I simply hated Drew Pearson. Despised him, with “the red-hot intensity of a thousand suns” as Cheers’ Diane Chambers put it. Being a little boy who worshipped Fran Tarkenton in 1975, you know why. The goddamned “Hail Mary” in which Pearson blatantly clobbered Minnesota’s Nate Wright then traipsed into the end zone. Staubach was a hero, and was soon babbling to anyone with a mic about his “Hail Mary” pass. My ass.
Years later, my wife and I decided to make a vacation trip to Canton, Ohio, to see the NFL Hall of Fame inductions. My wife’s obsessive love for Peyton Manning would culminate in seeing him honored… but then it was announced that Drew Pearson was selected by the Veterans’ Committee for HoF enshrinement.
Revenge, at last! I knew what had to be done—when his name was called, I would scream, “Offensive pass interference!” over and over until my wife divorced me and the NFL Police tased me repeatedly and dragged me out of the stadium. Perhaps, Drew would hear my protests and use the moment to admit that he, indeed, bitch-slapped Wright and scored a totally illegal, immoral touchdown. And Nate Wright would be vindicated at last.
I sat, wearing my brand-new Cheesehead (hey, a sale’s a sale), and bided my time…next to three of the sweetest Dallas Cowboy fans one could ever dread to meet. We talked, and they had come all the way to Canton just for this moment. They adored Drew, and bled Cowboy silver. We even posed for pictures, with one woman commenting, “Who’d have thought I’d come this far to sit next to a Cheesehead, and have a good time?”
DAMMIT. I sat, in stony silence, as the wonderful ladies blissfully reveled as their sin-laden god was adored for his crimes. I screamed inside my brain, knowing that Drew knew… oh yes, he KNEW. And he wallowed in his sins.
As a result, I see no reason to upgrade my Wonder Bread card for a wanton criminal who sits on a throne of lies.
