I grew up in Lubbock, Texas, home of Buddy Holly, cotton, and endless miles of flat dirt. Which means I also grew up as a Texas Tech fan. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of going to the Tech games with my grandparents. My Papa would always wear his red and black cowboy boots, and I’d cross my fingers and hope the Saddle Tramps would throw a little red football my way. Then when it got cold, we’d huddle under a blanket and drink hot chocolate out of a Thermos and ooh and ahh over the Goin’ Band from Raiderland. On a field trip once, we got to run out onto the field at Jones Stadium, and it was like a dream come true.

But when I was in junior high, we moved to the DFW Metroplex, and I soon discovered that Red Raider fans were practically non-existent outside of West Texas. Most people were either loved Texas or Texas A&M, and over the years, my allegiance to Tech waned in favor of the Longhorns.

It’s important to point out, though, that even then, I wasn’t really a big fan of any sports, college or otherwise. Yeah, I liked sports, but I didn’t pay much attention to them, preferring Star Wars, comic books, or any other nerdy endeavor to football or basketball. (My dad once tried to get me excited about baseball cards. To this day, I still don’t understand the appeal of them.)

It wasn’t until late into high school and into college that I started to get interested in sports, and it wasn’t until after college that my love of college football really took off. (Of course, I don’t think it helped that I went to the University of Texas at Arlington, the only college I know of that has a marching band but no football team.) Late bloomer or not, though, today I’m a college football junkie and a die-hard Longhorns fan.

But it’s not just Texas that I root for now.

In the last couple of years, I’ve gotten hooked on the TCU Horned Frogs, a team I’ve always liked going back to the days of the Southwest Conference but never really paid much attention to. Part of my new-found admiration, of course, is due to their rise as a football powerhouse under Coach Gary Patterson. And part of it is due to my rediscovery of the city of Fort Worth. I worked in Fort Worth a while back but it wasn’t until we moved into the city limits a few years ago that I really began to think of it as my home. And how can you not root for the home team, especially one with such a Cinderella story?

Until Thursday, that dual affection for both Texas and TCU was perfectly acceptable, seeing as how since the breakup of the SWC in 1994, they’ve been in separate conferences and rarely play each other. It was perfectly fine to wear my TCU purple while flashing a spirited “Hook ‘Em Horns” to a fellow Longhorns fan. But all that changed when news broke that the Big 12 had invited the Frogs to join their conference, thus reuniting them with UT and causing a potentially embarrassing conflict of interest. Suddenly, I was faced with a serious dilemma: Do I have to choose one team over the other? And if so, where do my true allegiances lie?

It’s not an easy question. There are those that would say that you can only really be loyal to one team, and if you didn’t go to that school, you aren’t even worthy of wearing its colors. Which again, creates an immediate problem for those of us that didn’t have a team to root for. I guess I could say that since UT Arlington is part of the UT system, I’m sorta justified in bleeding burnt orange. But then I could say that I should stand behind the home team, which is of course outsized by Texas in every possible way except for the cost of tuition. I’ve always been a champion of the underdog, and TCU, despite its recent successes, is the epitome of an athletic underdog.

But the truth of the matter is, I don’t wanna choose. I don’t wanna stop throwing up a “Hook ‘Em Horns” any time I feel like it or tagging half my tweets with “#GoFrogs”. I don’t wanna trade my purple or burnt orange in for a single shade of collegiate attire. Why can’t I love them both equally (albeit for different reasons), even if this time next year they’ll be facing off against each other in a Big 12 conference game? After all, I may not be as enthusiastic about the Red Raiders as I once was, but I’ve never stopped liking them (although I always hated Mike Leach). Heck, I even like Baylor!

Does that make me a sports hypocrite, a fair-weather fan instead of a lifelong devotee? Perhaps, I don’t know. But at the end of the day, I really don’t care.

I say, Go Frogs, Hook ‘Em Horns, and hooray for college rivalries reborn.

Previously:
That awkward moment your daughter says she wants to go to Texas A&M
College football realignment? Done
The future of the Big 12 and how to stop it
…And win they did

Naturally, the story generated a lot of interest in the media and around the Internet at a time when the Red Raiders are still dealing with the aftermath of losing their second game of the season. But was it the right move?

James Hodgins, social media director for the Price Group advertising agency in Lubbock, Texas, says no:

What right does Leach have to ban his players from Twitter just because they posted negative views? Can a company ban its employees from social media if they post negative comments? Or staying at the university, can a professor ban her students for the same thing?

Of course, for the team and a business, there needs to be a policy in place that outlines what can and cannot be said. But how can you claim transparency (the whole point of social media) if you ban all negative points?

In my view, Leach should have suspended players temporarily from Twitter until the time the athletic department could create a solid set of standards. This, people would have understood, and there would have been less controversy surrounding the program.

As it stands now, Leach either has to stand by his guns and be the bad guy, or backtrack and admit he overreacted. Neither are good options.

Of course the athletic department should’ve had a policy in place before this happened, but obviously it didn’t. As a result, Leach had no choice but to implement a ban, at least until some kind of guidelines can be put into place. Yes, that makes him the bad guy. But sometimes that goes with the job.

That said, I disagree with Mr. Hodgins’ claim that the whole point of social media is transparency. Transparency implies that everything about an organization is out in the open, available to be posted freely on the Internet without reservation, and quite frankly, that’s pretty irresponsible. Some kind of reasonable limits need to be in place.

Does that mean that players aren’t free to express their frustrations online? Yes and no. The distinction is this: When you identify yourself as part of a particular organization, be it a football team or a company, you represent that organization, whether you’re on the clock or not. And that means that any public behavior is a direct reflection on that organization. As such, organizations have a responsibility to place restrictions on what their members say and do publicly in order to protect their image. And that is in no way infringing on our rights to free speech.

Further, even though they didn’t violate any written rules since none existed, by venting their frustrations with the team publicly on Twitter, the Tech players displayed questionable judgment and a lack of maturity. If they had a problem with Leach, they should’ve taken it up with him in private, not simply posted their opinions online. And if players can’t be trusted to use proper discretion, then an outright ban is the only option.

Previously:
Sorry, Leach is not ‘the best college football coach in the country’

In his memoirs, he wrote:

On October 20, 1944, we invaded Leyte Island, which was part of the Philippine Islands. The Navy and Air Force bombarded the shore of the island for three days prior to landing. The purpose was to drive the Japs inland so we could land with a minimum of casualties. After three days, troops began to land. Our company was among the first to leave the troop ship and head for land.  … When we reached shore, the front end of the landing boat was loaded, and we were ready to hit the beach. It was a gruesome sight and a weird feeling. Dead Japs were scattered around as a result of the shelling of the area prior to our landing. My job was to go inland 200-300 yards and find a spot that would be adequate to set up our command post. I was to set up my sending and receiving set and send a message to headquarters, which was still aboard ship, notifying them that we had landed. …

I was on duty all that day, all night and until about noon the next day. When I was finally relieved, I went to a nearby tree, sat down, leaned against the tree trunk and tried to pull myself together and relax. That didn’t last long because all of a sudden a very large shell landed right in the middle of our command post. It was so powerful it blew a hole in the ground large enough to drive a semi-truck in. The explosion sent chunks of shrapnel every direction. When I heard the explosion, I immediately headed for a foxhole and dove in head first. After the situation settled down a bit, I raised my head to look things over and noticed blood on the ground where my head had been lying. Then I noticed my face was bleeding. I didn’t realize I had been hit. I was sent to the first-aid station for treatment, but they were not equipped to remove the object from my face. It entered my face about two inches below my eye. All they could do was put a patch on it. By that time, the whole side of my face was badly swollen, and my eye was almost swollen shut. Since there was nothing else they could do for me, they put me back aboard ship.

My grandfather was lucky enough to survive his injury, but over 3,500 U.S. troops who fought to recapture Leyte Island were not.

After his injury, my grandfather was sent home to a hospital on the island of Guadalcanal, where he was awarded the Purple Heart. He was discharged on April 27, 1945. He would later go to work as an accountant in West Texas and become a father, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather before passing away in 2006 at the age of 89.

Growing up, I knew that my Papa had fought in World War II and had been injured, but like many veterans, he rarely talked about his time in the service. Instead, what I remember most about him is the love he had for his family and for the Lord. He is an amazing example of what it means to be a husband, a father, a man, and most importantly, a follower of Jesus Christ.

These are the men and women we remember on Memorial Day, the ones who willingly gave themselves up to defend our freedom. And I’m forever grateful of the sacrifices they have made.

Below: My grandfather during his time in the service.

Below: In 2004, with my daughter Erin, who was 1 at the time.

Below: A brick commemorating my grandfather’s service at the Veteran’s War Memorial in Lubbock, Texas.

Buddy Holly’s death, of course, occurred well before I was born, but anyone born and raised in Lubbock, Texas — as I was — has an innate connection to him. To Lubbock, he is more than a famous musician, he is a patron saint. And just as any Baby Boomer can instantly recall where they were when Kennedy died, any Lubbock-born Boomer can say the same about their native son.

My education in the music of Buddy Holly and The Crickets began early in my childhood, and even though I haven’t lived in West Texas for over 20 years, I still listen to the old songs every so often. And each time I do, they evoke strong and familiar memories of my old home. I remember sitting on the floor in front of my dad’s stereo, flipping through all of his old vinyl record albums as “Peggy Sue” played through the huge speakers that sat on either side. And hearing my mom talk about all the people she grew up with that had some kind of connection to The Crickets.

And so for me, today’s anniversary isn’t so much about honoring a man whose music would influence every single Rock ‘n Roll and Country musician who came after him. Instead, it’s more personal, a reminder of those brief childhood moments that still make me smile after all these years.

Previously:
Peggy Sue cashes in

In Dallas:

The city’s second highest revenue producing camera, for example, was located at the intersection of Greenville Avenue and Mockingbird Lane. It issued 9407 tickets worth $705,525 between January 1 and August 31, 2007. At the intersections on Greenville Avenue leading up to the camera intersection, however, yellows are at least 3.5 or 4.0 seconds in duration, but the ticket-producing intersection’s yellow stands at just 3.15 seconds. That is 0.35 seconds shorter than TxDOT’s recommended bare minimum. Dallas likewise installed the cameras at locations with existing short yellow times. A total of twenty-one camera intersections in Dallas had yellow times below TxDOT’s bare minimum recommended amount.

Ironic, then, that Dallas and some other cities are scaling back or discontinuing their red-light cameras because they’re unprofitable. (Maybe they didn’t shorten the yellow lights enough!) Lubbock canceled their right-led cameras altogether after rear-end collisions increased in those intersections. (D’oh!)

Personally, I don’t agree with them. I’m all for public safety, but as you can see, the cameras quickly become more about money than safety. And as the National Motorists Association site pointed out, simply increasing the yellow light duration can decrease violations and therefore decrease collisions. But then that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

I grew up in Lubbock, Texas, where Buddy Holly is almost a god, so I can’t say I’m fully impartial here. But seriously, just take one look at Gerron’s website, where you can find “Peggy Sue”-themed ’57 Chevy die-cast models starting at $299.00, and it’s hard to believe that this isn’t just some opportunistic publicity stunt.

Maybe to promote her book, she could go on the next season of The Celebrity Apprentice. Or at least The Surreal Life.