This was taken from one of the other boards..
Its Texas's B-Day today..
Being Texan by Bum Phillips
Dear Friends,
Last year, I wrote a small
piece about what it means to me to be a
Texan. My friends know it means about damned near
everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to
reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So
I set out to think about rewriting something. I
considered writing about all the great things
I love about Texas. There are way too many
things to list. I can't even begin to do it
justice. Lemme let you in on my short list.
It starts with The Window at
Big Bend, which in and of itself is proof
of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my
Granddad taught me more about life than fishin,
and enough about fishin to last a lifetime. I
can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and
Cisco, and Abilene and Poteet and every place in
between. Every little part of Texas
feels special. Every person who ever flew over the
Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor
or wherever they call "home" as the best
little part of the best state.
So I got to thinkin about it, and here's what I
really want to say. Last year, I talked about
all the great places and great heroes who
make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and
Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and
my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I
talked about everybody that came to mind. It took
me sitting here tonight reading this stack of
emails and thinkin'about where I've been
and what I've done since the last time I wrote on
this occasion to remind me what it is about
Texas that is really great.
You see, this last month or so
I finally went to Europe for the first
time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want
to. But you know all my damned friends are
always talking about "the time they went to
Europe." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a
trip to be sure. All they did when they saw me
was say the same thing, before they'd ever
met me. "Hey cowboy, we love Texas." I guess the
hat tipped em off. But let me tell you what,
they all came up with a smile on their
faces. You know why? They knew for damned sure that
I was gonna be nice to em. They knew it cause
they knew I was from Texas. They knew
something that hadn't even hit me. They knew
Texans, even though they'd never met one.
That's when it occurred to me.
Do you know what is great about Texas?
Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were
trekking across country to see 15 baseball
games we got sick and had to come home
after 8? Do you know why every time I cross the
border I say,"Lord, please don't let me die in _____"?
Do you know why children in
Japan can look at a picture of the great
State and know exactly what it is about the same
time they can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid? I
can tell you that right quick. You. The
same spirit that made 186 men cross that line in
the sand in San Antonio damned near 165
years ago is still in you today. Why else
would my friend send me William Barrett Travis'
plea for help in an email just a week ago, or
why would Charles Stenciled ask me to
reprint a Texas Independence column from a year
ago?
What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't
know if I can marry a man who doesn't love Texas
like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000
people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate
a holiday for what used to be a nation that is now
a state? Because the spirit that made
that nation is the spirit that burned in every
person who founded this great place we call Texas,
and they passed it on through blood or
sweat to every one of us.
You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is is
alive in all of us, even if we can't stand next to
a cannon to prove it, and it's our
responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every
person who ever put a "Native Texan" or an "I
wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast a
I could" sticker on his car understands. Anyone who
ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a
Lone Star flag on their porch knows what
I mean.
My Dad's buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that
some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well,
that's what it is to be Texan. To be
forged of a hotter fire.
To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part
of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma
was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part
of what you got was what we gave you. To look at a
picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, "what the
Hell is that?" when you know that anyone
in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas
knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't
the shape, it isn't the state, it's the
state of mind. You're what makes Texas.
The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your
day to read this, because that's what Texas means
to you, that's what makes Texas what
it is. The fact that when you see the guy in front
of you litter you honk and think, "Sonofabitch.
Littering on MY highway."
When was the last time you went
to a person's house in New York and
you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That
was never. When did you ever drive through
Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four
businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the
flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can't.
But I bet my *** you can't
drive 20 minutes from your house and not
see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of
its logo. If you haven't done business with
someone called All Tex something or Lone
Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you
hadn't lived here for too long.
When you ask a man from New
York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker,
or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a
woman from California what she is, she'll tell
you her last name or her major. Hell either
of em might say "I'm a republican," or they might
be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they
are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or
"I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you
they're a Texan. I got nothin' against all those
other places, and Lord knows they've
probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you
know it just like I do, Texas is just a little
different.
So tomorrow when you drive down
the road and you see a person broken
down on the side of the road, stop and help. When
you are in a bar in California, buy a Californian
a drink and tell him it's for Texas
Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube
next to you that he wouldn't be here enjoying
this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if
he or she doesn't know the story, tell them.
When William Barrettt Travis wrote in 1836 that he
would never surrender and he would have
Victory or Death, what he was really
saying was that he and his men were forged of a
hotter fire. They weren't your average every
day men.
Well, that is what it means to
be a Texan. It meant it then, and
that's why it means it today. It means just what
all those people North of the Red River
accuse us of thinking it means. It means
there's no mountain that we can't climb. It means
that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means
that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston
is bigger and Dallas is richer and Alpine is hotter
and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in
Texas.
It means that come Hell or high
water, when the chips are down and the
Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and
just like in 1836, that counts for something. So
for today at least, when your chance
comes around, go out and prove it. It's true
because we believe it's true. If you are sitting
wondering what the Hell I'm talking about,
this ain't for you.
But if the first thing you are going to do when the
Good Lord calls your number is find the men who
sat in that tiny mission in San
Antonio and shake their hands, then you're the
reason I wrote this tonight, and this is for
you. So until next time you hear from me, God
Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.
May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings,
slow to make enemies and quick to make friends.
But, rich or poor, quick or slow, may you
know nothing but happiness from this day forward
Its Texas's B-Day today..
Being Texan by Bum Phillips
Dear Friends,
Last year, I wrote a small
piece about what it means to me to be a
Texan. My friends know it means about damned near
everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to
reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So
I set out to think about rewriting something. I
considered writing about all the great things
I love about Texas. There are way too many
things to list. I can't even begin to do it
justice. Lemme let you in on my short list.
It starts with The Window at
Big Bend, which in and of itself is proof
of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my
Granddad taught me more about life than fishin,
and enough about fishin to last a lifetime. I
can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and
Cisco, and Abilene and Poteet and every place in
between. Every little part of Texas
feels special. Every person who ever flew over the
Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor
or wherever they call "home" as the best
little part of the best state.
So I got to thinkin about it, and here's what I
really want to say. Last year, I talked about
all the great places and great heroes who
make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and
Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and
my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I
talked about everybody that came to mind. It took
me sitting here tonight reading this stack of
emails and thinkin'about where I've been
and what I've done since the last time I wrote on
this occasion to remind me what it is about
Texas that is really great.
You see, this last month or so
I finally went to Europe for the first
time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want
to. But you know all my damned friends are
always talking about "the time they went to
Europe." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a
trip to be sure. All they did when they saw me
was say the same thing, before they'd ever
met me. "Hey cowboy, we love Texas." I guess the
hat tipped em off. But let me tell you what,
they all came up with a smile on their
faces. You know why? They knew for damned sure that
I was gonna be nice to em. They knew it cause
they knew I was from Texas. They knew
something that hadn't even hit me. They knew
Texans, even though they'd never met one.
That's when it occurred to me.
Do you know what is great about Texas?
Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were
trekking across country to see 15 baseball
games we got sick and had to come home
after 8? Do you know why every time I cross the
border I say,"Lord, please don't let me die in _____"?
Do you know why children in
Japan can look at a picture of the great
State and know exactly what it is about the same
time they can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid? I
can tell you that right quick. You. The
same spirit that made 186 men cross that line in
the sand in San Antonio damned near 165
years ago is still in you today. Why else
would my friend send me William Barrett Travis'
plea for help in an email just a week ago, or
why would Charles Stenciled ask me to
reprint a Texas Independence column from a year
ago?
What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't
know if I can marry a man who doesn't love Texas
like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000
people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate
a holiday for what used to be a nation that is now
a state? Because the spirit that made
that nation is the spirit that burned in every
person who founded this great place we call Texas,
and they passed it on through blood or
sweat to every one of us.
You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is is
alive in all of us, even if we can't stand next to
a cannon to prove it, and it's our
responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every
person who ever put a "Native Texan" or an "I
wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast a
I could" sticker on his car understands. Anyone who
ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a
Lone Star flag on their porch knows what
I mean.
My Dad's buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that
some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well,
that's what it is to be Texan. To be
forged of a hotter fire.
To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part
of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma
was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part
of what you got was what we gave you. To look at a
picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, "what the
Hell is that?" when you know that anyone
in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas
knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't
the shape, it isn't the state, it's the
state of mind. You're what makes Texas.
The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your
day to read this, because that's what Texas means
to you, that's what makes Texas what
it is. The fact that when you see the guy in front
of you litter you honk and think, "Sonofabitch.
Littering on MY highway."
When was the last time you went
to a person's house in New York and
you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That
was never. When did you ever drive through
Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four
businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the
flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can't.
But I bet my *** you can't
drive 20 minutes from your house and not
see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of
its logo. If you haven't done business with
someone called All Tex something or Lone
Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you
hadn't lived here for too long.
When you ask a man from New
York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker,
or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a
woman from California what she is, she'll tell
you her last name or her major. Hell either
of em might say "I'm a republican," or they might
be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they
are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or
"I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you
they're a Texan. I got nothin' against all those
other places, and Lord knows they've
probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you
know it just like I do, Texas is just a little
different.
So tomorrow when you drive down
the road and you see a person broken
down on the side of the road, stop and help. When
you are in a bar in California, buy a Californian
a drink and tell him it's for Texas
Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube
next to you that he wouldn't be here enjoying
this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if
he or she doesn't know the story, tell them.
When William Barrettt Travis wrote in 1836 that he
would never surrender and he would have
Victory or Death, what he was really
saying was that he and his men were forged of a
hotter fire. They weren't your average every
day men.
Well, that is what it means to
be a Texan. It meant it then, and
that's why it means it today. It means just what
all those people North of the Red River
accuse us of thinking it means. It means
there's no mountain that we can't climb. It means
that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means
that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston
is bigger and Dallas is richer and Alpine is hotter
and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in
Texas.
It means that come Hell or high
water, when the chips are down and the
Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and
just like in 1836, that counts for something. So
for today at least, when your chance
comes around, go out and prove it. It's true
because we believe it's true. If you are sitting
wondering what the Hell I'm talking about,
this ain't for you.
But if the first thing you are going to do when the
Good Lord calls your number is find the men who
sat in that tiny mission in San
Antonio and shake their hands, then you're the
reason I wrote this tonight, and this is for
you. So until next time you hear from me, God
Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.
May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings,
slow to make enemies and quick to make friends.
But, rich or poor, quick or slow, may you
know nothing but happiness from this day forward
