During the World Cup final, my cousins, The Anglo Mariachi Cowboy (AMC) and Chef Juandel (CJ), stopped by to watch over a few root beers and roasted popcorn.
As the match wore on and the pop flowed freely—becoming a celebratory arroyo after Spain’s victory—their conversation became increasingly philosophical.
Having taken only one semester of conversational Texan, I didn’t catch everything — and I’m sure much is lost in my carbonated translation of their soda-slurred east Texan dialect — but here are a few of the chestnuts I recall:
AMC: “Survivalist” had a different meaning when I was growing up. We used guns, knives and sheets for hunting squirrels, peeling potatoes and dividing rooms.
CJ: The only people sure of everything are the ones who don’t know anything.
AMC: If not for us hypocrites, my church couldn’t field a softball team.
CJ: My resume is some of the best fiction I’ve ever written.
AMC: We’ll need passports to watch the Cowboys play at the Cardinals.
CJ: I think every team should get to play their opener at home.
AMC: I’ve never seen a photo of all three of us together on Cousin Wendel’s Facebook page.
CJ: This sure is good root beer.