! Guess I can call their football team what-ever-the-fuck I want…  Falcons.

I should have been on the field, but I had opted out my senior year, because I was tired of the whole “Friday Night Lights” shit.

And I was too busy.

Seated on opposite sides of me were Joe Whitley (Who was a math teacher and a rancher and father of my girlfriend, and also my employer) and William Henry—Local Big Boy and World – Famous Drunk.

We were seated near the top of the stadium, nearly to the “Press Box.”

William Henry looked behind and spied something that interested him.

Behind the stands was the ‘Practice Field’ of the Famed Honey Grove Warriors.

There was a ‘Blaster Machine’ parked there.

Joe and I watched William Henry navigate down the stands and make his way toward same.

We watched with great curiosity as William Henry studied this machine.

He backed up ‘bout fifty foot and charged head-long into it.

Boom!

It slid back ‘bout ten feet.

He shook his head.

Went back another fifty foot.

Charged again.

Hit it full force.

Boom!

Slid back another ten foot.

William Henry in earnest now hit it with all his might (and his head)

Boom!

Still did not get through.

(Blaster Machines are a one – way street)

Joe and I watched him navigate his way back up to our seat.

He sat down, and with blood running into his eyes, said,

“Ya know, you gotta be one tough sumbitch to play football!”

True Story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_3yfyhmNc8