You think this post is going to be about football now, don’t you? No, no…think again, Readers, THINK AGAIN. This is more or less a conversation betwixt me and my BFF Lisa from this past weekend:

Me: I found me a cowboy!!!

Her: Like a real live one?

Me: Um, yes. Not the kind the plays football on my TV. The kind that wears hats, buckles and…BOOTS! Not, you know, helmets and spandex.

So basically, CLSL has gone country. Not that it was THAT much of a stretch, really. I already have someone telling me I sound like the talking pothole on the Geico commercial. Whatevs, he’s from Jersey and likes the Eagles. Therefore, doesn’t count. A little background (as if you don’t already know enough about me), I grew up in a hardcore farming, ranching and rodeo family. Bull riders, barrel racers, team ropers. Lots of cows. Mainly bull riders. I flirted with the idea of barrel racing when I was much, much younger. But I’ve not been on a horse in probably 20 years. About as country as I’ve gotten over those years is attending Eli Young Band shows at Gilley’s in Dallas and helping my mom feed horses the last time I was home. The year I grew out of my rodeo phase is coincidentally around the same time I grew ginormously into hockey. Much to the chagrin of my mother. Having said that…apparently there’s still hope she’ll get the daughter she’s always wanted.

Fireworks! Confetti! Big shiny trucks!

Readers you know I went to The Vegas this past weekend. I failed to mention (quite possibly on purpose) is it was actually for the PBR World Finals. That would be pro bull riding, not Pabst Blue Ribbon…you alcoholic. Let me rephrase that, I went to The Vegas to see The Family…The Family went to The Vegas for The PBR. My dad is TOTES a bull rider groupie. It’s awesome. I had no intention of actually attending any of the rounds. I just wanted to drink. A lot. Then sleep that off and go drink some more. (I did that too, don’t you worry…apparently I like Jack now?). After arriving on Thursday I found out there are AFTER PARTIES each night. My dad was all “would you be interested in going to that?” I was all “have we met?” Silly father.

So the rest of the story goes something like this: Girl goes to the first after party. Girl drinks. Girl meets hot cowboy (again, the real kind!). Girl drinks more. Girl really likes hot cowboy. Hot cowboy seems to like girl and is ridiculously charming. Girl all of the sudden decides to go to bull riding next night. Girl drinks some more. Girl finds out that YES, she does like bull riding. Now girl is HOOKED. Then girl goes and drinks some more. The end.

Not really.

They don't need no stinking red cape

But seriously, bull riding is the shit. I was tremendously entertained that Sean Willingham comes out of the chute to “Ice Cream Paint Job” (I’ll forgive him the fact it was stuck in my head for FOUR DAYS). The PBR calls bull riding “the toughest sport on earth”. That ain’t no shit, son. I grew up around this crap and still tend to forget how ridiculously dangerous it is. As if the bull rider himself isn’t a crazy enough motherf*cker, the bullfighters are batshit crazy masochists. And retardspices, I’m not talking about the kind that come in red capes and gold get-ups. You know them as rodeo clowns. Ain’t gonna lie to you…IT’S ALL KINDA HOT. These boys have grown up doing this, rodeo is TRULY a way of life. They probably mounted (haha, mounted) their first bull before their voices changed. Their fathers did it. Their grandfathers did it. And trust me, rodeo wives put up with massive bullshit (no pun intended). Not only do they suffer WEEKS of separation, but also? Buckle bunnies are much worse than any puck bunny I’ve ever met.

Million dollar cowboy

So I guess you can take the girl out of the country and she can do EVERYTHING in her power for two decades to rid herself of said country, but…it don’t work. Can’t take the country out of the girl and it might just slap her in the face one night wearing a black felt hat and Southern smile.

Poor Miles Austin, he’s gotta make room for “the real live kind” now. Bless his heart.

P.S. To your left you will find 2009 World Champion Kody Lostroh. Womenfolk, I TOLD YOU SO. I fancy myself a Luke Snyder girl, though. When the Ladies… are up for a hump day hotties rodeo version (should it not have already been done)…call me. I got this.

All pics are from ESPN.com’s Rodeo and Professional Bull Riding section cause by golly they actually have one…who knew?!

This book might have made me like baseball a little bit more

I hate reading books where authors write to hear their own voices. Look at me I’m so smart, I know all these fancy words and amazing information, blah blah blah. I LOVE books about the history of the movie industry. But the ones that don’t read like text books and/or weren’t written by snooty d-bags are few and far between.

Despite the fact I am a frequent visitor to Deadspin, there was just something about “God Save the Fan” that made me hesitant to read it. I was afraid it was going to be like someone puked all their insane sports knowledge into one book. But I bore witness to Buzz Bissinger’s attempted rape and ass chewing of Will Leitch on Costas Now, so I knew at some point I had to read this book. And lucky for Leitch, my “God Save the Fan” was paperback and my “Men With Balls” is hardback and I was flying. I detest flying with hardbacks. See how I make decisions? Just go with what’s lighter and softer. Apparently I make all life choices as if I was picking out toilet paper.

Anyhow, my worries about “God Save the Fan” proved absolutely, positively untrue. I zoomed through this book during my trip, which is astounding since I barely have free time when in freak convention mode. I started in on it the minute I finished “The Football Fan’s Manifesto”, which actually didn’t help my hesitations because Manifesto is bloody hilarious. No one wants to go back to class after recess. But “God Save the Fan” is not only up to snuff humor wise, but also very informative in a not so in your face I’m smarter than you, dumb ass sort of way. The only chapter that threw me was about race relations in player/fan relationships, so to speak. I think I knew what he was trying to say and I THINK I agree with him, it’s just the type of chapter you read and at some point go “wait, what?” Other than that, the Fans section (in which you can find said chapter) is by far my favorite.

Backing up, I have to give Leitch mucho kudos not only for watching ESPN for 24 hours straight, cause really I can’t deal with much more than PTI after I watch one round of SportsCenter on MUTE in the morning at the gym (and the occasional viewing of NFL Live), but also for dedicating an entire chapter to his continued fanship of a Could Have Been. I talk about former NHL player Petr Buzek a LOT on here and my fanship of him falls into that category. He was a Could Have Been. But I still love him. Something tells me Leitch didn’t want to have Rick Ankiel’s babies, but still, you get the gist.

Back to the aforementioned Fans section, it holds lots of truisms. How our love for our fantasy team can outweigh that of our actual team on occasion because we are actually somewhat in control and his guide for “How Not to be a Jerk at a Baseball Game”, in my opinion, crosses the lines of all professional sporting events. Especially why it’s unfortunately not cool to cut the annoying kid behind you, etc. In addition, his stories about a small Cardinals group that formed in New York during their World Series run epitomizes a lot of the ways I love my Cowboys group here in Los Angeles. I’ve often thought about what I would do when we make it to the Super Bowl again. First and foremost, I OBVIOUSLY would try to go. But what if I don’t? Do I go home? Do I stay here? I’d like to think I would stay here, because the way Leitch and his fellow Cards fans celebrated the NLCS is the way I’ve envisioned victory would be for our little group:

Suddenly, the bar wheeled out cheap champagne…I shook up two bottles and sprayed anybody in sight, then poured a bottle over my own head. Then I grabbed two more and repeated the process.

The madness continued for about two hours…everyone in the bar was immediately bonded for life at that point, and we busted out digital cameras and Kodaks and anything to help us record what was happening. I kissed a woman I had never seen and might have been standing next to her husband, who just smiled and danced.

The night wore on, and nobody stopped screaming until 3 a.m.

P.S. Two days till THE VEGAS!

That's me! Number 19! I'VE HAD IT FOR A YEAR.

Home safe home from nasty and humid Orlando. Very, very happy to back in Los Angeles. I did jack nothing for Halloween, as I’m having a terrible time adjusting to both the time difference and now the time change. I did make it out to Santa Monica to hang with the Cowboys peeps yesterday, tis been awhile. I’ve decided that 10 a.m. games + bloody marys have taken 3rd place in my ultimate list of soul mates (right after peanut butter + chocolate and me + Taylor Lautner will be when he’s legal…as mentioned before). Anyhow, the Cowboys peeps? Yeah, they’ve decided I’m some sort of oracle thanks to the fact I’ve had a Miles Austin jersey for a year. Have I mentioned I’ve had my jersey for a year? Cause I’ve totally had my jersey for a year. They want to know who I’m buying next, Bennett? Ogletree? What they fail to realize is I put SO MUCH EFFORT into this relationship that I’m tired, fool. I just want to sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor. You can’t force amazingness, yo.

A funny thing happened whilst walking into a movie theatre yesterday. As I was finding a seat in a sold out auditorium of “This Is It” I swear to Jebus I got the loudest SHOUT OUT ever for my jersey. This dude was like “Wow, Miles Austin…NICE!” I was like “I know.”

So that was a first. Dearest Miles, I’m invisible most of the time to folks…so between me getting a shout out and you getting your own post on Kissing Suzy Kolber, dude, it’s safe to say…YOU HAVE MADE IT.

Speaking of amazingness. And luck. I WON A PS3 LAST WEEK! True story! This makes me happy for multitudes of reasons. I owned a PS3 at one point in time, but I lost it in the Heinous Split of 2008. So here I’ve sat with Blu Rays and no way to play them and a burning itch to finally learn how to play Madden. Not only that, but I use to be pretty bad ass at the EA NHL game. Now you can bring it on, bitches.

There was totes something else I was going to say, but I don’t remember what. Plenty of posts coming this week if I’m not coming down with the pig flu. And I don’t have time for the pig flu, cause I have the Vegas in THREE DAYS!

Before I forget, I have to send a shout out to the bartenders of and highly recommend High Voltage, the sports bar at Marriott World Center in Orlando. Those guys were the shit, despite the fact one was a Philly fan. They were so cool to me, the only girl and only person in a jersey for almost four hours Sunday before last. Three beers and two Miles Austin TDs later I was everyone’s BFF. Especially the guys from Buffalo sitting next to me who kept offering to give TO back and the table of Patriots fans behind me who tried to get my attention for two hours and finally cracked me with “everyone knows Romo is just an ugly version of Brady”. That one got me.

I actually kinda hate Florida

Cheers from sunny Orlando, Readers. I’m here for our industry’s second largest convention, basically we spend a week drinking, sucking up (or “schmoozing”, if you will) and watching movies. Good times. I was going to partake of Disney’s Animal Kingdom today. However, after being up for close to 36 hours -  naps on planes do not count as actually human sleep – I ended up in bed till Noon. Spent two hours (TWO HOURS!) in the gym, then enjoyed college football (poor Minnesota), lunch and reading poolside. This ONE day is as close to a vacation as I’m getting until sometime next year…if I’m lucky. I am going to Vegas in less than two weeks, that’s not vacation, drunken debauchery is a full-time job. Which I take seriously, thankyouverymuch. Tonight will be baseball and some Longhorn football in the hotel sports bar (which is quite nice) or a trip to Tampa for the Lightning/Sabres game. We shall see.

I'm a fan of the malfeasance fantasy football league

Anyhow, please don’t misconstrue this as blatant ass kissing, but I believe Kissing Suzy Kolber is one of the most badassest football blogs on the webternet. If you disagree with me you’re a humorless moron or Communist. Take your pick. I can appreciate a hot lady and dick jokes just as much as most. It comes with being an obsesser of football. Much like the acquired taste for beer I picked up about two years ago. Co-founder Michael Tunison penned a novel,  “The Football Fan’s Manifesto“. And if you fancy yourself a die-hard fan of all things gridiron and actually, you know, READ…books, not just blogs/stats/bullshit on the internet, you should pick it up toute suite. Actually, even if that is all you read you should pick it up. Cause it kinda makes fun of you. Thought you should know that.

I laughed many a times while reading this book, enough to make fellow morning gym rats question my mental stability. But they frighten me for different reasons, so I’m okay with that. Tunsion breaks down every single aspect of being a one-track minded football fan. I never thought I’d find myself reading a thought-out analysis of the various forms of high-fives. But that happened. I would say his pokes at Cowboys fans tarnished my amusement, but 1. he’s right and 2. I’m used to it.

Highlights for me were his ground rules for female fans (his anti-pink jersey stance that I totally effing agree with and already discussed here), the “Letter to Brian Westbrook Regarding His Questionable Playing Status for Sunday”, the detailed hatred for bandwagon fans and the consistent and accurate profiling of Eagles fans and their evilness.  Thus, I leave you with my favorite passage:

There are some stadia, stadia located in certain cities in the southeast corner of Pennsylvania, where it is unadvisable to root for the visiting team. Not that it’s necessarily bad form, but because you’ll be left for dead in a portable toilet and rolled down a hill.

It’s funny because it’s true. Not that I have or will ever try to find out for certain. I like taking risks, but I’m not retarded. I would have to lose a bet to the Devil himself to even think about going to a game in Philly. And I’ve been told even if I wore not a single thread of silver or blue, my “Cowboys accent” would give me away.

It’s been a very, VERY busy time at CLSL the last 12 days. And I have you to thank for that, Readers. Well, mostly Miles Austin and all the crazyspices searching for information about his personal life or pictures of him nekkid. But you, too. In those 12 days my hits have been into the multitudes of thousands, numbers I’d reached all together in the MONTHS leading up to the switch to the official domain. Months, not days. It’s pretty bad ass. Because of that I made a few changes. I fancified the header, having Photoshop back in my life has its advantages. Thanks, again, to the quote from LittleMoe. Anyone who uses Varsity Blues to compliment a person is aces in my book. I re-did the about me section and added an FAQ page. Did I make most of the questions up? Absolutely. However, I just KNOW that people actually think them.

It’s search term share time again. As always, I’ve got some doozies. The stuff you people look for on the interwebs is astounding. But entertaining nonetheless. Especially since it somehow leads you here. I’ll take what I can get.

1. “[insert several athletes names here] nude.” Next to general searches for Miles Austin and Jamie Langenbrunner, pervs looking for nekkid athletes is at the top of the list of what leads people here. I hate to disappoint them ALL, but there’s nothing here about any nude players. That’s better left for the imagination.

…wait, what were we talking about?

2. “lady giants patron.” I don’t even know what this means. And it’s generated several hits. Am I missing out on something? Is this some new hip cocktail the kids are drinking?

3. “me at the bengals game.” I’m dead serious. Someone typed that in. I know how it led them here, but still, it’s hilarious. What goes through someone’s head when they search for that? Let me do some googling to find out if there’s anything about me being at a pro football game. Cause I’m kind of a big deal.

Not really. But welcome!

4. “matt niskanen lost myself lyric.” Hmmm…a Niskanen original recording? “matt niskanen dating”. I wouldn’t call what young hockey players do dating. “real men wear pink niskanen ad campaign.” A hockey player, recording artist AND model…apparently.

5. “tony romo gay caught with marion barber”. SERIOUSLY? Whoever you are, I’m glad you have the internet to hide behind. Barber will cut you.

6. “miles austin eye color.” They’re a color I like to call GORGEOUS. (Too much?)

7. “character traits of Donovan McNabb.” Is mentally unstable a character trait? How about insecurity? Jackassery? I’ll stop.

8. “ed hochuli penis.” I can’t make this up. Cause WHY would I make that up?

9. “crazy lil sports lady.” True story! And that’s me! *waves*

10. “taylor lautner longhorn.” HA! My plan, it’s working…

The downside of talking about Taylor is the sudden appearance spam comments linking to naked pictures of Miley Cyrus and Kim Kardashian. Since THOSE are applicable to this blog. Well, apparently anyone naked is. Good times.

Oh captain, my captain

Last year I went all out on here the first time the Stars came to LA to play the Kings by detailing my top 15 hockey memories (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3). My brain has ruminated for two days on how to honor the occasion this year. It must be significant enough to help me forget the fact I’m leaving on a damn red eye for Orlando out of Hell-A-X immediately following the game. Blurgh. I’ve thought about it and thought about it. Over-analyzing comes easy to me, I am female. And I’d much rather be over-analyzing which silly hockey story to post rather that “OMG WHY HASN’T HE CALLED ME?! I DIE”. Cause jesus, we’re annoying.

Anyway, those original three posts already lay out my very favorite, most important legitimate hockey memories. Therefore, I’m going a little whackadoodle and a little girly with this one.

I’m going with the time Brenden Morrow actually knew who I was.

The man recognized me, greeted me…and I responded NOT with “hey Brenden, what’s up? how’s it going? why the hell are you hanging out with Sim?” No, no…I answered with something akin to “meh”. Not “meh” as in I’m completely indifferent to that or I think Cougar Town is just meh (this is well before the interwebs ruled the world and “meh” became synonymous with “I can take it or leave it”). I mean “meh” as in my mouth opened and that’s what involuntarily came out. I was stunned, to say the very least.

It was the last pre-season at Reunion Arena (may it rest in peace). This was before SHE came into the picture. Stars fans, you know who I speak of. I do not use her name. Brenden and I could’ve had an AMAZING player/fan relationship had SHE not come along. I raised him from a kid, dammit! (BTW, he’s scant older than me). Did SHE go to Portland to see him play with the Winterhawks? Did SHE demand that the K-Wings booster club to take good care of him those few games he spent in the minors? Probably not, because SHE didn’t know who he was then and wasn’t, you know, a lunatic. But that’s beside the point.

I did go to Portland to see him play with the Winterhawks (I do believe that’s in the hockey memory posties) and I would have gotten to see him play with the K-Wings, but as expected, he didn’t last long before getting called up for good. The one and only time I willed a player to get sent down, that’s how sick I was. However, that last pre-season brought one glorious moment. I honestly don’t even think I went to the game that night, do believe I had to work. I think me, my college roommate and this one pathological liar friend of ours just headed up towards the end of the game to hang out at the Stars Club afterward (oh, Stars Club…). Cause really, stalking came so easily then. Easier than going to class, that’s for sure. There we were, having a seat. Brenden walked in with Sim (I’m gonna assume they hung out with that doosh out of pity), I happened to look up about the time he looked over and he goes “Hey!”

And I said “meh.”

Not too longer after that SHE came along. Did I mention SHE went to the same university as me? Right?! You didn’t think it got worse, did you? Oh let’s not even bring up who her father is. Cause I might puke. But anyway, the rest you know. He made the team for good…and is now the captain. I didn’t want to have the man’s babies (note: I have the ability to delete comments). BUT, he could’ve been the first player I followed from the juniors to captain in the NHL. Instead of minors to a few games in the NHL to some team in the Austrian countryside to being a fireman.

Having said that, did SHE meet his host family in Portland?! NO.

So there. Go Stars. BTdubs, he doesn’t know me from a fan in the second row now. I’m okay with that. Sorta.

Today was a very sad day, Readers. I don’t care so much that I lost my second fantasy football game of the season, nor that it was the second loss in a row…I care that it was to RAY. You don’t know Ray. But all you need to know is I really, REALLY hate losing to him. And I am cursed when it comes to playing him. That fool could go 0-5, then we would play and he’d beat me. It’s redonkulous.

This is my fourth year of fantasy football. I’ve never sucked. The closest I’ve gotten to the Super Bowl is Third Place and that was my very first year. It never fails I start out the season amazingly. This season and last I’ve been one of the last two teams left undefeated. I get a little wishy washy mid-season, but I’ve always made the playoffs (thankyouverymuch). Last year, you probs could’ve guessed this, I played RAY in the first round and LOST. Whatever. Anyhow, backing up…aside from the PS3 and the desktop computer, I lost my first fantasy football league in The Wretched Split of 2008. So be it, right? Sweet, sweet freedom and a life with one less douchebag was worth the loss. Ray and our friend Eric made me a home in their long-time league. I’ve been the only girl both seasons. So that means there’s even more at stake, therefore, I’ve taken it MUCH more seriously. Ray is a hoss when it comes to fantasy sports. So even though I’ve never failed to make the playoffs, always field a decent team, etc…there’s this whole legitimization that will come with beating him.

And I WILL do it. If I had just taken out Sproles’s kneecaps in the past week we wouldn’t be having this conversation. NOR would we if Ray hadn’t beat me to taking Cribbs in the draft for the second year in a row. Bloody hell. See you in the playoffs, biotch.

So I spent the evening focusing on the positive: the rest of the NFC East getting their asses kicked while the Cowboys and us fans sat back and relaxed this weekend and drowned my sorrows of the Stars, the Dodgers AND me losing in a glass of red Two Buck Chuck and the first bubble bath I’ve taken in…years? Ladies, might I suggest the Bathos Bubble Bar from Lush.

SEE?!…I’m a real girl, too!

Pink jerseys make the baby jesus sad

Ladies, lose the pink jerseys…unless you’re 12. Then it’s somewhat acceptable (unless you’re my imaginary future child). I’m down with the pink accessories, I have both pink Cowboys and Longhorns caps. I approve because those caps better coordinate with the majority of my wardrobe. And to be honest, while digging around for this post, I found a pink and white striped Cowboys scarf that I like and proceeds (as with a lot of pink product right now) goes to breast cancer funds. THAT is most acceptable and I applaud the efforts of the NFL.

However, the jersey is sacred. You wouldn’t wake up on Fourth of July and wave a pink and white striped American flag NOW WOULD YOU? You think you’re being cute. It’s just annoying. (See: Jessica Simpson, 2007). Michael Tunison from KSK, author of “The Football Fan’s Manifesto“, which I’m reading right now, agrees with me and even suggests dudes avoid the intra-fandom dalliance with girls sporting pink jerseys. Why? Because you look like a moron. Just saying. Not that you’d really want to hook up with one of the fratdouches you meet at sports bars, but let’s not limit options or ruin chances. It’s called preparedness.

Not only that, but also there are quite a few ladies – myself included – who spend a great deal of effort trying to be taken seriously as legitimate football fans. These blasted pink jerseys aren’t helping the cause. If I touched a pink jersey it would negate the four seasons of serious fantasy football I’ve put in.

I’m not retarded, I’m fully aware this was yet another ploy by the money grubbing NFL to add to their jillions of dollars. And unfortunately for all of us, it worked. Hockey tried it for a while…but much like anything hockey does, it failed. But that’s mainly because Gary Bettman is made from the seeds of epic fail. Anyhow, have you ever taken a look a the variety of officially licensed shit there is out there for your team o’ choice? Like seriously taken a look. Because I have. I swear to god I saw a Cowboys onion chopper at a Texas gift store in Grapevine Mills one time. Good luck getting it to produce positive results after Thanksgiving. (Ha! GET IT?!)

I had to share some of the ubershit (and of course commentary about said ubershit) I found online last night while shopping for a normal Cowboys sweatshirt. This craptacular crap is from both the NFL Shop and the official Cowboys shop.

..Continue reading..

Readers, I really hate Mondays. The only things I hate worse than Mondays are the Eagles, Scott Gomez, the 101 and water chestnuts. What makes this Monday particularly atrocious: we open a movie on Friday so there’s potential for mutiny in the office, I HAVE to go grocery shopping after work and no one likes that (if you do, you’re a weirdo), I couldn’t care less about tonight’s MNF, I’m fighting off the bitterness of losing my first fantasy football game (by less than five points; McGahee – you’re on my shit list, son) and it’s so gloomy outside I should be at home under two blankets, snuggled with the pooches, watching Battlestar Gallactica, drinking hot chocolate topped with a scoach of Bailey’s. Mmm.

In a painful effort to be positive (blurgh) I do have to say that today is somewhat bearable because I managed to put makeup on before noon, am loving my new scarf from Old Navy, have a cold, cold Diet Coke on my desk (the elixir or life), the newness and lickability of the Taylor Lautner Rolling Stone photo shoot hasn’t worn off (my heart dies every time they put a football in that kid’s hands) and the interwebs are totes overloaded with Miles Austin.

Record breaking run

I feel like I’ve spent the last year and a half on the campaign trail for this young, blue-eyed wideout from Jersey (yeah, I try to forget that tidbit) to become the next President of the Dallas Cowboys Receiving Core. I don’t think ANYONE was ever listening to me or taking me seriously. Can’t really say I blame you, but it’s whatever now…cause eff you. Nikki FTW.

As an uber fan, it’s imperative to stick to your man through thick and thin. However, (here’s the segue from one version of today’s topic to the next…wait for it…) at what point does a TEAM stop sticking with a player through thick and thin? Tis a tricky predicament, that one. I hear this is a business, after all.

Last week I caught most of ESPN’S “30 on 30″ about Edmonton trading Gretzky to LA. Holy pucks the uproar that caused…the GM’s family even had to leave town. Koo koo Canadians. Not that I can blame them, that would be like America gifting the Statue of Liberty to Canada. We’d have to do more than just call shenanigans. Anyhow, in addition, several weeks ago PTI covered Phillies’ pitcher Brad Lidge’s horrific slump towards the end of the MLB regular season. Kornheiser commented that during the playoffs “you cannot put a guy out there you don’t have confidence in.” True story…perhaps?

How the Oilers and Phillies handled each of these situations was dependent upon what was best for the organizations, not what the fans wanted. In the end, Gretzky is now responsible for the explosion of hockey in Los Angeles, if not the entire Western United States and Lidge led the defending champs to a 6-5 victory over the Rockies last night to take a 2-1 lead in the NLDS. A personal example: I was destroyed when the Stars left Petr unprotected during the 1999 expansion draft and Atlanta took him. DESTROYED. But although his pro career didn’t last long afterward, he spent the majority of it in the NHL, made the All Star Team as a rookie and won a world championship. Chances are none of that would’ve happened if he’d stayed with the Stars. And I got to go to Atlanta and Calgary! Good times. Sometimes you just gotta let it play out.

Open issues

Having said that, there are some major issues on the table in Dallas. Do the Cowboys stand by Romo? Do the Stars stick with Turco? Both are huge fan favorites, but these aren’t questions that just popped up last week. These are 2-3 year-old problems. Neither of these guys have proved their worth in the playoffs. And right now neither of them are proving consistency in the regular season. I know it’s early, but again, these are long term open wounds. Not one of my mystery bruises that randomly pop up after I’ve been drinking. I don’t even know how *I* feel about what should be done. Although you’ll never see me wearing his jersey, I like Romo, he seems like a good dude. But damn. And Turco is even tougher. I have personal ties to him that make it heart-wrenching, so I kinda avoid talking about him. I really can’t imagine Marty on another team.

But at the end of the day, I’m honest enough to admit that my loyalty is to the teams over any individual player and selfish enough to say I want to see the Stanley Cup and Lombardi Trophy back in Dallas. No team should sell their souls for or buy a championship (*cough* Yankees) but changes, albeit temporarily hurtful to the fans, sometimes have to be made.

I am supposed to be on my way to Disneyland right now, but am fully aware of the hits my blog will be taking over the next 24 hours. Miles Austin and my longtime fixation with him have always driven a good 75%-80% of CLSL traffic. I HAPPILY welcome all my newbies and hope you come back for more…and more. Me taking a few seconds to post a quick update was a MUST. Cause Readers, I’ve known for awhile this day was coming and have been waiting somewhat patiently (sometimes annoyingly so…) for it to get here. Today’s game isn’t really a win the Cowboys or fans, as a whole, can be proud of. However, Miles Austin certainly can. He saved our asses. And there will be mutiny in Dallas if he’s not the starter now.

It’s funny, I’ve had my jersey for almost a year and now they’re going to be popping up all over Dallas like blondes with fake boobs. But it’s safe to say no fan in all of Texas received as many texts, tweets, Facebook comments and messages after today’s game as I did. I feel like I won the thing myself, CRACKS ME UP. And to be honest, I’d be drowning in fantasy right now (I’m undefeated thus far this season) if it wasn’t for the 39.4 points he got me.

However, having said all of this, if he fumbles four times and trips over his own feet in two weeks I will still be a fan. I don’t do bandwagon.

Cheers. Now I gotta go get my Mickey on.

[EDIT] Disneyland was a clusterf*ck. Skipped it, had dinner and drinks and cried through Bright Star. Came home, watching the Stars game (damn the OTs today!!!) and have replayed this six times…

Also: Post-game interview from DallasCowboys.com