The Majestic

It is 6:00 am on a Saturday in October. You were up late last night, but you are filled with adrenaline and miraculously not feeling the effects of the beer you drank until 2:00 am. Your mind races over last night’s events. You and 30,000 of your closest friends made the trip North on I-35, set on a collision course with 30,000 of your sworn enemies who headed South on the same road. For 200 miles you ran through the strengths and weaknesses of your team. When you stopped in West for gas and a Czech Stop kolache, perhaps your mind traveled back to 2000, when the ‘Horns lost without scoring a touchdown. Or maybe you chose to remember 2005, when Vince ran up into the stands to be with his fans to share the victory and look forward to a national title. Whatever your mind wrapped around, your memories were certainly shaded in burnt orange.

The journey you made is the same one that has been made by Longhorns for just shy of one hundred years. Your heart swells with pride and tradition.

It is almost game day.

Once you settled into your hotel, you decided you couldn’t stay in the night before the game! You know that this Friday night, Dallas will be bursting with energy. Your taste buds water when you remember that dinner at Bob’s, or maybe Sonny Bryan’s, before your night on the town. After dinner, perhaps you perched on the top balcony of the Iron Cactus downtown, watching the live band while orange and red clad people, small as ants, roamed the streets below. Or maybe you were in the West End – wading among the throngs of people, riot police standing guard, shouting out your school song, ‘horns raised high. It doesn’t matter. Everything that happened yesterday was just a precursor to what’s going to happen today.

This is the day. Game day.

You get dressed carefully, putting on your lucky game day shirt & cowboy boots, gauging the weather. It’s a little cloudy right now, but like most overcast October mornings in Dallas, you figure the sun will burn the clouds away by game time. You tuck a flask in your boot and inventory your pockets: wallet? Check. Ticket? Check. Your breakfast mimosa goes down easy. You look around the hotel lobby and feel the electricity in the air. All around you, people are excited. Strangers in burnt orange are your best friends. Those in red, your mortal foes. But the only thing that matters is that it’s game day.

Your shuttle (or car, or taxi, or dart rail) drops you off outside the gates. Hundreds of people swarm around you as you make your way forward. As you hand your ticket to the gate keeper, she ushers you through and says “Welcome to the State Fair of Texas. Enjoy the Game.” Your heart races.

This is Texas/OU weekend.

Like an old familiar friend, Big Tex says hello. You hate to rush by, as it’s been a year since you saw your big 52 foot buddy. “Howdy!” he cries at you, inviting you to stay and chat. But all you can do is mutter at him that you like his new shirt as you cruise by. He’s looking pretty good for 59.

The air is filled with familiar smells. One whiff of corny dogs and cotton candy, and every memory you have of the Red River Shootout fills your head. The sounds of the Midway flood your senses. You are overwhelmed that today you get to go home, back to the House that Doak Built for a visit.

You find yourself on a mission: get to the food pavilion. You swiftly make your way through hordes of Longhorns and Sooners, stopping only to barter cash for the currency of the fair: coupons. Inside the pavilion, you go to that familiar spot. Your friends are already there, making a scene and stacking empty cups. As you bring that first sip of beer to your lips, you pause to bite down on the wax rim of the cup. “Yes”, you think. “It is game day.”

The pavilion is filled almost to capacity. The trash talk starts. Mostly friendly. Fans from both sides stand on benches and tables, leading their faithful in school songs and cheers. “Texas! Fight!” is rivaled with “Boomer! Sooner!” and for every ‘Horns Up is a ‘Horns Down. The crowd is getting excited. It’s game day.

You don’t need a clock to know when to go into the game. You judge time by the stacks of wax cups on the table and the movement of fans around you. Shouts get louder as you cross the short distance through the fair until it stands before you:

This is the Cotton Bowl. The Majestic.

Straining under crowds it could never have imagined, the Cotton Bowl invites you in. You race up the stairs! You can hardly contain your excitement! The fans around you are excited too. For the most part, the tension between the fans is kept to a minimum. It’s so close to kick-off that you don’t want to jinx the team or risk missing the game. You emerge through the section tunnel and into the sunlight.

This is the Red River Shootout.

The bands are playing their pre-game shows on the field. Big Bertha goes into a final spin as the Showband of the Southwest marches off the field, strains of “The Eyes of Texas” echoing after them. You look across the stadium and blink. Longhorns before you have witnessed this very scene in this very place for 80 years. As your eyes travel southward to the 50 yard line, the crowd changes color in a distinct line from orange to red. You look across the Sooner masses and eyeball that single tunnel leading out to the field.

This is game day.

Like you, thousands of fans clamor to their seats. You know not to expect the comforts of your home stadium…part of the beauty of this place is that everyone is on equal footing. Your shaded chair-backed seat at DKR is a distant memory as you cram into the benches with people you’ve never met. You hear what you think is thunder and glance at the sky (the clouds have, indeed burned off) only to realize the thunder is the sound of tens of thousands of feet, boot clad, stomping on the metal benches in anticipation of the teams’ arrival. Then you see them.

You don’t need to hear those first swells of “Texas Fight” to know your Longhorns have arrived. You cringe as they are booed through the tunnel, surrounded by Sooners, and wonder what is being thrown their way as they cross the South end of the stadium to the 50 yard line. Your heart races as the players run toward you, led by an American flag. The crowd is deafening as one by one the players and coaches hold up their ‘Horns before kneeling down in the North end zone for a moment of reflection.

Then they huddle up...they begin to jump up and down. You can’t help but join them, orange blood coursing through your veins. ‘Horns held high, you find yourself jumping with the rhythm of your heartbeat. Their heartbeat. One heartbeat.

‘Horns up. It's game time.