Texas, football, Mexico and Bob Wills

From Nov. 21, 2016

Yes I am still writing. But nothing tonight. I am watching the Texans. I’ll get back at you, amigos!

Today, Nov. 22, 2016

I wasn’t watching just any Texans last night. I watched the Houston Texans, known to polite society out there as a U.S. football team. Sometimes the Texans seem to be that.

Houston played the Oakland Raiders last night at Estadio Azteca in Mexico City. The Houston team could have won. They were beat by only a touchdown and an extra point. But the Texans did not win. Should I say any more? Probably not. But then again, screw it. All in football is fair, as does it seem in the “P” word. That is a “P” that rhymes with “C” and that stands for, well, kind of what the “P” word stands for and neither of those stands for “pool.” Unless … Oh well. Never mind.

Houston had a couple of problems in their way. First, they should only play when the whole team is fit as a fiddle playing “San Antonio Rose,” or better yet, the soulful-Western swing classic “The Maiden’s Prayer.”

All of that that Western swing from the days of “Willie, Waylon and The Boys” aside. What was I writing about?” Oh yeah, footsball.

The 30-year-old estadio can hold almost 110,000 people while those folks sit way up there at an altitude of about 7,200 feet. Swee–ee-t, right? Well maybe not so much if you suffer from altitude sickness.

Most medical material found on the internet usually gives an altitude of about 8,000 feet as where this sickness might begin. Like most medical information adapted for consumers, some leeway is often found.

A bit more than two years ago I visited Albuquerque, N.M. for a week. I flew out of my home airport in Nederland, Texas, which has an official elevation of just more than 15 feet above sea level. In between my take-off at Jack Brooks Regional Airport in Nederland and the George Bush Intercontinental in Houston was no more that 30 minutes, with that trip up to where the pineywoods and its gentle hills beginning. One who lives in the coastal plains might recognize the elevation increase at George H.W. Airport by some 80 feet.

Of course, when you’re flying … when you’re flying, the whole world flies with you … Nothing like a little butchered tune. La, la, la.

So here you are. You are flying from just lighter than sea level. You go up a great deal and then down you go for a landing … Wheeeee!

I first noticed in flying from Houston to Albuquerque, shortness of breath, when I walked up the jetway. I always try to diagnose everything away from serious causes: Heart, Lungs, Head Like A Golden Retriever. But to this day, I still have no idea what caused my breathing difficulties, as they returned on my journey home. Best I can tell, it seems to have a cause in my having become too fat.

So perhaps the problems with the Texans last night in Mexico? Surely a combination of more than a mile in altitude combined with very unhealthy skies would help not even the healthy breathe normally. It’s hard to determine whether some pro football players are too fat. Some players are certainly huge-sized big.

Then there were the lasers. Osweiler, had a Super Bowl last year after backing up legendary QB Peyton Manning in the nation’s only Mile High Stadium. He stands at about 6-feet-5 or 6. He doesn’t seem as if he had ever met fat.

So you figure out all those factors and what do you have left? Well, the Zebras.

Dressed in the black and white stripes, referees have helped the American public see that bad calls are less often than a fan might want to imagine. Still, the bad call exists.

But you be the judge! Did DeAndre Hopkins step out of bounds on this massive run off the Texans’ opening kick? It seems like the officials¬† must have sneezed during the opening drive of the game. Would it do any good to show an additional travesty?¬† Why would it?

Who are you asking? And what kind of Mexican beer do you like? The kind with that funny old man who is the most interesting man in the world? Or do you like that beer made in Texas?

It’s for another day’s discussion. But while I wait, it seems as if I am really thirsty as hell, my friend.