Bottlecaps

2010: Scores of the Week: 1

Yes, we are back. Now with the same old puns AND more obscure references.

The old folk song score of the week: Turkey Valley 60, Strawn 26

The thriller of the week: Colleyville Heritage 58, Duncanville 52

Not bad for a beginner? Miami 72, Novice 60

I thought God looked over drunks and idiots? Saint Jo 52, Moran 0

The Akins watch: Buda Hays 41, Austin Akins 20

The snoozer of the week: Smithson Valley 6, Odessa Permian 0

Lucas got socked: Argyle 17, Lucas Lovejoy 14

The vaguely biblical score of the week: Spearman 51, Nazareth 8 

The paganism rules score of the week: Alvin Living Stones 58, Humble Christian 13

The sad tale of urbanization score of the week: Commerce 36,
Farmersville 20

The groovy-sounding score of the week: Fort Worth Castleberry 42,
Frisco Lone Star 0

Let's face it, the whorehouse beats the smokehouse every time:
La Grange 16, Lockhart 6

The San Saba Armadillos report: Ballinger 39, San Saba 7

Despite the score, it remained a suspenseful game until the very end: Hitchcock 32, Clear Falls 0

The field report: Littlefield 50, Brownfield 0

By the time dawn hit the desert, Melissa was already in Arizona, a trunk full of cash and a smirk on her face. Those hicks never would forget how they got suckered: Melissa 40, Nevada Community 7

The other groovy-sounding score of the week: Muleshoe 27, Shallowater 13

The Shiner report: Vanderbilt Industrial 21, Shiner 0

Did Electra play a game? Or were they shopping at a convenience store? Electra 24, Sadler S&S Consolidated 18

In West Texas, it's best not to get cute: Plains 27, Wink 0

What exactly is a 'Comanche Paradigm'? Comanche Paradigm 47, Brookesmith 19

The shotgun wedding score of the week: Groom 57, Hart 12

The it's-all-in-a-name score of the week: Amarillo Caprock 53, Levelland 16

Snookered: Riesel 46, Snook 0

The whomping of the week: Aldine MacArthur 67, Houston Sam Houston 0

The six-man score of the week: Lometa 82, Woodson 37

World Cup

I guess I better put my 2 cents in on the World Cup before the whole thing is over.

I've been paying attention from the beginning. I even made my own bracket and posted it in the kitchen so I can keep up with who's moving on and who didn't.

Not that I really watched the games much. I don't understand the non-scoring part of soccer, which kinda makes up about 98% of most games. Educated soccer fans can see the offensive and defensive schemes at work and can get excited about them.

Here's what I know about soccer: 1. Flopping to the ground after minor (or no) contact to draw penalties or milk the clock is wimpy, un-American and mildly entertaining. 2. Between the mysterious stoppage time and their ability to see or not see fouls where they do or do not exist, the referees have entirely too much power to control the outcome of the game. 3. The offsides rule exists solely to reduce scoring.

So why do I even bother to keep up?

Four years ago, I was at an airport in Chicago, on my way to a wedding in North Carolina (yes, I am not an experienced air traveler). I had a short layover.

There was this pseudo-bar just about 40 yards from my gate. It had beer, which was good enough for me. And it also had this crappy little TV, maybe a 23-incher. The TV did not have cable. No, it was getting its reception through a pair of rabbit ears on top.

The screen showed ghostly images in a field of static. Every now and then it came in a little bit clearer. Every now and then you couldn't see anything at all.

I wouldn't have bothered to look, except that the United Nations of fellow drinkers I had surrounding me at the bar were absolutely riveted. There was a couple of Asian businessman. Some Hispanic fellows. A couple of Germans (or some nationality that speaks something close to German). Some other Europeans.

And they were staring at the screen. Not because it was there — it was too fuzzy for just casual viewing. No they were working hard to make out what was happening. All of them were focused on that screen in the same way that I would be watching the Dallas Cowboys in the NFC championship.

It was the World Cup of course. And with every bit of action that could be deciphered, the guys would yell and groan. With nothing better to do, I did my best to join in. And I was distracted to the point that I damn near missed my plane, gulping down half a pint of beer and sprinting to my gate on the final boarding call.

(Some of you might have noticed that airports, alcohol and Mr. Bottlecaps is a combination that usually leads to trouble.)

Anyway, I ended up with a new perspective on the World Cup and soccer.

I'm still not really a soccer fan myself, but I appreciate what it means to much of the rest of the world.

And this is where this year comes in.

Too often I've heard from people who spend their time talking big about soccer, waxing poetic on the sport's subtleties and (this is the part that gets to me), looking down on those who don't understand the real football and only watch, snort, American football.

I know there are Americans who have been real soccer fans for years, but there are far too many people who have suddenly announced themselves as soccer connoisseurs in (this is my opinion) a sadly transparent attempt at making themselves look worldly and hip.

And the tendency to paint everyone in terms of soccer expert or knuckle-dragging American is just an extension of politics' and the 24-hour news media's ongoing tendency to make sure we only see the world in black and white.

The vuvuzela makes a great example: All the discussion centers around whether it is annoying or whether it should be banned. The truth is, it is annoying as shit, but it should not be banned. It's just a part of the World Cup in South Africa.

I want to be the first to say: It is OK to have a mild interest in the World Cup. It is OK to get excited about the American team's victory over Algeria, even if you don't understand what happened. (This is how many Americans look at most Winter Olympics sports, anyway).

There is nothing wrong with spending a month every four years getting to know a global phenomenon and then returning to our own national pastimes. You can dip your toes in the the pool, if you want. You don't have to jump off the high dive.

I'll be watching some portion of the World Cup final on Sunday. And I'll think it's pretty cool. But when it's over, I won't be thinking "we get to do it again in four years."

I'll be thinking "it's only 55 days until football season."

Bottlecaps vs. Colt

First things first: 

So, driving up I-35 to get to work on Monday, I see the "Cowboys on Tour" semi truck and smaller support truck.

 

And I think to myself: "I better get away from this thing. It's liable to crash and burn at any moment."

I don't have anything else to say about that game. I asked for a playoff win, and I got one. I'm happy.

Well, mostly happy. It's not that I mind my Cowboys losing to the Vikings. But I sure hate to see them get their ass kicked.

Of course, there's plenty of football fans that are only too happy to see that. And that is what we in the business call a "segue" to the next point.

My high school friend Jason has asked me to explain my "unnatural disdain" for Colt McCoy.

And my first instinct is to say "Good lord, man, have you seen that kid's smug mug? How could I not dislike him?"

But that's just complicating the issue.

Part of it is that I'm an Aggie in Austin, working for the local paper, where I have to hear about His Coltness over and over and over again. How bad is it? I asked my boss if I could rework my contract here at the paper so I get paid $1 every time we run Colt's face bigger than a 50-cent piece. I would have been a rich man.

Part of it is the school rivalry thing — though it's not an open-or-closed issue for me. I'm not blind to the faults of my own team's personnel: I never cared for A&M's Greg "Spill" Hill. Reggie McNeal started out as a star and then wore out his welcome. And I was never partial to the Dennis Franchione Kool-Aid.

And I don't necessarily dislike all Longhorns: I've always disliked Cedric Benson, but I actually had fond feelings for Roy Williams until he joined my own NFL team. I was annoyed by the "Vince Young is Jesus" thing in Austin, but never really disliked Vince.

And part of it, yes, is the super-religious thang, which does come off as annoying, if not insincere. I know, I'm a cynical jerk.

But … and this is the important point … none of this is truly personal.

It is more than possible ol' Colt is truly as pious as an apostle and as humble as a hundred sheep herders. I wouldn't know. I don't know the guy. 

Yet I do believe that professional and big-time college sports is an entertainment industry. It's all one big action movie. The best part, though, is that I get to pick my own heroes and villains.

And that's the trade-off: The athletes get paid handsomely, and I get to co-opt them into my own little world. (Think Colt hasn't been compensated? He's wealthy in glory. He's been fed like a king. He's gotten a free education, free health care and has an all-but-guaranteed NFL contract on the way.) I do judge the athletes, but almost always only through the prism of entertainment.

(Occasionally an athlete's behavior breaks through that wall and allows us to truly judge them on a personal level, based on their actions: I'm looking at you, Tiger Woods.)

But for the most part, when I said 5 years ago that I was a fan of Bret Favre, it was based on him as a football player, not as a person (I'm a little annoyed at myself, now that's he's turned out to be a jerk). When I said 5 years ago that I was a fan of Michael Vick, it was obviously not based on any personal knowledge of the guy (I'm not just embarrassed, but angry to have been fooled by Vick).

Who do I root for today? Felix Jones, Aaron Rodgers, that Pittsburgh Steelers fellow with the big hair. Whom do I root against? DeSean Jackson, Mike Leach, Tom Brady, the rest of the Patriots,  the aforementioned Benson, to name a few. 

Oh yeah, and Colt McCoy, too. Don't feel bad for him. He's not poorer for my lack of worship. For every guy like me, it seems there's 20 that would jump in front of a bullet for him. 

He'll take his gazillion wins and awards to the NFL. Earn at least a shitload more money than I'll ever see — even if he doesn't make it. And then he'll get an easy job with a Longhorn booster.

Me? I'll be here. An Aggie in Austin. Bracing for the Garrett Gilbert era.

Go Cowboys

Will try to write a real blog tonight (try), but couldn't let the morning pass without being happy that the Cowboys are in the playoffs and host a game on Saturday night.

Now, just one win. That's all I'm asking for. I'll take more, mind you. But I'm just asking for one.

Pirate puns II

On Monday evening, I asked the question "How many days until someone runs the headline 'Leach walks the plank'?"

Looks like two days …

… I mean, if you account for paraphrasing and the fact that this was a newspaper blog, not a sports front or Page One story. 

Still, I imagine by tomorrow, we'll have a few more.

One odd thing. When I searched Google News for "Leach walks the plank," it gave me this set of images:

Anybody want to guess what Count Von Count is doing there?   

Pirate puns approach (and more football)

You read it here first: How many days until somebody runs the headline "Leach walks the plank"?

(In reference to this story, of course.)

You know, given that it was Lubbock, Leach could've at least thrown in a goat or something.

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I posted that part up there on Monday evening. I guess we can drive on and make this a short football blog.

Point A: Yes, I know that my Texas Tech readers and possibly even the Longhorn readers, will eagerly remind me that while I was making goat jokes about Lubbock, the Aggies were getting their ass kicked in the Independence Bowl. 

Got it. This is why I don't care about college football bowl games: The Aggies lose them with remarkable consistency. (Also, the bowl games always seem to be on while I'm at work.) And if the Aggies win? It's because they are in the Galleryfurniture.com bowl. That 1991 Holiday Bowl was a long, long time ago. For me, college football is about the regular season. 

It's about, say, beating Texas Tech in Lubbock and getting Mike Leach all riled up.

Point B: Just before the Cowboys started their December run, I said they would need to win 2 games in December to make the playoffs, 3 games to win the division. I'm looking pretty smart right about now. Sunday night's game had its annoying moments, but winning 17-0 … I'll take that any day.

Do I think the Cowboys will win the Super Bowl? No. But we have a shot at winning a playoff game, and that's all I'm asking for.

Point C: I think I'm done with fantasy football. At least until the boy gets old enough to get excited about it. It's not that my team has been bad for the past several years. It's that it's just not fun. I don't get geeked up for the draft. I don't eagerly check the scores. The thrill is gone. And it's hard to spend nearly $100 on something that doesn't do it for me.

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Only 187 days until Willie Nelson's Fourth of July Picnic.

Of Cowboys and sports bars and winter nights

I don't have the NFL Network, thanks to Time Warner Cable and their philosophy to deprive me of football at key points during the year. 

But this story is not about Time Warner and their hateful ways.

So anyway, I did not plan on watching the Cowboys play the Saints. I could not afford to hire a babysitter so Shannon and I could go to a bar and spend vast amounts of money on food and beer. Especially not when I was certain the Cowboys would lose.

Shannon and I were going to stay home and watch Terminator 4 via pay-per-view.

But by the time we got the boy to sleep at 8 p.m., my sister had called once, saying the Cowboys were up 7-0. And Shannon wasn't interested in watching the movie. She even suggested that I go on to a sports bar by myself. She was being a good wife, but I wasn't going to give up on family time.

So we tried surfing channels for a bit, but kept drifting back to ESPN, so I could check the score on the crawl. By the time the Cowboys were up 14-0, Shannon suggested bringing in the radio from the garage and tuning in the game.

We listened, anxiously, on an in-and-out signal, watching the Spurs play on mute, as the Cowboys kept it up through the second quarter.

I kept waiting for the Saints to roar to life. But when the Cowboys got the interception and kicked the field goal to go up 17-3 before halftime, I looked at Shannon.

"Go," she said. (Does she rock or what?)

So I went. I'd had a few beers and didn't want to travel far. So I grabbed my coat and headed to Southpark Meadows. I imagined that the new Third Base sports bar would, being the larger and truer sports bar, take some of the pressure off our Little Woodrow's. 

No, there was not a parking place within 300 yards of Little Woodrow's. Undaunted, I drove into the Valley of Death, I mean the Southpark maze of parking lots, and actually parked 20 yards outside the front door to Third Base.

I walked up to door and was greeted by the doorman, telling me that they were full inside. I would have to go to the back and watch outdoors.

In back, there were dozens of large TVs on stilts surrounding a sizable lawn area with a crowd of hundreds of people, breath fogging in the frosty air, watching Tony Romo start the Cowboys on their opening drive of the third quarter.

It was about 50 degrees out there, I reckon. Maybe high 40s. I don't know. I buttoned up my coat, stuck my hands in my pockets and settled in for the second half. 

And it was FANTASTIC. Every time the Cowboys would have a good play, a roar would go up from the crowd. And there was a small smattering of Saints fans, so if there was a, say, flag against Dallas, our crowd would roar "BOOOOOO!!" and it would be followed by a tiny "Wahoo!"

The guys out there — and it was mostly guys to be sure — were about 75% Hispanic, I'm guessing, so it was a cultural experience to boot. Most were dressed for the weather, but some were just in Cowboys jerseys and jeans, suffering for their team.

I watched, standing (I stood the whole time, but that's little trouble for an Aggie. In fact, even at home, I tend to pace when I'm nervous about the game) about 10 yards from one of the big TVs until the Cowboys scored their first TD of the third quarter, then I walked into the bar to buy a beer.

No sooner had I entered the bar, came a bartender toward the door with a case of Bud Light. "Anyone who goes outside gets a free beer!" he kept yelling. I guess their occupancy was over fire code.

Given that it was my plan to buy a beer and go back outside, this seemed like a better deal. "I'll take one," I said. Later, this guy would bring a couple of cases of beer outside and sell beers for $2 a bottle. So, yes, I went out, I had three beers, saw the second half of the Cowboys game, and paid $4 for the whole thing.

Is that cool or what?

I can't overemphasize the coolness of the sense of community that developed out there, especially as the night turned colder as the Saints started their comeback in the fourth. As some of the crowd trickled out (there were quite a few out there who looked as if they had been partying for quite some time), I was able to upgrade to a TV about 5 yards away.

By the time Romo drove the Cowboys down for the game-winning field goal, I was high-fiving strangers and having a huge time. And when the NFL Network showed ex-kicker Folk missing kick after kick in the pregame, an eerie silence fell over all of us. And when ex-kicker Folk MISSED the game-winning field goal, we were united in our cursing.

A few Saints fans, more timid now as the Dallas fans had grown serious: "Wahoo!"

When DeMarcus Ware did his thing and the seconds ticked off, the folks inside ordered more beer to celebrate and us outside folks, we triumphantly paraded to the parking lot, taking our cold asses home.

It was great.

Horny Toads robbed!

If Nebraska doesn't kick the ball off out of bounds … hell, even if they do, but then don't have that horse-collar tackle penalty … the Longhorns lose.

Their "game-winning drive" was one 19-yard pass. After that, they lost three yards before kicking the field goal. And Mack was bragging about "coming from behind."

Actually, Mack, it's called "luck." And you got it at the right time.

I know, I know, I've always preached it: A win is a win. And the Longhorns won. But I was looking forward to TCU vs. Alabama.

At least — and I'm glad for this — they did put that one second back on the clock at the end. I don't know if I could have tolerated all the whining that would have gone on around here if they hadn't. That ball sailed out of bounds and that last second ticked off the clock and suddenly I could see the future: "I have a vision of a flood of tears," I said.

Hell, visitors to Austin would have thought the city had been renamed "One Second" for all they would have been able to make out through the crying and blubbering.

(And no, this blog is not a ploy to boost my comments, but I'll take 'em.)

We OWN the Missouri School of Mines

(Sorry, no Foto Friday this week.)

I love a good college football game. An excellent A&M game beats an excellent Dallas Cowboys game for getting my blood all roiled up.

But I only watch college football games. I don't watch pregame shows. And I don't often watch the highlights. Why? Without a playoff system, college football talk is nothing but bloated conjecture from the get-go. And I can't stand conjecture … at least not hours on end. To watch the highlights, ESPN forces us to look at creepy-ass gnome Lou Holtz, which is just wrong.

(Remember how he said Notre Dame would be in the national championship this year?)

The college football season, though, is winding down. For A&M, it's likely going to come down to beating Baylor so we can go to a 6-6 bowl, or not. The odd thing is, I don't really care. Bowl games have never really riveted my attention.

And I wonder why? Is it because I usually have to work when the best ones are on?

Well, the other day, I was surfing the A&M Athletics official web site, and I think I found the answer to my question. It's lack of personal experience.

Do you know that in the 2 decades since I showed up at Texas A&M, the Aggies have only won 3 bowl games? It's true, since 1989's Sun Bowl, A&M has played 14 of its 30 bowl games and only won 3.

Now the 65-15 demolition of BYU in the 1990 Holiday Bowl was one of the best moments of my life. But the 28-7 win over TCU in the Galleryfurniture.com bowl in 2001 (our last bowl win) really means little to me.

We beat Tech this year. And do you know that since I left A&M, we have beaten UT more often than we have beaten Tech? I mean, before this year. We'd have to beat Texas, too this year to keep that from evening out. And, as far as I'm concerned, the Texas game is the only one left.

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That link to the A&M Athletics official web site, is to A&M's all-time win-loss record against the 123 different schools we've faced. There's some interesting stuff in there.

A&M is all-time undefeated against: Arkansas A&M (1-0), Austin College (12-0), Camp Mabry (1-0), Camp Travis (1-0), Centre (whoop!), Daniel Baker (3-0), Ellington Field (1-0), Henry College (1-0), Houston YMCA (1-0), Missouri School of Mines (2-0), New York University (1-0), Philips of Enid (1-0), Ream Field (1-0), St. Edwards (1-0), San Francisco (presumably not the 49ers),and, thankfully, the Deaf & Dumb Institute (1-0).

Admittedly, we did play Galveston Ball High to a 0-0 tie in 1896. We also tied the Kansas City Medics 6-6 in 1900. But we have tied Baylor on nine separate occasions.

We're 0-4 against Florida State and Ohio State. But 18-0 against Southwestern.

(This blog was a lot more clever when I was thinking about it, rather than writing it …)

2009 Scores of the week: Season's over

Here's the end of the regular season.

Anybody going to Scarborough-Furr? Houston Furr 47, Houston Scarborough 21

The somewhat poetic score of the week: Dallas Skyline 56, Dallas Sunset 0

The martial law score of the week: San Antonio Texas Military 56, Giddings State School 0

Maybe the called a lot of audibles? Waco Reicher 61, Texas School for the Deaf 0

Would it be a stretch to call it the Lewis-Carroll game? Southlake Carroll 52, Lewisville 0

Next thing you know, there's flat rocks involved: Hereford 14, Big Spring 7

The score with no name: Clint 35, Pecos 13

Maybe the Ivy League elite should take up badminton: Farmersville 43, Princeton 0

The score of the week most likely to be mispronounced by a Yankee: Mexia 60, Groesbeck 28

Bushland-whacked: Bushland 62, Amarillo Highland Park 0

The hyphenated-score of the week: Como-Pickton 19, Alba-Golden 14

Ah, Texas: Floydada 25, Dimmitt 0

The thriller of the week: McGregor 50, Troy 48, 3OT

Just before that frying pan came down one final time, Big Sandy peered through a swollen eye at wondered what in the hell had gotten into the little lady. Deep inside, he knew it was his fault. He'd gotten that cable TV, hoping it would keep Maud quiet, at least, if she couldn't manage to make a halfway-decent pot of beans. He never reckoned she'd get all uppity on him: Maud 20, Big Sandy 3

The Shiner watch: Shiner 43, Burton 6

The six-man score of the week: Iredell 80, Oglesby 36

The bachelor party score of the week: Miami 69, Groom 19

The Akins watch: Austin Westlake 55, Austin Akins 7

The whomping of the week: Motley County 73, Lazbuddie 0

The honorary whomping of the week! Armadillos win! San Saba 49, Coleman 0