Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, before the term “social distancing” had been invented, when people in masks robbed banks, when the year looked like a countdown instead of an eye chart, I wrote about our church’s twentieth anniversary, and specifically about the man who welcomed us when we started going there.
I could write something for you to read today, but it wouldn’t be as good as this.
Hurricanes and their predecessors are usually the only natural phenomenons that get names. Tornados usually move through an area rapidly.
Both of those were upended the last several weeks, as Tornado WCG descended over the DFW area for an extended stay. The resulting destruction was about what you’d expect from a cat-5 tornado moving in and around an area for two-and-a-half months. NRH2O, Six Flags, Urban Air, Schlitterbahn, Chucky Cheese, iFly, Hurricane Harbor, both area zoos, Chick-fil-A, every Sonic within a ten-mile radius, a couple of innocent bystanders with pools, the world’s most nervous bulldog, and four grandparents still aren’t quite sure what hit them.
As you saw a couple of weeks ago, the WCG is back in town, so hurricane-force winds are in effect for the duration.
Every sports dad in America needs to read this.
As so often happens, I cannot but help think of a Rich lyric.
I’ve seen the very best there ever was, and I’ll tell you, it ain’t worth what it costs.