BOOMERPDX HUNTS FOR HIS ROGER STAUBACH
My name is Dave and I was a soccer daddy, a Portland baby boomer youth soccer coach.
More than that, I liked it.
Never played soccer, though it’s looks like it might be fun.
I did it without the whistle and clipboard.
Was it a big deal? It pointed toward Roger Staubach, you tell me.
After practice the team voted for one kid who made others better. We called it the Staubach Vote.
His mom was thrilled. Her kid was a little guy, bashful, who played a passive game, except this practice he made a few assists and a few stops.
He was pumped up.
“I’ve never seen my son so excited about sports,” the mom said.
“It happens to them all at some point,” I said. “Wait long enough and something good happens on the field.”
“Have you played soccer all your life?” she asked?
“Never played. I played football and wrestled.”
“Do you have a favorite football team?”
“Dallas Cowboys. My Granddaddy used to send us all their preseason stuff. We visited Dallas once and he took us out to their training facility. Met George ‘The Oak’ Andre and Reggie Rucker when I was eleven or twelve. My Dad was a Packer fan, so the Cowboys were a natural fit.”
The mom smiled and said, “My sister works for Roger Staubach. Would you like a picture of him?”
A picture of Roger the Dodger, the Navy Heisman Trophy winner who did his four years in the Navy and came back to win a Super Bowl with the Cowboys? That Roger Staubach? I was speechless. Breathless. But cool.
“That’d be nice,” I said.
Three months later a big, flat, envelope came through UPS. Inside I found a big glossy image of Roger Staubach signed, “To David Gillespie, Best Wishes, Roger Staubach, #12.”
After I fixed the spelling on my last name that picture jumped to first place in treasure collection. I found a special frame and put it on the fireplace mantle.
Turns out the special frame was more special than I thought. Someone in my household took my Roger out of his frame so they could put something else in it.
My Roger ended up on the table and got recycled with the newspaper.
- PROBLEM: I lost my Roger.
- BAD SOLUTION: Blame my wife.
- REAL SOLUTION: Get over it, it’s only a picture. Grow up.
- BEST SOLUTION: Pretend it’s just been misplaced for ten years and keep looking for it.
“Roger? Is that you? Roger, you can come out now. Ollie ollie oxen free, you can come out from hiding. Roger, I know you’re around here some place.”
At the start of each football season I kick the Roger hunt into high gear so Tony Romo can share the Roger aura. If Roger and I watch the Cowboy games together with Troy broadcasting, it’s a Super Bowl year again. That’s been the problem the last few years.
This is the year I learn to ask for a new Roger.
Mr. Staubach, please send a replacement picture to David Gillaspie?
He’s a true Cowboy fan and a true husband who refuses to accuse his wife of losing the first picture.
A new picture would help so much.
We need a Super Bowl Roger. With a new picture hanging on the wall facing a TV showing Troy call a Cowboy game, this is the year.
Tony and Troy need you, Roger. Me, too.