Bringin' a Blues night down to Dallas

So I was watching one of the Resident Evil’s the other day, the one where the mostly-dead-mutant-part-zombie with the mini-gun as an arm shoots up the Stars. And I couldn’t help but think, bear with me on the non-hockey analogy, about the 2011 Cardinals ripping the heart out of the Texas Rangers. Not because they necessarily wanted to, but because it felt like the end of an era, Tony LaRussa got shingles and Albert Pujols wasn’t ready to go to the Angels yet. An unending hail of screen-gone-red wounded salvos to save the day.

And I think about all of the great old westerns with those Dallas Stars shooting up everyone to save the day. And it makes me wax a little nostalgic, perhaps even… sing the Blues a little. Because in the end, the Blues aren’t high or low, they’re a double-sided crescendo, able to turn a sad riff up-beat or a fast pace fiesty.

Those double-edged swords that everyone forgot about in favor of the quick pistol draw.

When I was a wee lad, I dreamed of growing up and being a bartender. I sat there anxiously awaiting the end of the 1996 Super Bowl (edited: 1997 Super Bowl which ruins the Dallas theme here... especially since those Cowboys won in 1996... we'll uhh call that gaffe Game 2, eh?) to claim my winnings from the bookie, my dad. For some reason I think my dad let me drink most of a beer, thinking it would turn me off from the stuff and I’d be a faithful foot soldier of sobriety. And the rest is history.

Which is all to tangent exactly nowhere, except that I’m sorry for bringing such devastation to the otherwise seemingly fun state of Texas. But I’ve got to put my 50,000 internet chips somewhere and I’m gonna take a swig of 12 year Macallan’s to a Game 3 Saint Louis win in Dallas. Go Bluuuuues!

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