Dallas Cowboys vs. Minnesota Vikings
Well, let me just begin by saying that today's date is Monday, October the twenty second of the year of our Lord, 2007, and I have still yet to watch a game that occurred yesterday. "What?", you say, "How can this be that this man is one day behind the rest of us? How can he not know the outcome?" I'll tell you. Yesterday I was strongly inspired, and motivated, to pack up my equipment and head out into the prairie (down into a nearby Floyd county canyon where the First Baptist Church of Lockney gathers once a year) to paint landscape. "Ahhhh," I said, "I will study this canyon with paint." Upon my departure from the Sunday Morning Worship Service, I received brief and eloquently simple directions as to how to arrive at this canyon of said location; however, the devel often arrives to toy. Between this arrival and the time of my leaving, I rushed home to gather and organize my supplies, grabbing five canvases of various size. Soon, more time had passed than I gathered and before long, I was wired and tagging with me along electronic devices of individual functionality. All of these things with me, I set out with companion to find the great canyon.
In Walked the Devel
"...man..., I think after that house we were supposed to turn right."
"Are you sure? I thought it was left, take the first left after the house at the top of the Southernmost Ridge, right?"
"yea, that's right it was left..."
"Well, I'll just take this left right here, surely it goes there..."
Lo, but behold it did not. The duo plus paint marveled at the countryside and when the critical time came it was about face and STOP!
The sky was alien. Perfect. And not to be matched in any form.
In every direction the perfect landscape, ... the perfect scene. The air was crisp with low breeze, and the setting yielded much promise. Immediately rushing of multiple actions as I began to unload, sort, organize, place, and layout for what was to be the mother of all wars in painting of my experience. No more than fresh paint hit pallet, that the winds began.
The earth howled and moaned with the line wires of acupuncture which grappled them, "WAR! War is upon you", they said, hissing and spitting as they fled. "You warrior demons are no match for me. Death be your Commander." The landscapes still held true, all of them perfect, all of them grand, but indeed, the sky was alien, and direction was lost. A new wave came upon me now, again, blowing harder this time with magnification of an out of place sun in a sky cast behind clouds of thin scab. Harder I pressed, "FASTER!!!", was the report I gasped. But the Sands of Doom have an agenda of their own, and into the ditch of red sand my canvas' were caste. The sun hot, and dry on skin, deleting all moisture with embrace of cold wind. "From the Mouth of Creation this day has come", at last. I continued on, from the hour of two until six. Until the fury of the land were wrought upon my mark together merged, locked... and clasp.
Until the day was done, finally reaching the canyon land at the second greatest time of His command, light and colour were equally as grand, as the lost alien sky of Safari County West Texas Road. But just between me and the sand,...
"He who laughs last, laughs good..."
As for The Battle of Vikings and Cowboy Men
I "tivo'd" the broadcast, watched the first half after a good shower, then fell asleep on the couch during half time show. The score was fourteen to seven; so I still don't know who won.
as it still stands, for I and the sands.