Dear DMV-Raised Cowboys Fans,
I'm going to tell you a story, supplemented with some advice..
This past weekend I was driving to meet some family and friends for a pickup Lacrosse game. I adjusted my over sized, douchey glasses to see a Blue pickup with gaudy blue stars riddling the rusted exterior. We both rolled to a stop at the corner of Dale Blvd. and Minneville Rd. in my hometown, Woodbridge. He was turning left, I was going straight. I could see him quite well, as his window was down. Inside the vehicle was a man of large stature. He had a Fu Manchu that would easily wet the panties of any NASCAR tee shirt-rocking-dame, and a gaze of utter confidence behind his faux-Stetson. He was also no older than 20... I'll get back to this guy.
It somehow reminded me of the time when I decided I would become a football fan. My family never imposed anything upon me. Not even religion. They believed that I should find my own path, and that's what I did.
My father was a Massachusetts native. Born and raised in the area, and inherently a Patriots fan. My mother, of course following in her mother's footsteps, became a Redskins fan. My mother and father were never married, and went their separate ways after I was born (thus is the story of so many Americans of my generation).
It felt natural to me, living in the NOVA area to be attracted to the local team. The Redskins flags, posters, logos, and fans that lined the streets of D.C. when we would visit the monuments or museums - whatever was on the docket for that particular trip- excited me. Made me feel all warm, you know, down there. It made me feel good to know that there were so many others in the area that loved the same thing I did. It felt almost as if I was part of something bigger...
Cowboys fans, I hope you're still with me, because this is where you may start to get froggy...
...As I snapped out of my daydream of the past, I immediately grabbed my iPhone, scrolled to songs, and pressed on "Hail To The Redskins". What followed would, unknowingly, send me into a week-long mind-rage.
The "Cowboy", as we'll call him from here out, looked at me with a face of disgust. He glared through his crappy truck window as if I had done something to disrespect him. I suddenly felt a strong rage fuel my body, and cranked the volume as loud as it would go. As his light to turn left turned green and he started to pull away, I heard a faint "F*ck you" come from inside the douche-machine carrying my most recent mortal enemy.
No, Sir, F*ck You. I have the right to play any Redskins-themed music I wish. Just as you would in Arlington (Guaranteed at least 30% of Cowboys fans reading this are wondering why I didn't put Dallas).
Before I get to the last part of my rampage, let me throw out a disclaimer. This does not target the following Cowboys fans:
- Texas natives living in the area for work, pleasure, family, etc. (This is representing your team no matter what your location, and I advocate such activity)
- DMV Natives who's family hails from Texas (This represents tradition and loyalty to family ties, and again, is quite admirable)
- DMV Natives who’s family may be from D.C. but are Cowboys faithful (My qualm is not with you, it’s with whoever the tool-jockey is in your ancestry that obviously chose to oppose the local team)
This specifically targets the ignorant, troll-esque younger generation of bandwagon Cowboys fans.
Read the rest of my rampage on my website: The Burgundy Warpath
Follow me on Twitter: @ArmyRedskin