Category: Cowboys (Page 41 of 53)

Red Ribbon Review

June 25, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

In exactly 80 days, the Dallas Cowboys will kick off their 2009 regular season against the Buccaneers in a Sunday afternoon game in Tampa Bay. 80 days from right now, this historic 50th season of Cowboys football will be underway. And we’re going to count down the long summer days on this blog with what we’ve dubbed the Red Ribbon Review. For the next 80 days, we’ll honor the second-best Cowboys player to wear each jersey number.

Similar to the countdown to football season we did two years ago in which we named the best players in football history by number (99 Days of Football), we’ll take this thing one day and one number at a time. Except it’s all Dallas Cowboys. And it’s all second-best. I hope you enjoy the pictures and the stats, the guessing and second-guessing, and the daily anticipation.

We begin with the second-best player to ever wear #80 for the silver and blue, wide receiver Alvin Harper. Harper was a first round pick of the Cowboys in 1991 out of Tennessee and teamed up opposite of Michael Irvin for four seasons and two Super Bowl championships. After catching 124 balls for 2,486 yards and 18 scores, Harper left for bigger money and greener pastures (and a different jersey number) in Tampa Bay. He bombed out for one year with the Redskins before finishing his short career back in Dallas where he appeared in two games in ’99, but didn’t catch any passes.

Harper led the NFL in ’94, his last good year in Dallas, with a 24.9 yards per catch average. His one Super Bowl catch came in the first quarter of the blowout Super Bowl XXVII win over the Bills.

Harper grew up in Frostproof, Florida where he set the state high jump record as a junior. He also broke the SEC high jump record at Tennessee in 1989.

Not Rod Barksdale. Not Everett Gay or Oronde Gadsden. The second-best player to ever wear #80 for the Cowboys is Alvin Harper.

Peace,

Allan

Mere Christianity

April 28, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

“Ever since I became a Christian I have thought that the best, perhaps the only, service I could do for my unbelieving neighbours was to explain and defend the belief that has been common to nearly all Christians at all times…that there is one God and that Jesus Christ is His only Son.” ~ C. S. Lewis, from the preface to Mere Christianity, 1952.

Our Tuesday morning men’s Bible study group today began what promises to be a rich discussion of C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. Rich and contemporary and provocative and difficult. Based on today’s session which covered only the book’s preface, our study will be all those things.

Today, I want to comment on something in the preface that, as disciples of our Savior, we should carefully consider. Of course, you can’t really get the full context of Lewis’ thoughts without reading the book yourself. But check this out:

Lewis writes that the questions which divide Christians from one another — and I’d say even divide Christians and congregations within the same faith tradition — are usually points of high theology or even ecclesiastical history. These points have very little, if anything, to do with the pure Gospel of Jesus. Lewis writes, “I think we must admit that the discussion of these disputed points has no tendency at all to bring an outsider into the Christian fold.” Who can argue?

My thought here is that, while our petty disagreements and arguments actually turn people off and repel them from our Lord’s Church — Jesus said it would — don’t they also stifle our own evangelistic efforts? When we draw lines of fellowship and put lids on boxes and erect other boundaries that are nowhere to be found in Holy Scripture, it keeps us from actively seeking and saving the lost. Because we can’t keep it all straight. We’ve complicated things to the point that only the perfectly schooled in our tradition or heritage can confidently teach others.

What if somebody I’m talking to about Jesus asks me a question about worship? Well, we’ve drawn so many lines and made up so many rules about what constitutes worship and what doesn’t, what is a worship service and what isn’t, depending on what room we’re in and what time of day, where the prayers fall and at what point we allow the LTC chorus to perform, we can’t confidently answer the questions. We’re afraid of contradicting ourselves.

How do I teach Jesus to a person who asks me about women’s roles in the Church? What about church music? How about communion practices? Bible versions and translations? Doctrine versus culture? Inference versus example? Innovation versus aid? How do I explain that we do this or that because of Scripture but we also do this or that despite Scripture? We’re afraid we don’t understand all the lines and the logic behind them.

What if somebody asks me why we claim we’re not a denomination but everything about the way we speak and act and teach, regarding one another and those outside our faith stream, looks and sounds denominational? I don’t know. That’s a good question.

The farther away we move from “Mere Christianity,” the harder it is to seek and save the lost. The harder it is to talk to my unbelieving neighbor. I don’t want to mess it up. I don’t want to give the wrong answers. So I don’t even try.

Mere Christianity. Unity among all disciples of the Christ. Is it impossible? Should we even make the effort?

What Lewis writes is at the very heart of our Restoration roots in Churches of Christ. We’re coming up on the 200 year anniversary of Thomas Campbell‘s Declaration and Address in which he states, “Division among Christians is a horrid evil filled with many devils. All who are enabled through grace to make a profession of faith in Christ should consider each other the precious saints of God, and should love each other as children of the same family and Father.”

That founding document of our faith tradition claims that it’s heresy to pray for “that happy event, where there shall be but one fold, as there is but one Chief Shepherd” and not strive to obtain it.

Ending division among Christians was, at one time, the chief aim of our movement. It should be still. Mere Christianity.

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I don’t know Stephen McGee, the Aggies QB who just got drafted in the 4th round by the Cowboys. But I’m happy for him. Not because of Stephen. I’ve never met the guy. But because of his dad, Rodney. Rodney McGee was the head varsity basketball coach in Burnet during the seven years I served as the News & Sports Director at KHLB in Marble Falls. He had some great teams during those years, taking the Bulldogs all the way to the regional tournament down in Kingsville in ’96. Coach McGee also served on the football staff and helped lead the team to the 3A State Championship game in ’91. That year, the Bulldogs overcame Vernon, Marble Falls, and Southlake Carroll in back-to-back-to-back dramatic come-from-behind-ties (before the days of OT in Texas high school football) to finally come up one miracle short in a 7-0 title game loss to Groesbeck in the Astrodome.

And I love Coach McGee. He was the Fellowship of Christian Athletes coordinator for the Burnet School District. The kids always knew there was a Wednesday night devotional at Coach McGee’s house. And we all knew he was dedicated to our King. He was forever positive, optimistic about everything. Laid back. Always smiling (nearly always). Fair to a fault. Patient with everyone. Forgiving and kind.

I don’t know Stephen. I’m a little disappointed in his statements this past weekend guaranteeing he would have been a first-round pick if he hadn’t been forced to run Franchione’s option offense in College Station. I’m chalking it up to what has to be a mountain of frustration he’s been running his head against with the coaching changes and the injuries during his college career. And he’s young.

I don’t know Stephen. But if he’s ANYTHING like his dad, he’s a guy you can feel good rooting for.

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Go Mavs. Why not?

Allan

Go and Do

March 9, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

The lawyer in Luke 10 wants to justify himself. His question, “Who is my neighbor?” seeks to create a distinction. He’s suggesting that some people are neighbors and some are not. He implies that God’s people are only called to love God’s people. And we get to decide who those people are! This expert in the Scriptures is saying that, whether due to geography, heritage, ancestry, skin-color, or socio-economic factors, some people are non-neighbors.

That’s what Jesus is reacting to when he tells his story.

A priest walks by and sees the victim by the side of the road and does nothing. A Levite sees this half-dead man and does nothing. Two religious leaders who’ve known and taught the Great Command — Love God and Love Neighbor — for as long as they can remember. They saw and they passed by on the other side.

And then Jesus gives us the emotional twist that both astonishes and convicts.

A Samaritan walks by and sees. Then he went to him. The two verbs here are so important. He saw and he went. And then he verbed this man completely back to health. He gave this victim, this helpless soul, this desperate and dying man created in the magnificent image of God, everything he needed. Look at all the verbs.

He went to him. He bandaged him. He poured on oil and wine. He put the man on his own donkey. He took him to an inn. He took care of him. He took out his money. He gave his money to the innkeeper. He promised to return and reimburse.

And Jesus says, “Now, define ‘neighbor’ for me. Who’s the ‘neighbor’?”

Then our Savior looks this expert right in the eyes and gives him two verbs: Go and Do.

Jesus’ words, Go and Do, totally end the conversation. No more questions. No more answers. No more religious loopholes and religious line-drawing and religious double-talk. No more interpretations of Scripture. No more using God or the Word of God as a way to avoid or dismiss the real hurting men and women we see in our lives.

When we understand the story, we understand that something big is going on and I’m told I can get in on it. Actually I’m told, “Go! Get in on it!”

It’s not “Who is my neighbor” as if some people are and some people aren’t. That’s the wrong question. The question is, “Will I be a neighbor?” Everybody sees all the pain around us. Everybody sees all the hurting people. Everybody sees all the lost. God’s people, though, see and do. We see and render aid. We see and provide help. We see and then we sacrifice and serve in joining our God to make things right.

Go and Do. In Northeast Tarrant County and Nairobi. In our subdivisions and in downtown Fort Worth.

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Another Four Horsemen Campout/Advance in the books. Twenty-four hours at Tyler State Park. 55-degrees warmer than last year. Four hours of sleep. Seven bags of chips. No major injuries. This one, though, to be forever remembered for three things.

1) The Food. All of it provided and cooked by Kevin. Four-inch-thick ribeyes and football-sized baked potatoes. And salad! Salad? Yeah, I know. Followed up by perfectly-prepared eggs, toast, sausage, and bacon Saturday morning and ham and turkey sandwiches Saturday afternoon. No offense to Jason and his water-in-a-jug pancakes from years past. But the food this year was, by far, the best ever.

2) The Raccoon. He stole Kevin’s bag of marshmellows from right underneath his chair while we were all sitting by the fire. He came within a couple of feet, twice, of nabbing my bag of jalapeno potato chips right next to my chair. While we were all sitting there. Jason had a clean shot at him with a football from about four feet, but short-hopped it bad. Choked under pressure. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of Tyler State Park, a raccoon is throwing up 48-jumbo marshmellows. I hope.

3) The Near-Death Experiences. Falling trees. Flying ax handles. Slides down dangerous cliffs (OK, just the hill from the parking lot to the lake). Jumping rocks. It was an adventure.

The best part, though, is always the mutual encouragement, the prayers, the study, and the counsel that’s shared. Every year. We know each other so well that the prayers are always dead-on. I mean, right-between-the-eyes, yes, thanks I needed that, kind of prayers. We pray for each other’s ministries, each other’s churches, each other’s families, and each other’s personal walk with Christ. We ask God to give us all the strength and power to do his will, the courage and boldness to do it his way, and the character and integrity to do it with pure hearts and clean motives, above reproach.

I’m blessed to have three such great friends, such great men of God who love me and take care of me. They know exactly when I legitimately need genuine encouragement and they know exactly when I just need to suck it up and get over it. God continually touches me and speaks to me and blesses me through these great men. They challenge me and push me. They model for me what it looks like to be a disciple of Jesus. I can’t imagine trying to do it without them.

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And Terrell Owens is in Buffalo, where in December it’ll be 19-degrees with a 35 mph north wind. The Bills will be 5-9 at that point, they’ll be playing the Ravens, and he’ll be split out wide where he can get a good view of another running play. The 13th play out of their past 15 that have stayed on the ground. Sweet.

As Dan Miller would say, “Life is good.”

Peace,

Allan

K.O. for T.O.

March 5, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

It’s almost enough to make me break the old Cowboys sweatshirt out of the 13-year mothballs and wear it into the church office this morning.

Almost.

Jerry Wayne today has improved dramatically his team’s chances of making the playoffs and reaching a Super Bowl. It’s costing him almost ten-million-dollars against the salary cap. He’s removed a thousand yards receiving and double digit TDs from his offense. But, in finally doing what everybody in the Cowboys organization knew had to be done in releasing their most selfish superstar, Jerry has made his team better.

What took him so long? The money. Pride. Ego. Stubborness. All those things. He doesn’t want to release Terrell Owens. You know he doesn’t. But he had to. Jerry loves the attention, the controversy, the media coverage, the sports talk, the headlines, the drama, and the “what’s next?” anticipation of having a bunch of T.O.s on his team. He loves it. He craves it. He thrives on it. He believes it makes him more money. And who’s to say, over the long haul, it doesn’t? But as much as he loves all those things, he loves one thing more. Only one thing.

And that’s winning.

And while the Cowboys have made the headlines and the money for the past dozen-plus years, they haven’t won a cryin’ thing. Nothing. Not one playoff win, much less a Lombardi, since Jerry took over the GM duties. After 20 years, I believe Jerry Wayne is starting to realize—hopefully—that his legacy as an NFL owner, his worthiness, his credentials, will all be judged by and based on his team’s postseason successes, not his coporate partnerships with Pepsi and Nike and not his one-billion-dollar stadium.

So, what now?

The Cowboys have done some serious cleaning out of that insane asylum of a lockerroom. Owens is out. Roy Williams, the loud-mouthed safety is out today, too. PacMan Jones has been shown the door. Tank Johnson has been told to pack up his guns and hit the road. The additions in the past week of lockerroom good guys and team-first leaders Keith Brooking and Jon Kitna also send a very positive message to the team and its fans that character matters now. Selfless sacrifice and team-first concepts are now the standard. That’s the message, right?

OK, here’s the cynic in me.

I’ll just give Jerry a “maybe” and keep my eyes on him.

I’m still convinced that these moves have everything to do with winning and losing and not character. This is still all about on the field performance first, character and integrity issues second. I’m totally convinced that Tank Johnson could have shot up three convenience stores, PacMan Jones could have beaten up six bodyguards at six different hotels, Roy Williams could have written a different anonymous complaint letter and posted it on the wall every week at Valley Ranch, and Terrell Owens could have kidnapped Jason Garrett and slashed Tony Romo’s tires and short-sheeted Jason Witten’s bed and Jerry Wayne would have signed all of them to long-term extensions if they had gone 11-5 and made it the conference championship game. Let’s face it. PacMan’s gone because he averaged half a yard on punt returns, Roy Williams is history because he can’t cover my grandmother, Tank Johnson is toast because he can’t wrap up a ball carrier, and Terrell Owens is out because…

OK. Owens is out because of his destructive attitude.

Thank you, Jerry. It’s a start.

Peace,

Allan

Green Bean Casserole & Banana Pudding

February 4, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

I’ll just throw it out there. Here it is. The burning issue of the day. I want this blog to be way ahead of the curve. I want us to tackle this hot topic here before The Christian Chronicle gets hold of it.

“The Growth and Decline of the Church Potluck”

I love a good church potluck dinner. Theologically speaking, I defy you to show me a better way for a church family to live out its divine call to meet, fellowship, encourage, and share. Is there anything better than sharing a common meal in potluck fashion?

What a beautiful church-as-body model. Everyone gifted with different gifts. Everyone bringing their best gifts to the common table. All those different gifts coming together in one extravagant embarrassment of a massive meal. Potlucks celebrate our different gifts. Potlucks recognize our diversity.

What a wonderful church-as-fellowship model. Sitting by and sharing a meal with brothers and sisters with whom you don’t normally spend much time. “Who made this cherry pie?” “Did you get some of this spaghetti thing?” “I have no idea what this is.” It’s amazing to me that younger people blame the older people for what’s wrong with the church and the older people blame the younger. But once we sit down to share a meal together, once we start to visit and talk about our kids and grandkids and vegetable gardens and vacation plans, we realize we’re all on pretty much the same page about almost everything. Potlucks foster unity.

What a wonderful church-as-sacrifice-and-service model. “No, keep your seat, let me go get you some napkins.” “What do you want to drink?” “Have you seen my kids?” “We need help folding up these tables and stacking up all the chairs.” “Let me carry that out to your car.” Potlucks foster Christ-like attitudes of looking to the interests of others.

I love everything—EVERYTHING—about church potluck dinners. We held one here at Legacy two Sunday nights ago. Over 400 people showed up. Tables and tables of food. We could have easily fed 800. There were entire tables of desserts that didn’t even get touched. We ate loudly. Laughing. Hollering across rows. We sang devotional songs together. Again, loudly. Enthusiastically. Something very basic, something very first-century-church about worshipping God together around the tables. We shared communion together. Again, something very, very first-century about eating the bread and drinking the wine in the context of a common meal; remembering our Lord as we consider his body, his church, our brothers and sisters sitting right next to us and across from us.

What’s not to like about the church potluck?

But church potlucks, I’m afraid, are out of style. Of the 400+ at our potluck last week, there was one group of people conspicuously absent: people my age and younger.

We have 80 in our Young Families class. (Don’t make jokes about my being in the young families class. As I recall, my parents kept going to the Young Marrieds class at PGrove even when I was in high school.) And I only counted five from that class who were younger than me at the potluck. There were plenty of singles there and lots of young marrieds without children. But it seems that couples in their 30s with young kids almost completely stayed away.

So, what’s the deal? More than anything, I’m just curious. Is the church potluck, even with all its (according to me, I guess) benefits of positive reinforcement of the Christian values we hold dear, about to disappear? Is it past its prime? Why? I’d like for everyone reading this post to submit some kind of potluck comment. What you like or don’t like about church potlucks. Why you go or don’t go to church potlucks. The good, the bad, and the stuff in that blue dish over there.

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For an excellent story on the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly 50 years ago, check out this link. Texas Monthly’s Michael Hall goes back to Clear Lake, Iowa—the site of that last concert and the place from where the plane both took off and crashed—and delivers a comprehensive look at all the events surrounding what he dubs “the first modern tragedy in America.” He interviews people who were at the last show and the man who leased the plane to Holly. It’s a long read. But it’s excellent.

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And, belated congratulations to Bob Hayes. I had him on my show from the end zone at Cowboys camp in Austin back in the mid-90s and called him “Bullet Bob” on the air. He corrected me, “It’s Blimp Bob now!” No, no. Hayes will always be the bullet, the world’s fastest human, the man who forced NFL defenses to come up with zone coverages, the original Cowboys #22. Roger Staubach or Don Meredith should introduce his representative in Canton this summer, not sister/half-sister/friend Lucille Hester. That’s eleven Cowboys now in the Hall of Fame. Hopefully Cliff Harris will be next.

Peace,

Allan

Dear Danny Reeves,

January 28, 2009 / Allan / 0 Comments

As all of North Texas remains paralyzed by “Ice Calamity ’09” (see? I used to be in the news business), I pretty much have the church building all to myself. Just me and Suzanne’s space heater alone in my study for maybe a couple of hours. Plenty of time to get all of Sunday night’s worship order together for Lance (No, we’re not canceling our evening assembly for a TV show. Get real.) and knock out the rest of Sunday morning’s sermon.

Tomorrow I’m going to dedicate this space to a frank discussion about church potluck dinners. I’m looking for your thoughts and your input, especially those of you my age and younger. Friday, a word or two about Small Groups and our goal here at Legacy to raise up 100 co-leaders for 50 new groups.

Today, an open letter to Dan Reeves:

Dear Danny Reeves,

You know how much I love you. OK, maybe you don’t. Our paths have only crossed a couple of brief times. You were my guest on my tiny little talk show in Marble Falls, Texas the day after the Cowboys hired Chan Gailey. As Gailey’s little league baseball coach in Americus, Georgia, you were perfect. We talked about Gailey’s character and integrity and how good that was going to be for a Cowboys team that was absolutely out of control. I also interviewed you in August 2004 as part of a cleverly-contrived countdown to football season on a show I was hosting in Dallas. You were, and still are, my pick as the greatest football player ever to wear #30. We spent most of that 20-minutes, as I recall, talking about a football team lacking real direction. You wouldn’t remember me at all. But I’ve always admired you.

What’s not to like about you, Mr. Reeves?

As an undrafted quarterback out of South Carolina, you worked harder than anybody else to play mainly a backup role as a Cowboys running back for eight seasons. You were the leading rusher on the very first Cowboys team to ever post a winning record. You were a huge on-field and locker room leader on the Cowboys first Super Bowl teams. You were the very best kind of player-coach. You cut your full-time coaching teeth under a legend in Tom Landry. For eleven seasons you worked under Landry. At one time you were the front-runner to replace “the only coach the Cowboys have ever had.”

But you couldn’t wait that long. You took the head coaching job with the Broncos in Denver and took them to four AFC title games and three Super Bowls, winning NFL Coach of the Year honors three times. You also took the Falcons to the Super Bowl after a successful four-year stint with the Giants. In all, Danny, you appeared as a player or coach in 50 playoff games and nine Super Bowls. You won NFL Coach of the Year five times and you’re the sixth all-time winningest coach in NFL history.

What’s most impressive to me about your stellar football career is that, through all the successes and accolades and honors, you’ve maintained your character and integrity.

Now, your original team, the Dallas Cowboys, the organization that holds so many wonderful memories and emotions for you, Danny, they’re calling you home.

And I have mixed feelings about it. So must you.

My first thought is that this could be the very best thing that’s happened to this troubled franchise since Jerry Wayne bought the team 20 years ago. As a team consultant—is that really what they’re calling it?—you would provide much-needed direction. Football direction. Morality direction. Character direction. Team-first direction. How to be a winner and how to act like a winner direction. Yes. Do it. This team needs you.

But my other thoughts, the ones that consider the big picture, tell me you don’t want any part of this thing. And, as a huge Dan Reeves fan, I wouldn’t want you to be associated with this team right now for anything. Every person and everything connected to this organization goes south. And as long as Jerry Wayne remains the owner and general manager, there’s no hope for anybody turning this thing around. Not even you.

Jerry doesn’t just tolerate selfish, me-first-team-second behavior out of his players, he goes out of his way to bring more selfish players in. He doesn’t just turn his eyes away when one of his players embarrasses the organization with an arrest or a shooting or a vulgar rap video. He hands out massive contracts to even more players with those same histories. Why would you even consider this gig? You want to be associated with this mess?

The Cowboys are coming off, arguably, the most disappointing season in franchise history. A re-loaded 13-3 team, that had everybody (almost) talking Super Bowl, flames out at 9-7 and misses the playoffs. Again. The Cowboys have as many playoff wins in the past 13 years as the Detroit Lions. Zero. Every other team in the NFC has at least one postseason win during that stretch. Cowboys and Lions. Great. Matt Millen’s a national punch-line as a GM. Owner Jerry would never even consider firing GM Jerry, even though his record is comparable to Millen’s. Dan, why would you even return his phone call?

This team’s answer to the train-wreck that was the ’08 season is to get arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct (Anthony Spencer), produce a vulgar rap video and send it to dozens of media outlets and paste it on YouTube (Martellus Bennett), sign a deal to star in a reality TV show (Terrell Owens), and agree to let Michael Irvin and Deion Sanders host a cable show in which the winner of a contest receives an invitation to participate in Cowboys training camp. The working title for that show is “So You Wanna Be A Cowboy?” My question to you, Mr. Reeves, if you wanna be a Cowboy, is why?

The owner of this team seems much, much more interested in marketing his blue star than in winning football games and Super Bowls. Any publicity, even publicity that makes normal people cringe in disgust, is good publicity according to Jerry Wayne. Sir, you don’t want your respected name or your unblemished record or your immaculate image or your impeccable character stained by this organization. Don’t do it.

Unless….

…somehow Jerry gives you the GM’s job. That’s the only way. Don’t even consider any other position. I know Wade Phillips replaced you as head coach when you left the jobs in Denver and Atlanta. And it would be tempting if Jones offered to let you replace Wade here. It would be sweet. Selfishly, I’d love to see it. But it’s not enough. As long as Jerry’s in charge of operations, it won’t work. Not for you. Not for the team. If Jerry will step away from the GM’s chair and give you the exact same power and control he gave Bill Parcells, then I would urge you to take it. And I would proudly pull my Cowboys sweat shirts and caps out of the 13-year-old mothballs and root hard for your success. With you at the helm, character would matter. Integrity would be important. Team-first concepts would be demanded. Nothing that compromises team focus or unity would be tolerated. T.O. would be gone. Tank Johnson would be gone. Keith Davis would be gone. PacMan Jones would be gone. Jessica Simpson would be gone. Martellus Bennett would be gone. Ken Hamlin would be gone. And players with their histories and records and tendencies won’t ever be brought in. There won’t be a DJ playing music on the sidelines at training camp. Michael Irvin and Deion Sanders will be told to take their circus somewhere else. HBO will be told “no.” Players and coaches will be held accountable to on-and-off-field standards of excellence. Dan Reeves, you are no-nonsense. Jerry Wayne is all-nonsense. Jones handing the GM job to you is the only way.

Which means, I’m dreaming again. It’ll never happen. Jerry’s only seeking a reputable name, an untarnished image, a nice representative of past glories to distract the media and his detractors. That’s all. He’s too stubborn and short-sighted and too driven by his over-inflated ego to do anything else.

Mr. Reeves, I hope you can return soon to the NFL. Consultant. GM. Coach. Whatever. I hope some team recognizes your talents and gifts for shaping young men into quality football teams that represent their organization and their fans and their cities well.

For your sake, and your sake only, I hope it’s not here.

Sincerely,

Allan Stanglin

Category: Cowboys (Page 41 of 53)

Red Ribbon Review

Mere Christianity

Go and Do

K.O. for T.O.

Green Bean Casserole & Banana Pudding

Dear Danny Reeves,

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