Go Texans. I mean Chiefs.

I’ve never been a Dallas Cowboys fan. In fact, I’ve hated them from the moment they played their first game at the Cotton Bowl in 1960. I’d been at the Cotton Bowl the day before to watch my beloved Dallas Texans play. Fifty years later, I’m still bitter. I’ve always blamed the blue and silver for forcing my team to move to Kansas City. My friends, all members of the Dallas Texans Huddle Club, cried when we learned that Lenny Dawson, Abner Haynes, and, my favorite, Chris “#88” Burford were moving.

The Texans won the AFL title in 1962. I was ten. My dad, a member of the Spurs Club, gave me the championship ring that the team gave him as a loyal supporter of the team. (Please don’t ask me what I’ve done with it.) However, I still have an autographed picture and football that I keep at my desk. As you can see, I’m not quite over the move.

And neither is my baby brother, Bill Nichols. He writes a  lovely story about the Chiefs and the birth of the Cowboys. At noon, the Chiefs will host the Cowboys. I will watch the game, but only to see the Chiefs decked out in the original Dallas Texan uniforms as a tribute to owner Lamar Hunt who passed away in 2006. That’s not true. I will watch because I’d love to see the Chiefs kick the hell out of the Cowboys. Payback time. Go Chiefs. You still have fans in Dallas.