I member back on January One 1999 I went to the Cotton Bowl cuzz my Lord and Saver was a actin as the Missippy State head coach.I drunk up about eight measures a vodka fore kickoff and I was a swangin cowbells with my Missippy brethren like they was lamb carcasses on the hook after another meat judgin vicktree.
Come hafftime I done added bout seven pints a Cotton Bowl keg beer to my bladder an I was swole up like a pregnant cow dog, soes I went a looking fer the john. Seein how the piss line extended ten tractor langths out the door I kept a walkin and turnt a corner facing some closed elevador doors. I took a chance an whipped 'er out right there and then. I wanna take this moment to thank God, Jackie Sherrill, and Bucky Richardson that I was able to finish without them doors openin. I dont thank I coulda survived a Dallas Cop billy clubbin in my grain n barley soaked state.
Come the fourth qwarter this longhorn fella behind me kept yellin, "Hey Sherrill, I hear John Wayne Gasey used to dress up like a clown too!"
I wanted to confront this fella, but I dident fill like gettin my *** whooped, and besides I done added bout eight more pints a beer to my belly since the haff and my brain was swimmin somewheres tween the Skilla and the Caribs. My innerds was a bubblin up sumpin fierce soes I went a stumblin twords the john a figgerin to upheave.
This is where I might get a little sentamental. You see, all this talk about renavatin the Cotton Bowl makes me sad. Cuzz that mornin as I stumbled threw the bathroom stall and the rust spat from its tired hinges, I fell to the tiled floor where the grit has turned green with age and bad aim; desperately I gripped the base of that cherished old potty, lurched my flushed face over the discolored edge of the worn creaky seat, and emancipated the new year's contents of my soul into that cracked porcalin relic. At that moment, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that the kin folk of Kyle Rote and Doak Walker once sat n shat upon that same sacred tank. ----- ... give me a moment to wipe the tears from my eyes... ----- Folks, I hope you understand why the Cotton Bowl can never be renavated. Theys just too much histry in that house.
The Cotton Bowl's an ALLSOME place, Amen.
Come hafftime I done added bout seven pints a Cotton Bowl keg beer to my bladder an I was swole up like a pregnant cow dog, soes I went a looking fer the john. Seein how the piss line extended ten tractor langths out the door I kept a walkin and turnt a corner facing some closed elevador doors. I took a chance an whipped 'er out right there and then. I wanna take this moment to thank God, Jackie Sherrill, and Bucky Richardson that I was able to finish without them doors openin. I dont thank I coulda survived a Dallas Cop billy clubbin in my grain n barley soaked state.
Come the fourth qwarter this longhorn fella behind me kept yellin, "Hey Sherrill, I hear John Wayne Gasey used to dress up like a clown too!"
I wanted to confront this fella, but I dident fill like gettin my *** whooped, and besides I done added bout eight more pints a beer to my belly since the haff and my brain was swimmin somewheres tween the Skilla and the Caribs. My innerds was a bubblin up sumpin fierce soes I went a stumblin twords the john a figgerin to upheave.
This is where I might get a little sentamental. You see, all this talk about renavatin the Cotton Bowl makes me sad. Cuzz that mornin as I stumbled threw the bathroom stall and the rust spat from its tired hinges, I fell to the tiled floor where the grit has turned green with age and bad aim; desperately I gripped the base of that cherished old potty, lurched my flushed face over the discolored edge of the worn creaky seat, and emancipated the new year's contents of my soul into that cracked porcalin relic. At that moment, I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that the kin folk of Kyle Rote and Doak Walker once sat n shat upon that same sacred tank. ----- ... give me a moment to wipe the tears from my eyes... ----- Folks, I hope you understand why the Cotton Bowl can never be renavated. Theys just too much histry in that house.
The Cotton Bowl's an ALLSOME place, Amen.
