Whoa! There, Tex

A weather-beaten,  burnt-orange flag whips on a pole protruding from Tex’s porch. A faded white silhouette of a longhorn dips and curls in the sigh of the breeze. Okie naps behind his thick glasses with a white ball cap with a black and orange “O-S-U” embroidered on the front pulled low.

Tex sets his lemonade on the tablestand and slaps Okie’s chest with a newspaper. Okie jumps and snorts and catches his glasses as they slip off his nose.

“Okie,” Tex says, “did you see the college football scores this weekend? Ridiculous. TCU, 45-0, Utah, 68-10. Shoot, even the Detroit Lions won 44-6. Okie, that’s just unsportsmanlike. Running up the score like that, no class I say.”
Okie rubs his eyes with a knuckly hand and readjusts his hat.

“Whoa, there Tex,” Okie says. “When was the last time you were winning and then decided to just stop and roll over? You think that they’re just going to stop playing just because they’re winning? Listen, if you’re beating in the other team and they can’t stop you, then that’s their problem.”

Tex sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “Yeah, but there has to be a point when you stop the Hail-Mary’s and just run the ball. There has to be a point where a layup is just as good as a three-pointer. You’ve got to exercise some class, Okie.”

Okie shakes his head. “You can’t put a number on it Tex. If you’re winning by 20, if you’re winning by 30, you just don’t know. When those boys step onto the field, they play to win, bottom line.”

Tex mulls it over and watches the flag sway. “How’s your guy Bill Belichick doing, Okie? He’s doing good?”

Okie pushes back in his rocker. “Reckon so.”

Tex sips his lemonade. “Yup.”

BROWN is the asst sports editor.

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