Kick the door in
It was 1979. I was eleven years old and just starting to see boys as interesting. I owned a pair of Mork from Ork suspenders, which I wore proudly, and I practiced my disco moves for hours in front of the mirror. (I never seemed to master those . . .) The city was Houston, Texas, and one of the wardrobe staples for any cool kid or wanna-be cool kid was a Houston Oilers “Luv Ya Blue” jersey. Everyone who was anyone wore theirs as often as possible. It didn’t matter if you were a football fan. You just had to wear the shirt, and you were, for that day at least, a part of the “in” crowd. So when my friend Polly invited me to go with her and her parents to the big “Luv Ya Blue” rally at The Astrodome, I begged my parents to let me. They agreed. The Oilers had just lost to the Steelers, just lost their chance to go to the Superbowl. For the second year in a row. And the coach was a real bum. Bum Phillips, I mean. One of the greatest coaches in NFL history, so they say. Did a lot with just a little talent. And on that night, when his players entered the Astrodome to the deafening roar of thousands of supportive fans, Bum did a great thing. He offered hope.