600 Hours of Edward

buddy I ever had, Edward.” That made me feel good.
    Game number 7: January 4, 1981
    Result: Cowboys, 30; Atlanta Falcons, 27
    What happened: The Cowboys scored twenty points in the fourth quarter in Atlanta and rallied to beat the Falcons, which allowed them to go on and play the Philadelphia Eagles in the National Football Conference championship game. They lost that one, though, which is why it isn’t on my list.
    Why I remember it: My father was despondent when Roger Staubach retired. “That’s the greatest Cowboy ever, Teddy,” he said. (That’s a subjective judgment, not a fact, but my father was never the stickler for facts that I am.) On this day, Roger Staubach’s successor, Danny White, led a comeback every bit as good as any Roger Staubach ever led. That pleased my father very much.
    Game number 8: October 27, 2002
    Result: Seattle Seahawks, 17; Cowboys, 14
    What happened: Emmitt Smith, the last of the Dallas Cowboys’ so-called “Triplets”—the other two were Troy Aikman and Michael Irvin—set the all-time National Football League rushing record with an eleven-yard run against the Seattle Seahawks. It was really neat: They stopped the game and everything to recognize Emmitt Smith’s achievement.
    Why I remember it: Much like the other loss on my top-ten list, the result didn’t matter. My father and I saw National Football League history together. “That guy’s the greatest player in Cowboys history, bar none,” my father pronounced, perhaps forgetting that he had already made that judgment for Roger Staubach. Butthat’s the nice thing about subjective judgment, if there is a nice thing about it: you can change your mind.
    Game number 9: September 5, 1983
    Result: Cowboys, 31; Washington Redskins, 30
    What happened: The Cowboys rallied from 23–3 down after the first half to beat the hated Washington Redskins in Washington, DC. The truth is, I could have picked ten times the Cowboys beat the Redskins as my favorite games, because I dislike the Redskins just that much. I would say hate, but I think it’s a misapplication of the word.
    Why I remember it: I didn’t see it. It was a
Monday Night Football
game, and because the Cowboys were losing so badly, my mother suggested that I didn’t need to stay up and see the rest of the game. The next morning, I sat down to have breakfast with my mother and father and asked how the game ended. “Oh, you know,” my father said. “About how you’d expect…They won!” I couldn’t believe it, but he said yes, the Dallas Cowboys had won, and he showed me the proof in the
Billings Herald-Gleaner.
It was really neat.
    Game number 10: November 22, 2007
    Result: Cowboys, 34; New York Jets, 3
    What happened: The Cowboys beat the stuffing out of the New York Jets on Thanksgiving. It really wasn’t that great a game.
    Why I remember it: Because I realize now that it’s the last game I ever saw with my father.
    Today’s Dallas Cowboys–New York Giants game definitely would not make my top-ten list, even if my father were here tosee it with me. For a moment, I think it’s better that he’s not here, but that makes me feel bad. I think Dr. Buckley would say that it’s only football and that I ought to have more perspective about things. Dr. Buckley is a very logical woman.
    But even someone with perspective would say that the Cowboys are terrible today. I wish Tony Romo would hurry up and get better from his broken pinkie, because the guy who is playing in his place, Brad Johnson, cannot play very well. The New York Giants are a very good team, and I don’t know if the Dallas Cowboys could beat them even if Tony Romo was healthy—how could anyone know such a thing? But maybe if Tony Romo were playing, the Dallas Cowboys wouldn’t be trailing 21–7 at halftime, with the seven points coming only because the Giants did something uncharacteristically sloppy.
    The way the Cowboys have been playing lately, it is not much fun to pull on my blue or white Tony Romo jersey and root for them.
    – • –
    The knock on the front door comes while I am rummaging around in the freezer for that Häagen-Dazs chocolate sorbet, only to remember that I tossed it out after my father died, a decision I am now regretting. I head across the living room to the front door and peek through the spy hole.
    It is Donna Middleton. Holy shit!
    I consider backing slowly and softly away from the door and pretending that I am not here, but now Donna Middleton is saying, “I