A good while back I posted a blog about a friend of mine who'd been given only a short time to live by his doctor. Of course I can't find the post now, but in it I told my favorite story about my friend. Both then and now I will call him Joe.
I'll retell the short version for those that missed it. Joe came into work one night looking like someone had decided to grind his face into hamburger. His nose was bleeding, his lip swollen and busted, and the skin on his face was battered and red. When someone asked Joe what happened, he matter-of-factly stated, "I stopped at Toot and Totum on the way into work. While I was pumping gas I spotted this old boy I owed an ass whooping."
Before anyone could say a word, Joe piped in with, "Now I owe him two."
Shortly after that original post a miracle happened when Joe's cancer suddenly went into remission. The doctor's couldn't explain it, but the three months they had given him turned into better than a year of cancer free life fro Joe.
Three weeks ago those same doctors confirmed what Joe's body had already been telling him. The cancer was back.
Joe's stomach tumor grew five times in size in less than a month and now Joe is in yet another round of chemo in a battle for his life. Of course I'm pulling for him to win this battle, but given our usual banter is one of harassment and good natured ribbing I'm not going to put on satin gloves and treat him as a frail sickly invalid.
Joe would never want or expect me to do that.
So that brings us to my story. Last night while watching my beloved New Orleans Saints, under the stellar leadership of their QB Drew Brees, dismantle the Tom Brady led, almighty New England Patriots, Joe says, "Brees is okay but he's no Romo."
Joe like most folks here in Texas bleeds Dallas Cowboy blue. No one in their right mind would ever claim Dallas QB Tony Romo is better than Drew Brees but in the nature of our fun, Joe threw that statement out."
I countered with the truth that the sweat dripping from Brees's balls has more talent than Tony Romo.
So today Joe calls me up and says, "I can't take the risk of you being a pall bearer at my funeral and having you lean down and say Romo sucks just as they close the casket. So I'm gonna scratch your name off the list and add Tony Romo's."
Not about to give in I said, "Don't do that. Romo will miss the hole in the ground and dump you out right there on the hard cold earth."
Joe was admitted into the hospital tonight, but just a few minutes ago he called to tell me not to get my hopes up, he's not going anywhere until the Cowboys ruin the saints perfect season in a few weeks. I can only hope and pray that Joe will feel up to watching the game with me on December 19th, because despite his poor choice in football teams, he truly is a hell of a friend.
I almost feel bad for the beat down the Who Dats are gonna put on his beloved 'Boys. I said almost. I've been a Saints fan for far too many lean years not to thoroughly enjoy this shining season.
The original Joe story can be found here. I owe the location of the link to the sleuth work of Hilary. Thanks Hilary.