#34 NFL Nostalgia~ Part 2
Texas Stadium in Irving, Texas; El Monumental in Buenos Aires, Argentina
Fourteen years ago, less than a year after my dad passed away, Michelle, Jack, Emma, and I sold or gave away almost everything we owned and moved to South America to fulfill a life long dream of teaching abroad. Seeing my dad lying in a box utterly lifeless in the funeral home, less than a year after being released from prison, awakened something inside of me. Its essence is simple: no matter the state of the world, the state of your finances, even the state of your own mind, just GO! Do the things you always dreamed of and make life a wonderful adventure. To the best of your abilities. With the ones you love.
After resigning our jobs with the school system and being hired to teach at an international school in Buenos Aires, Argentina we sold our house and purchased plane tickets to fly through the night along the spine of the Andes Mountains then across the continent to a city of more than 10 million people 7,500 miles away. We left our comfort zone, our language, our food, and many traditions behind to go experience life in a new land. Our plane departed from Norfolk, Virginia and landed at Dallas/Ft. Worth airport with a 4 hour layover before continuing onto the next leg of the journey to our new home and school in South America.
If you read last week’s essay, you know what’s coming next.
With the layover in Dallas, I couldn’t resist the temptation to go see Texas Stadium, home of the NFL’s sacred Cowboys. It seemed fitting to visit with America’s team prior to leaving the good old USA. All those childhood memories of watching the NFL and DALLAS could be actualized with a quick dash to the rental car center and a speedy sprint out to Irving to check off one more NFL stadium on our list.
As I approached the Hertz rental car desk, something from the deepest recesses of my childhood mind started to surface. It was an image of an NFL player I didn’t really know too well running around the airport to get his rental car. Yep. It was OJ Simpson; before, the white Ford Bronco chase and before the dark revelations wrecked so many lives. Somehow OJ had found a gap in my synapses to break through and his best moves were coming to life again for another run through the modern day Dallas/Ft. Worth airport. With only four hours to spare, I would need to sprint like OJ but drive a lot faster than Al Cowlings, to make it to the stadium and back before our final flight took off.
I asked the lady behind the counter if any vehicles could be rented for just a day and within 15 minutes we were all in a new Jeep driving the super looping interstates around the Dallas metro area and speeding toward the Cowboys stadium. This would be such a perfect way to say good bye to America, leave the past behind, and be ready to embrace football as the rest of the world understood it.
We pulled into the parking lot next to the stadium and made it just in time to secure four spots on the last available tour of the day. What luck! We were going to be able to go inside the locker room, and if we were really lucky, we would be able to play some football on the actual turf field. The very one I had gone to sleep thinking about on Friday nights as a kid.
Walking across the parking lot, listening to the deeply southern accents of the fans accompanying us on this pilgrimage to the Star made me already miss America and I hadn’t even left yet.
As we entered the now “old” Cowboys stadium, its size was impressive. It was clear the Cowboys took football and their history seriously. It didn’t matter that I was a Redskins fan in sheep’s clothing taking this tour, I could still get behind the adulation and appreciation of this sacred Bethlehem of the NFL circuit. On their way to becoming the most recognizable and valuable sports franchise in the world today, the Cowboys honor the fans and players that got them there. As you probably already know, football in Texas is kind of like a religion, especially on Sundays.
We walked into the locker room and some of my childhood enemies, I mean, heroes, suddenly reappeared. Above the Cowboys current players’ nameplates, the names of the old stars like Tony Dorsett and Roger Staubach, were still written in chalk.
Seeing those relics of the past above the modern lockers brought that 1970s kid back to life. That kid who laughed and celebrated with his dad when he bet money on the Steelers to beat the Cowboys in the Super Bowl and they won. That kid who had a smile a mile wide when his dad bought him a plastic football from the grocery store and passed it back and forth in the parking lot. That kid who was praised and lifted up after his dad threw him a long, high passing bomb which he caught even though it stung like crazy and knocked all of the wind out of his chest. That kid who held on to that ball and to the memories of his dad when his parents divorced and he seemingly, casually drove out of his family’s life for the next 20 years. That kid who was about to hop on a plane with his family and start a new life in a new land with new dreams. That kid that never seemed to fully grow up.
And...now, was that kid about to do the same thing that had been done to him all those years ago? Was he about to abandon his Mom, his sister, his relatives, his school community, and his students, for some other version of life they just couldn’t understand?
No. This was not the same thing. Right?
After the locker room visit, God bless them Cowboys, the tour guide broke out some real NFL certified footballs and let us run routes, throw passes, and kick field goals on the artificial turf. As much as I hated them as a kid and rooted against them every chance I got, I loved the Cowboys that day. Just like in the neighborhood games in Norfolk growing up, we sketched out routes on the palms of our hands and threw pass after pass for 15 minutes. After being told that the end zones in the Cowboys’ stadium were purposely constructed to dip ever so slightly in the corners to give them just another inch or two to catch those touchdowns, I had to admit I admired their passion and commitment to win. Even if it meant they were cheatin’ as many a Redskins fan had claimed over the years.
With our time up and a long flight ahead of us, we took a final picture in the walkway and said our goodbyes to America’s team and America.
In just a matter of days, I would quickly become immersed in the Argentine football culture and begin my heart-pounding and occasionally unpredictable tours of soccer stadiums in Buenos Aires, the city with more soccer stadiums than any other in the world.
A new adventure beckoned as we flew away from the summer heat in the northern hemisphere of Dallas and landed in the mildly cold winter of Buenos Aires in the southern hemisphere. The memories of futbol americano and the Cowboys stadium would linger in my heart and mind for the next several months as we experienced culture shock and tried to transition to a new life abroad. Giving up everything you have ever known and trying to embrace a new country and its traditions is not easy.
And the hard truth is, we never really fully made that transition. Too much of that 1970s kid was hardwired for America. We made wonderful friends and beautiful memories in Argentina, and saw some of the best futbol in the world, but our hearts remained rooted in the USA. We would return from our new life abroad after being gone for only one year. Living so far away in South America felt like we had abandoned our family.
We returned to the Norfolk airport filled with joy to be back home but at the same time feeling like we had somehow failed, fumbled the ball, come up short, and lost the big game. That year we spent in Argentina would continue to haunt us and bless us for many years to come.
But that, is a story for another day.