A point of personal indulgence. My hometown Louisiana newspaper has full coverage of a big sporting event in Arkansas this weekend — the inaugural Red Beans and Rice Bowl. Read on for details. But let me say first that, though you can take the boy out of Louisiana ….
“Hot boudin, cold coosh coosh. Come on McNeese, poosh, poosh, poosh.” I hope to hear many choruses of “Jole Blon” before the night is over.
No offense, UCA fans, but my dad was a member of the then-juco’s first graduating class and played tuba in the McNeese band. His college best friend, who became a near uncle to me, was a halfback on the first Cowboy team. My dad always bought season tickets, even when the crowd numbered in the hundreds and you could walk in free at halftime.
We traveled near and far for Cowboy road games, generally with me dozing on my dad’s shoulder as he drove home in the wee hours. Games were always at night in Louisiana. What a memory. Cocooned in a big V-8 Pontiac, the heater cranking against the chill, we coursed through the piney woods of North Louisiana accompanied by the radio sounds of Ace Ferguson in the LSU wrapup show and the college football scoreboard, fight songs blaring. A Pitt Grill hamburger stop in Alexandria was always in order.
Names like Don Breaux (Arkies should remember him) and Tom Sestak still thrill me. The current Cowboy coach is son of a famed Cowboy QB and his wife, my high school speech teacher. I spent many an hour during summer programs at The Ranch, the McNeese student center.
In short: Sauce piquante is thicker than water. Go Cowboys.