Stupid Texas

My wife and I have cultivated a saying that we use to describe any local annoyance we've encountered in a year-plus of employment-related exile in North Texas. That saying is "stupid Texas."

Before telling me to take my Yankee ass back to L.A./Chicago/Boston-whatever you do don't throw me in that briar patch--hear me out. There is a special sort of forethought-be-damned, full-speed ahead spirit among the people here that is truly unique. There is also a notable affinity for grandiosity in matters transportational and sartorial. Exaggerated by spiteful Yankees or the work of city-slicker transplants from elsewhere? Not entirely.

When this spirit is constrained by communal standards (that is, by the presence of "haters"), it amounts to a colorful kind of charm. When it isn't, the results can be harmful or fatal both to those involved (warning: loud animated intro--duh) and to innocent bystanders (warning: may cause vomiting).

Thankfully, most often "Stupid Texas" stops well short of bloodshed and occasionally tempts the observer toward uncouth displays of schadenfreude. Particularly when the beloved local sporting franchise resumes play for the year hoping to erase the stench of the worst game ever played in the history of football (warning: link to Gregg Easterbrook who here proves the broken clock principle--when narrated on a play-by-play basis the horror/awesomeness of the 'boys' performance is incredible) by opening a new stadium, nay, no mere stadium but a gleaming monument to man's triumph over the limits of physics and good sense. Particularly when the crowning glory of that stadium, the largest television in the world, is predictably dinged by punts.

Did I mention that the Cowboys' last game of consequence was the worst game ever played by one team in the history of football?