Some thoughts while trying to find something big and white to wear in the cold on Saturday night because we’re unlucky enough to be in an odd-numbered section . . . Our Notre Dame connections in Chicago are worried that…
Back in the 1950s, like most everyone else in Oklahoma, Dad was a serious OU football fan.
On fall Saturday mornings, he and one of his buddies from Eufaula would load into the Chevy, pull onto Highway 9 and journey to Norman to watch Bud Wilkinson’s Sooners ring up another victory.
I know this because Dad told me.
And I saw his collection of game programs, which proved he’d been at the games. He owned boxes full of game programs, all in good condition. Dad kept them stacked neatly in his rolltop desk.
He let me, an 8-year-old who didn’t know better, sort through them.
