Orange you glad it's Friday?

I officially have 423 things on my to do list, hence why I've completely abandoned my blog.  I'm sorry blog.  I'm sorry Internet friends.  I promise to rededicate myself to writing blogs about nothing in particular soon.  I have lots of topics to cover, such as why does Ann Curry dress like a 12 year old, and of course, my new nemesis.  But for now, I just want to briefly talk about my first love, Cowboy basketball.

Today is the 11 year anniversary of the plane crash that took 10 Cowboys from us.  This day always makes me sad. I suppose it always will.  I remember exactly where I was when I found out.  My mom and I were in the Denver airport coming back from Arizona.  I bought a paper and it was on the front page.  I burst into tears immediately.  The more I read, the harder I cried.  I instantly wondered if my friend was on the plane, since his father often flew the team.  My friend was not, but his father was.  For some reason, I felt like losing Bill Teegins was like losing a member of my family.  He was just so familiar...I felt like I knew him.

I have loved Cowboy basketball for as long as I can remember.  My first memory of going to games was when I was eight.  Our seats were at the very top of Gallagher Iba, when it still had those octagon windows you could open if it got too stuffy inside.  I've been hooked ever since.  I've always felt like I've known the team.  You can see their emotions, you learn the rotation, you know who your sixth man is, who the sharp shooter is, who the emotional leader is.  You can see it on their faces.  There is nothing like it.  So when the plane crash happened, I felt like something happened to my friends.  When my friends hurt, I hurt.

Sure, it's silly for me to think of them as my friends.  But I think silly things all the time.  It's kind of my "thing."  I tweet with players on this year's team, and I have no doubt they think, "Who is this middle aged lady who keeps tweeting us?  Does she even know who Lil Wayne is?"  For the record, I do know who he is.  I'm down.  I'm hip.  And it's no secret that "becoming best friends with Eddie Sutton" is close to the top of my bucket list.  Cowboy basketball is part of who I am.  It's in my soul.

On Wednesday, I debated about whether or not to drive to Stillwater for the game.  I honestly didn't really have time for it.  But the inner irrational fan in me pushed me into the car.  As I said to Husband, "Do you know how angry I will be if we win and I'm not there?  I'll never forgive myself."  So we went.  And I yelled so loud I got light headed.  I booed the officials so loudly, the child in front of me was frightened.  I'm a very good boo-er.  I jumped out of my seat no less than 15 times, and I threw my arms up in excitement after every three-pointer, five times to be exact.  It was so loud.  It was awesome.

As Husband and I drove home to OKC, I said, "I know I say this every season, but there is nothing I love more than Cowboy basketball.  I really, really love it."  Husband said with a smile, "I know you do."  Then I said, "You know, when it's loud like that and we get a big win, there is just nothing better.  There is nothing in my life that makes me happier than that....nothing in our marriage compares to Gallagher Iba Arena."  He burst into laughter, which made me feel okay with my statement.  Because let's be honest, it's true.

Okay, I'm off to be productive.  Go Pokes.