Each year, on a fateful October Saturday in Dallas, after only a few hours of restless sleep, we rise before the crack of dawn, completely wired, and approach our already-laid-out clothes like a player approaching his locker to suit up for battle. We've thought out everything about attending the annual Red River Showdown in meticulous detail, down to the driving route we'll take to a previously scouted parking area.
As my fellow Longhorns fans and I drive through the darkened streets of southeast Dallas, the anticipation builds to the point that we can hardly speak. The silence breaking only when the ice in our cooler full of liquid courage cracks as the car bounces over the first speed bump in the parking lot.