Early Sunday morning, while most of us are still sleeping, a Great Lady will be laid to rest. At around 7:00 AM, a button will be pressed. An implosion will occur, and Texas Stadium will be brought down, finally and forever.
For the players, the team, Cowboy fans everywhere, all of us who bleed blue and silver, a part of our lives will be gone. Gone as surely as if it never existed. But it did exist, and the memories will remain. Memories that can never be lost.
Good memories, mostly. The five Superbowls. The twenty straight winning season. The heartache and the joy. The heroes.
Troy, Emmitt and Michael
Too Tall, Too Mean, and The Manster.
The Terrible Twosome--Charlie and Cliff.
The Man in The Funny Hat
And the moments. Harvey Martin and the funeral wreath. Singing Happy Birthday to Joe Theismann. The comebacks, the victories, the losses. Breaking the all time rushing record.
Defending the Star.
Always Defending The Star.
The Stadium holds these memories, whispering them in her now empty corridors, sharing them with the stars through the hole in her roof--the hole that was put there so God could watch his favorite team play.
If you close your eyes and listen closely, you can hear them. The whispers. The rustling. The ghosts of long retired players laughing in the locker room. Calling plays on the field, now stripped of its turf--and the star. The thump of the ball. The crack of pads clashing. The crunch of bone. The roar of the crowd.
It's all gone now--all but the empty shell of what was once the finest stadium in the league. Tomorrow morning, at 7:00 AM, a button will be pressed. An implosion will occur, and that too will be gone.
Gone as surely as if it never existed. But it did exist, and the memories remain. Memories that can never be lost.
Memories that will never be forgotten.