I get it. If we could all go back to high school when our bodies were young and spry and when we felt like demigods walking around the mall in our oversized letterman jackets scoping out babes at the Food Court, we certainly would. Or I would. I can’t count how many times I walked by the Chinese joint for free samples pumping my chest out like I just won State, but I can count how many babes I picked up from this tactic: one less than one. If I dusted off my letterman jacket and tried that same routine today, I’d probably be arrested by Paul Blart. I actually don’t think mall cops have any authority so I’d likely just tackle that fucker just like I did as a third string linebacker back in ’91.
Bottom line is that I understand why this grown ass man showed up to the Dallas Cowboys game set to take the field. Like the rest of us, he wants a sweet taste of that stale gridiron nectar that was once so abundant. He wants a shot at redemption for inexplicably scoring on his own end zone in a colossal lapse of judgement back in ’68.
Don’t let anyone dim your light you nostalgic bastard.
Every quarterback needs someone to throw to.
[h/t Busted Coverage]