Ain't Scare to Cry

Jonny Dave Floyd
Southerner

Jonny Dave Floyd is a NASCAR writer for Flotsam Media, but he also likes to watch football. He wanted to play in high school, but his Momma was afraid the other boys would laugh at him in the showers. Jonny Dave had a whole lot of butt pimples in high school.

I got in from the deer woods on Turkey Day mornin’ to settle my butt down for a long day of dark meat, cranberry sauce, and football. I turned on Channel 13 to see some pregame and check myself for ticks.

Momma said she hates it when I check myself for ticks in front of the TV. She says there’s no way I can possibly check myself good while the TV's on. I tell her that I can. She says I can’t. We go back and forth until I finally just strip down to my skivvies and let her check me while I get worked up over "Married with Children" re-runs (Peg’s almost TOO hot with them tig ol’ bitties!).

Well, on Turkey Day, since Momma's busy fryin’ the turkey, I got to check my own self while I watched good ol’ boy Terry Bradshaw gimme the lowdown on all I need to know about football and life in general. [Side note: I’m sure glad they brought that black fella back. Things are back to runnin’ good again on Channel 13’s pregame show. Joe Buck’s pretty too look at and all, but he can’t handle Terry, Jimmy, and Howie. The black fella looks like he lost some weight or somethin’, though.]

OK, back on track. So, I turn it on Channel 13 and what do I see? I see the single most beautiful and touching and goosebump-givin’ tribute to a DIFFERENT good ol’ country boy. I’m talkin’ ‘bout Brett Farve. They had all these old guys talkin’ about how great he is and how they’re glad he joined their club. There was game film and music and I was just in awe at the greatness on my TV.

I couldn’t figure out why they were showin’ it and got scared that maybe Brett had died or somethin’. I hollered at Momma to turn on the radio to see, but she said the radio was in her car ‘cause her car radio wasn’t workin’. What was I gonna do, y’all? I had to know. I felt a lump in my throat makin’ it hard for me to swallow. I told myself, "Jonny Dave, don’t you say your goodbyes yet."

But I couldn’t help it. There I was on the floor with a tick between the fingernails of one hand, the other hand keepin’ my dog away from my genitals, and tears streamin’ down my face for a man I never even met. Momma walked in and said it was the most beautiful thing she ever saw on the floor of her livin’ room. She likes Turkey Day and ain’t hardly ever mean on that day.

Anyways, the tribute was over and Terry Bradshaw -- I knew it’d be you, Terry -- lets me know that Brett’d be playin’ that day. He was ALIVE! Well, you’d think I’d’ve quit cryin’ right then, but you’d be wrong. I just cried harder. I cried because I knew how close we were to losin’ what may be the single greatest American ever. And I had a new appreciation for my life, too. That’s what Brett can do for ya. Brett almost died that day, y’all. But I got to see him play football anyway.

I cried all through that game and most of the night. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. Momma says a man can cry if he gets rid of that tick between his fingernails, lets the dog get a sniff ‘cause that’s all she wants, and goes into the bathroom so no one’s watchin’. Well, I did that, Momma. I popped that tick, put my underwear back on, and went to the bathroom where I just stared at myself in the mirror. And guess what, Momma. Somebody was watchin’ me cry, Momma. I was watchin’, Momma. I was watchin’. And that don’t make me less of a man. And Brett will always be worth cryin’ over.

Hope y’all’s Turkey Day was good. Mine was the best ever.