Maybe I just didn’t get out to Texas Stadium often enough to be upset that it’s going away. Some people are obviously shaken by its passing. Or maybe I’m just not the nostalgic type. Either way, I couldn’t agree more with the open letter we ran in our April issue — good riddance. If you haven’t seen it, I’ve helpfully included it below.
Dear Mr. Stadium: Now that you’re getting blown to bits this month in a Kraft Mac & Cheese “Cheddar Explosion,” you’re maybe expecting us to wax nostalgic, tell a story about the time our father took us to a game in the 1970s, and how that was one of the only times we bonded as men. No dice, fella. Try Kevin Sherrington if that’s what you’re looking for. We, sir, could not be more delighted that you’re getting exploded. We’d rather throw a basket of newborn puppies off Reunion Tower than see you — you sorry, dank, decrepit, stupid-roof-having excuse for a stadium — survive for one more day. You deserve to be a pile of rubble. We hope it hurts. We hope they screw it up, so they have to dynamite you twice. Later, jerk.
