[Ed. Note: This article was published following the week 2 overtime win against the 49ers in 2011. Jesse Holley caught a 77-yard pass in overtime to set up the game-winning field goal.]
Shortly after the game on Sunday, I googled "sports bar San Francisco".
Let me tell you, there are a lot of sports bars in San Francisco. I picked one and dialed the number they had listed. Somebody picked up the phone, confirmed in a slightly whiny voice that I had indeed reached a sports bar, and continued:
"What can I do for ya?"
"Is the Cowboys game still on?"
"Oh ... who won?"
"The Cowboys won."
"Fear The Star." I hang up.
As I was getting ready to go to work this morning, the phone rang. A pre-recorded female voice greeted me cheerily.
"Congratulations! You have won an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise. Press 9 on your key pad to claim your prize".
Nine? Tony Romo! How can I not press nine after yesterday? I pressed nine.
This time, a man with a thick Eastern European accent picked up the phone and said he was calling on behalf of a company in Florida, located right next to Walt Disney World, and asked me for my credit card number.
"4692 6883 6269 2697." He then asked me for the expiry date.
I hung up and went into my kitchen to scrounge up some breakfast.
The Cowboys scored 27 points last night. So obviously, I had to eat 27 pieces of something. 27 toasts? Hmmm... no, that won't work. I whip out my TI-89 calculator, which I always have conveniently holstered, and after about five minutes of vigorous calculations, I have it figured out: I make three toasts and cut each up into nine pieces.
The breakfast of champions.
When I get to work, I run into this French colleague of mine, and like every morning, once he sees me, he rushes up to me and starts shaking my hand vigorously.
"Bonjour, ‘ow are you sis morning?"
"Have you ever been to San Francisco," I ask him. He looks mildly concerned as he ponders this question, trying to figure out whether this crazy German is serious or not.
"Mais oui," he answers, "I 'ave been sere. Why do you ask sis?"
"San Francisco was destroyed."
"Mon dieu! What 'appened? An earsquake?"
I leave the guy standing and simply walk away, making a mental note to figure out how to say 'Fear The Star' in French.
I get into my office, and even before I sit down, the phone rings. I answer it.
"Oh, sorry, I must have the wrong number." The guy hangs up. Two minutes later, the phone rings again, somebody else this time.
"This isn't marketing? I thought I had dialed marketing. Apologies." This guy hangs up as well. As I log on to BTB to catch up on the threads of last night, it dawns on me that I may have stumbled upon a highly efficient strategy for avoiding real work.
Jessy Holley is a winning strategy.
An important part of my daily routine is to check my calendar, and make sure I don't miss any appointments my secretary may have put in. Today, I enter two new dates, one at 9:16 and one at 9:19 am and set them to repeat throughout the week.
Every day at 9:16 I'll now be reminded of Romo's passes to Holley and 3 minutes later, I'll have a little Romo to Austin moment.
After about an hour of successfully avoiding any type of meaningful work, I feel a missionary zeal developing as I come to the realization that not enough people are aware of the awesomeness that is the Dallas Cowboys. So I call a local radio station.
"Hello, this is Planet Radio," a pretty young thing whispers seductively into my ear. "What is your music request?"
"Fear The Star."
"Fear The Star."
"Hmmm ... I don't know that song. Do you know which artist it's from?"
She claims there is no such song. I counter by saying the Eagles aren't really artists either, they're more like a dream team. After some back and forth, we eventually settle on Wild Boys by Duran Duran. I am of course immensely pleased with myself.
A little later, my brother calls. I have caller ID, so I know it's him, but I have to stick to my routine.
"Jesse Holley? Aha, so the Cowboys won yesterday?"
"And this Jesse Holley guy is probably a totally obscure player who did something remarkable yesterday, right?"
"You never cease to amaze me with your uncanny psychic abilities."
"Listen, would you like to go to the movies tonight?"
"Sure, but you know how it is with me. Today I can only go into the number nine theater, as I am physically unable to set foot in any of the other screens in the 14-screen cinema. What's playing in number nine?"
"Number nine ... lemme see ... here it is: Captain America."
I nearly faint.
[If you enjoyed this, follow the link to a previous installment about a day in the offseason life of a Cowboys fan.]