RIP Pat Summerall

Maybe watching the Cowboys will always mean a certain thing for me: Sunday dinner, then the game starts, then at halftime run around the vacant lot throwing the football with Brothatime!!, listening to John Madden and Pat Summerall broadcast the game. A cold, dark Sunday with beef stew simmering on the stove, homemade bread coughing up steam when you pull it apart. Anything else, any other situation, and I don't seem too interested in the Cowboys. Same as college football - it's not the same without the thrill of bringing the ol' black & white tv (we called it a "set" back then!) into our room for a few hours on a Saturday to watch Notre Dame/Michigan or whoever (or the Celtics during the NBA season, another perfect example of what I'm talking about.) - XMASTIME

Now he's dead. Being outlived by John Madden's fat ass can't be great for your ego.