Following the Rangers has always been about disappointment. But, in the past, the let down was spread across an entire season, like a slow, usually comical death. By the time it was over, you had already done your suffering. Game 6 was the opposite. I felt that the Cardinals had stabbed me in the heart, yet somehow kept me alive long enough to appreciate the pain. So, yeah, that sucked,

But I can thank Titus Andronicus for my sense of peace today. On my drive home from the stadium, I popped in their CD “The Monitor,” an angsty pseudo-concept album about the Civil War battle between the Monitor and the Merrimack. Or, an album tailor-made for me.

The back-to-back gut-punch of “No Future Part Three: Escape From No Future” and “Richard II” summed up my feelings about the Rangers. No future would be the team’s theme song with the final refrain “You will always be a loser” repeated a dozen or so times. It just took a bearded dude from Jersey to write it. But for as much as that song tore me down, “Richard II” built me up. The lyrics have nothing to do with baseball, and are pretty depressing, too, but the music uplifted me somehow. Rousing is what I’d call it.

Somehow, like a beer in the morning following a hard night of drinking, those two songs cured my World Series hangover. I’m OK with it. I wouldn’t trade this season for any other, terrible collapse or not. I’m already ready to debate Rob and Austin and Jim and Jose Bowe about whether or not C.J. Wilson is worth resigning (I think he is) or if we should pursue Albert Pujols (fuck you, Cardinals!) or if Jurickson Profar will save us all (he will).

So do yourself a favor, suffering Ranger fan, and listen to these two songs back-t0-back. You can thank me later.

My handwriting has gotten much worse.

After years of build-up and weeks of Facebook-fueled anticipation, the time is here. Now, I finally publish my 1996 edition of “NFL’s Best Players.” The original edition was painstakingly hand-written over a series of weeks during free time in Ms. Foster’s third-grade class.

I have included the spelling and grammatical errors that my 8-year-old self made for effect. There are also some factual errors (such as calling “Dan Wilkerson” a “linebaker”), but, hey, I was 8. Get prepared for 1,000+ words of cutting-edge analysis, presented verbatim.

Remember Big Daddy "Wilkerson"?

Dan “Big Daddy” Wilkerson, Bengals LB
“Big Daddy” is one of the best linebackers ever to play the game. The 320 pound bulldozer can ram a person into a wall and make them stick. He’s the Bengals best linebaker.

Ricky Waters, 49ers/Eagles RB
Ricky is one of the best running backs in the league. The 49ers had him but then the Eagles picked him up. He likes QB Rodney Peete but not as much as Steve Young.

Jerry Rice, 49ers WR
Jerry is the best rated wide resiver in the whole NFL. He and Steve Young are a great team. Rice has 161 carrer touchdowns. Teams if you ever get a chance to get Jerry get him.

Emmit Smith, Cowboys RB
Emmit is the best running back in the league. He has over 5,000 rushing yards. Emmit has played with the Cowboys for all his carrier. He beat Barry Sanders for the best running back of the NFL.

Rodney Hampton, Giants RB
Rodney is one of the best running backs that you could get. He is one of the best running backs the Giants have had but they will miss David Megget.

He will hurt you more.

Ken Harvey, Cardinals-Redskins LB
Ken is the best linebacker in the NFL. He was the person who hurt Troy Aikman last year. If you try to hurt him he’ll hurt you a lot more than you could hurt him.

Micale Irvin, Cowboys WR
Micale had a rocky start because he took drugs in April. He was suspended for five games in the regular season. But his first game vs. the Cards was a great success he caught 5 balls but no touchdowns. But coach Barry Switser said “I think its just around the corner.” He said “Its great to be a Cowboy again.”

Joe Montana, Chiefs QB
Joe was the best QB ever. He played for the 49ers. He won 4 Super Bowls for the 9ers then he was picked by the Chiefs. He didn’t win a Super Bowl for them but he did a outstanding job.

Aikman just beat your pill-poppin' ass.

Bret Farve, Packers QB
Bret had a a little trouble this summer because he was hooked on painkillers. Then he got help. So later on there was a contest for who could throw the ball farthest and he won. Last year he was the MVP of the year. The Packers could of went to the Super Bowl but the Cowboys beat them.

Brent Jones, 49ers TE
Brent is the best tight end the 49ers have ever had. He averaged 1 touchdown a game. Right now he is injured so Ted Popson is the tight end right now.

Steve Bono, Chiefs QB
Steve may not be any Joe Montana but he is one of the best rated quarterbacks in the NFL. Steve was the backup of Dave Kreig but he got traded.

Barry Sanders, Lions RB
Barry is the second best running back in the NFL behind Emmit Smith. When the Lions signed hi out of collage they seemed to know he was going to turn into a star. He averages 1,000 yards a year. Barry wouldn’t prefer less passes because he loves QB Scott Mitchell.

He's no Steve Walsh.

Eric Kramer, Bears QB
Eric started out as the back up of Steve Walsh but Walsh is with the Rams now. Eric isn’t the best QB in the league but he can get you to the Super Bowl.

John Taylor, 49ers WR
Jhon used to be Jerry Rice’s side kick but now J.J. Stokes is. John retired as a hurt football player but as one of the best. He was one of Steve Youngs favorite targets.

Sam Mills, Panthers LB
Sam is one of the best linebackers today. The Saints had Sam then he was traded to the Panthers in the expuntion draft. Sam had a gereat time with the Saints but he is having even more fun this year because he loves teaming up with LB Kevin Greene.

Deion Sanders, Cowboys CB
Deion has been the corner back of the NFC. He has been with the Falcons, 49ers and now is with the Cowboys. Deion has played quarterback, wide receiver and corner back. Deion is better than Eric Allen.

Say no to drugs, kids.

Keith Davis, Giants LB
Keith is a retired NY Giant linebacker but is one of the strongest men on Earth. Now Keith goes around schools to teach kids to say NO to DRUGS. People say he must of took steroids but he didn’t. He says “You may not be a world class athlete but you can be a world class person.”

Jim Everett, Saints QB
For whatever reason, Everett was a new man in New Orleans. Jim is a pretty good quarterback but not as good as the good old days with Archie Manning. Everett set a team record with 3,855 passing yards.

Jeff George, Falcons QB
When Jeff was acquired from the Colts in the trade, there were questions about his attitude and willingness to sacrifice for the good of the team. George wouldn’t be like old Steve Bartkowski, but his first year was pretty good with 3,734 passing yards and 61.5 percent.

I honestly had to look this guy up.

Ray Donaldson, Cowboys C
Ray is the Cowboys top center even better than Mark Stepnoski. Ray was traded but then came back. Ray is one of the best centers today but their are some that are better.

Warrin Moon, Vikings QB
Warrin is one of the top rated quarterbacks this year. The vetearen reminds Vikings fans of Fran Tarketon. He didn’t when he was with the Oliers. Then they wished they had Fran because the Oliers domenated they’re defense. Then when he came to Minnesota faces lit up because they got the man they’ed been looking for.

Troy Aikman, Cowboys QB
Troy joins San Franciscos Steve Young and Miamis Dan Marino on the short list for best quarter back. Troy has been the best QB for the Cowboys since Roger Staubaghce. Troy has done a sinsational for the Cowboys. In 94, he passed for 2,676 yards. He completed 64.5 percent.

Steve Young, 49ers QB
In 1994 at this time, Young was still living under Montana’s legacy in San Fransico, but that has all changed. Now he knows he has the big job. Steve led them to the Super Bowl and threw six touchdown passes. That game they smashed the Chargers. Coach George Seifert said “I bet Tampa Bay is regreting this.”

Neil "The Disappointment" O'Donnell

Neil O’Donnell, Jets QB
This year Neil has disappointed the Jets. When they sighned him they thought he would take them to the Super Bowl just like last year when he took the Steelers. In his total playoff carrir he was passed for 821 yards, six touchdowns and no interceptions.

Marshall Faulk, Colts RB
Faulk, Faulk, Faulk. The Colts will hear their offense around him again this season and hope he doesn’t suffer from sophomore jinx. The Colts say Marshall can be the next Emmit Smith. Last year he ran for 84 rushing yards.

Edgar Bennett, Packers RB
The Packers finished 19th with running back Bennett. Edgar finished with 623 rushing yards. Edgar can catch and when I say catch I mean catch.

A good person.

Dan Marino, Dolphins QB
Dan is one of the best QBs their is. He led the AFC with passes. Dan is not just a good football player he is a good person.

There is many more outstanding players out there but we couldn’t list them all.

FIN

So this year I decided to use my only real skill by writing about him.

My relationship with my dad has always been based on respect. He never laid a hand on me, but I was still scared to death of him every time I screwed up. When I accidentally broke my parent’s bedroom window with a baseball while trying to emulate Bobby Witt (hey, I was a Ranger fan in the mid-90s), I immediately ran bawling to my grandmother and begged her not to tell my dad. Of course, when he found out, he said it wasn’t that big of a deal. Boys will be boys. Things happen. It was such a big deal to him that the temporary cardboard he put over the hole in the window stayed on for 10 years.

I had a huge fear of letting him down. When I quit football at the end of my sophomore year of high school (mainly to focus on becoming a rock ‘n’ roller), I didn’t tell him for a week because I was convinced he would flip out and ground me. This was ridiculous, because that’s the exact opposite of how my dad has always worked. When I finally told him, I could tell he was a little bummed, but he just told me to keep my grades up.

I now realize that those moments helped shape my outlook and personality today. I like to think I’m pretty even-keel. It takes a lot more than a broken window to get me riled up.

My dad leads by example. He still shows me what true hard work is by heading to his shop every day in the summer heat to crawl under 18-wheelers. Even at 52, he’s still doing back-breaking work to provide for his family. During his stint selling tools, he spent his weekend working on trucks on the side so he could pay my college apartment rent. He’s not the most emotional guy, but he doesn’t need to be with me. His actions say it all. That and when he ends almost every conversation we have with “Check your oil.” It’s his way of saying, “I love you, son.”

He’s a true man’s man, more than I’ll ever be. He restored his father’s 1932 Ford Model A, turning it from potential scrap metal into a beautiful, running tribute to his dad. He also turned my first car–an $800 1987 Silverado–into a legitimately bad-ass truck, while letting me feel like I had a large hand in the overhaul. When that truck broke down during my junior year of college, he drove down to Austin, towed it home and fixed the transmission. He sold it to his friend and surprised me with a new truck.

He also set a really high precedent for being a cool dad. I always had the coolest dad among my friends. He would throw the football around with us. He would take us fishing and tubing. As we got older, he would not kick us out of his garage when The Riffters invaded and even claimed to enjoy our music (not sure if I really believe him). To this day, Joel will still give dad a call when he’s having car trouble. My dad’s answer every time, “Bring it over and let’s take a look at it.”

So today I just want to say, thanks dad for all of the above. You really are the best dad and I can only hope to set as good of an example for my kids.

And don’t worry. I’ll check my oil.

The Jarrell tornado. Also, remember when gas was $1.12?

As I’ve been reading about these tornadoes, I couldn’t help but think back to my final story I wrote in my college (academic) career. For Bill Minutaglio‘s advanced feature writing class, we had to recreate an event in history. I chose to re-tell the story of Jarrell, Texas, on May 27, 1997. Then, an F5 tornado wiped out most of the small town right of I-35 just 45 minutes north of Austin. Twenty-seven people were killed.

So I decided to share my story, not out of look-at-me motivations, but as a reminder of the impact these twisters have on people and communities, and that we shouldn’t forget about Joplin or Tuscaloosa going forward.

Disclaimer: It’s long and part of it is slightly graphic. Oh, and it’s also unedited (it was for class!), so forgive the rough-around-the-edges quality of it. It begins after the jump.

—–

Interstate 35 is littered with towns just like Jarrell, Texas—small, unassuming hamlets that wouldn’t even be known outside of their 500 or so residents if it weren’t for the occasional road sign that declares: JARRELL, EXIT 275.

Other than that, they exist in relative anonymity. As cars barrel down I-35 heading south, Jarrell easily gets lost in the shuffle of names like Moody, Marlin, Bruceville, Eddy, Taylor, Florence, and so on and so on. Their only purpose to the ignorant driver is to serve as a geographical landmark. “Oh, there’s Jarrell. That means we’re almost to Georgetown, which means we’re almost to Austin.”

But unlike most of those other towns, which largely occupy vast ranchlands that begin miles away from the interstate, Jarrell hugs the six lanes of asphalt. Its main drag, North 5^th Street, hits the southbound feeder road at a diagonal angle. “Downtown” occupies 10 square blocks that run from that dusty access road to the northeast for about a half mile before turning into another 10 blocks or so of neighborhoods.

From there, there’s not much of anything until you hit County Road 305 just northwest of downtown. As you head southwest along the two-lane road, you’re flanked by ranches and cattle on your right and a dozen or so mobile homes on your left. Outside of one of the double-wides, a Confederate flag waves proudly in the April wind while three men sit in lawn chairs underneath it drinking cold beer. The land has a stark feel to it, as if something’s missing, despite the colorful array of bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes that dot the fields.

A little farther down the road lies Jarrell Memorial Park with its community center and two baseball fields, whose light poles are visible from the highway. Just north of that is a 19-home subdivision with plots for many more that sits on an “L”-shaped road and ends in a cul-de-sac. The houses are simple, none having more than three bedrooms. Some yards are neat and fenced off with horses grazing in the back. Others are untamed, with children’s toys, toolboxes and barbeque grills serving as a makeshift boundary. Oddly, almost all have a small concrete box protruding from the earth on some part of their property. Storm shelters.

There are several driveways off the road that curiously lead to empty lots. In the place of houses are piles of junk, scrap metal and extra stones left over from old construction projects.

It is Double Creek Estates. Thirteen years earlier, that sentence would have read “It was Double Creek Estates.” That’s when an F5 tornado barreled into the small town of about 800 at the time and put Jarrell simultaneously on and off the map.

While Texas is often associated with “Tornado Alley,” the brutal, Mother Nature-ravaged expanse of land that spans most of the Great Plains, that distinction usually applies more to the Panhandle and North Texas. Central Texas and towns like Austin and San Antonio rarely see funnel clouds in the spring sky.

But it seemed as if the gods had been saving all those would-be twisters for May 27, 1997. On that day, 20 confirmed tornadoes wreaked havoc from Lorena to Moore, a 200-mile stretch through the heartland of Texas, for 13 and a half terrifying hours. Yet Mother Nature saved her worst for Jarrell.

It took only 10 minutes to kill 27 people and destroy the lives of countless others.

****

James Blackmon peels down County Road 305 in his jet black police Camaro that “can hit 100 in a hurry.” Early voting just began in Jarrell and he’s headed to a familiar place.

He’s driven down the road a thousand times. He has lived in the town for the past couple of years, actually staying there when he’s not off with his dog chasing down drug bosses. He and his canine, as he refers to her, jump from town to town, job to job. In three days they’ll be meeting with the mayor of Nocona about a possible gig. Born in Palestine, he has lived and seen just about everywhere in Texas.

“Probably fixin’ to go somewhere else, too,” he says with a chuckle. “We’re just kind of floatin’.”

As he takes the left into the parking lot of Jarrell Memorial Park community center, where the Williamson County mobile voting unit has set up shop, a sense of dread wells up in his gut and spreads throughout his body.

He’s been here before.

As Blackmon opens the glass door to the community center, he glances at a small brown plaque mounted to the left of the entrance and the feeling rises again. The plaque doesn’t have the same stately feel as the historical markers found around Texas. No, it is simple white lettering on a brown background that explains that the center and accompanying ball fields were built on land donated by—and as a living memorial for—the Igo family. The Igos were five of the 27 killed in the twister.

Blackmon remembers it as clear as day. His voice, normally bouncy and with a strong Texas twang, takes on a serious, almost solemn tone when discussing the incident. As the police chief and a canine officer of Thrall, a tiny town of 500 just east of Taylor, back in 1997, he and his deputy knew the storm was coming. They listened to the police radio as the super-cell storm formed south of the Metroplex and made its terrible push southward. They heard about the F3 that hit west of Temple, destroying 10 homes and a gaggle of boats. They heard about the several others that danced in the sky at the southern end of Bell County.

Finally, they heard about Jarrell.

“We knew it was bad since we were on the same frequency as Jarrell,” he says. “We just didn’t have any idea of the degree of it ‘til we got here.”

****

Ted S. Warren didn’t think twice about the assignment. As a young photographer at the Williamson County bureau of the Austin American-Statesman, he jumped at the chance to photograph a storm capable of producing not just one tornado but dozens. He hadn’t noticed anything unusual about the clouds that day.

He sped up I-35. Hail and rain pelted his windshield as he made it through traffic. The farther north he got, the more cars he found stopped on the shoulder, lining the highway. Beneath underpasses, quivering crowds—not from the cold, but from fear—huddled together and collectively stole glances toward the north. The sky had grown almost pitch black. It didn’t quite feel like night but it felt just as ominous. He didn’t think he would find too much destruction, maybe some downed road signs or, if he were lucky, a roof blown off a barn.

Then, Warren saw it.

Just north of the exit for Jarrell, a slender, waving ribbon of black danced across open plains to the northeast. The funnel cloud was more intriguing than scary. More seductive than destructive, even though it was only a mile north of where he was.

“It looked like the biggest movie, on the biggest movie screen I had ever seen,” Warren said later. “For something so destructive, it almost seemed magical to watch.”

Warren sat entranced in his car until snapping out of it to realize he needed to take photos. He grabbed his camera and began shooting away. He was so engrossed in the photographs that he couldn’t even remember what the tornado sounded like until he watched video of it later on. Then he remembered the growing roar of the storm as it touched down and grew stronger and stronger with each passing second and each patch of barren earth.

“Yeah,” he said to himself, “that was the sound.”

The tornado had an animalistic quality to it. It breathed and pulsed. It curved and bent. It sagged and straightened, all as it barreled southward into Jarrell. The funnel widened gradually then abruptly became thin again. Suddenly, Warren’s viewfinder was completely occupied by a black swirling mass of cloud. It had become an F5 just as it reached County Road 305, just minutes after it had captivated Warren with its beauty.

Warren snapped three quick photos before jumping back into his car and racing north on I-35 at 85 mph.

“It just got too close for comfort,” he said.

In town, residents took shelter wherever they could. Virginia Davidson crouched in her bathtub, terrified, with a mattress pulled over her. Brothers John and Michael Ruiz fled from their mobile home to supposed safety at the Moehring’s place just south of Double Creek. Larry Igo looked out from inside his vintage car shop a mile away from his home and saw the funnel cloud barreling right toward him. He raced back down County Road 305, to be with his family where he thought he would miss the storm.

The tornado turned.

At first it had appeared to be heading directly for downtown. Now it shifted almost 90 degrees to the west, directly toward Double Creek. As it plodded toward the neighborhood, the twister widened to 3/4ths of a mile wide. Multiple vortexes whirled and spun within the storm, reducing everything in its way to worse than rubble within the span on five minutes. Concrete slabs were all that remained of the homes. Larry Igo’s prized classic car collection was nowhere to be found, the vintage Chevy Bel Aires and Corvettes tossed hundreds of yards away, beaten beyond recognition.

The tornado drove directly over Double Creek Estates, continued for a few hundred feet more before receding back into the clouds and heading toward Cedar Park to terrorize once again.

What was left of Double Creek Estates

In Jarrell, the damage had been done. The Ruiz’s, Moehrings, Igos and many others didn’t make it out alive. Davidson was one of the few lucky ones. Her husband found her in the middle of a muddy field, bruised and beaten after she had been sucked up by the twister in her bathtub and thrown about within the storm. She landed with a thud a hundred feet from her home. All she could say was, “Oh God. Oh God.”

****

The interstate had been closed at Round Rock. No one, not even residents of Jarrell whose houses had just been flattened, were allowed by. Blackmon and his deputy made their way into town through Georgetown as a part of a makeshift armada of Central Texas law enforcement. Officers and troopers from Bell, Williamson and Travis counties and beyond converged on the muddy, mangled remains of Jarrell.

“That was more law officers than I’d ever seen except for a large funeral,” Blackmon says, ignoring the irony of the statement.

Destruction after Jarrell tornado

Blackmon drove an old beat up Plymouth—the only squad car he could transport his canine in—down County Road 305 while his deputy followed in the cop-standard Crown Victoria.

As he slowly made his way down the road, the car jolted as if it had just gone off of a curb.

“I ran off the pavement and I said, ‘I know Jarrell is poor but this is ridiculous,’” Blackmon says.

It hadn’t—it had just run out of road. The tornado had peeled away 500 yards of County Road 305—digging 18 inches into the ground at places—leaving Blackmon and a fleet of law enforcement to make their way to Double Creek through a muddy mixture of debris and God-knows-what.

Minutes later he found himself right in the middle of God-knows-what with dozens of other officers. As the darkened sky slowly slinked away, Blackmon stood at the eastern end of where Double Creek estates once existed and locked arms with the men next to him. They formed a chain that stretched the full 3/4ths mile path of destruction the twister had carved out. Slowly, they began to walk. They looked for any sign of life. More often, they found pieces of death.

Blackmon’s foot nudged a dark red mass tangled with mud and grass. He bent down to look, thinking it was a dead animal, at worse maybe part of one of the cows that had been prematurely butchered by the storm.

“It wasn’t,” he says and his voice lowers to just slightly above a whisper. “It was a female body. I still have a hard time talking about that. It was real bad. I never saw nothing like that in my life.”

It wasn’t the only disturbing discovery he would make. The storm, which has been called one of the most violent storms in history with winds up to 260 mph, methodically shredded everything in its path. The vortex sucked up humans, buildings, livestock, cars, farm equipment and asphalt, forming an aerial blender that rendered most of the victims’ bodies unidentifiable without extensive forensics.

“It sandblasted everything,” Blackmon says. “The bodies were just red. Just red.”

Other strange sights made the area feel like another planet. Dozens of blank foundation slabs with plumbing bent 90 degrees with the direction of the tornado littered the field. Wooden stakes were driven through telephone poles. Cows were impaled by corn stalks.

After more than eight hours out in the field, Blackmon couldn’t take it any more. He slowly walked back to the Plymouth, parked at what used to be Clawson Disposal. His canine was still sitting in the back seat. He let him out. The dog jumped down from the squad car, paused, gazed at the still pitch-black storm clouds off the south and laid down for a moment with a whimper. He then got up, growled at Blackmon and jumped back into the car.

“He wouldn’t come back out of the car, I’ll tell you that,” he says.

As he started the old, grumbling engine, he motioned to other officers and troopers to jump on and hitch a ride. Before he knew it, 13 police officers crammed onto the car, sitting on the hood, roof, trunk—everywhere. He turned on the overhead lights and headed back up County Road 305. They passed the horrified faces of residents who couldn’t find their loved ones. They passed the volunteer fire department that was serving as a makeshift morgue. They passed the church, overflowing with people searching, frantically, for information. They finally reached downtown. The officers departed and Blackmon took a deep, slow breath.

“Oh, God,” he said. “Where is the dignity in this at all? I just can’t comprehend this at all.”

****

Blackmon finally enters the community center. Dave White greets him with a hearty “Hello.” Debbie Helms, sitting with White behind a folding table, says enthusiastically, “Are you ready to vote?”

“I s’pose I am,” Blackmon says as he saunters over toward the table and looks for a place to sign his name on the registration sheet.

After a few minutes of small talk, the conversation turns to the tornado. White, who didn’t even move to Jarrell until five years ago, had even heard about it while living in California. Relatives who lived in Central Texas sent him grainy pictures of the destruction. Wooden boards driven through trees. Mangled cars. You know, the usual.

“Man, that was crazy,” White says, shaking his head.

Helms chimes in on the conversation. A longtime Georgetown resident, her husband is a ham radio operator. He headed down to Jarrell after the storm to help operate the airwaves since most of the town’s communications were knocked out.

“It was a bad, bad storm,” Helms says.

“Yes, yes it was,” Blackmon agrees. “It was a badass F5. It wasn’t messing around—So, where do I vote?”

Helms leads Blackmon to the back of the empty room to one of three electronic voting machines. About 50 voters have turned out to cast their ballots so far, an impressive number for the small town.

“It’s been a great turnout,” Helms says.

The incumbent mayor is Troy Clawson, the brother of Al, who’s disposal company was destroyed during the tornado and served as the makeshift police headquarters that Blackmon and so many others passed through. He’s being heavily challenged—easily shown by the hundreds of signs dotting the lawns of Jarrell—by Dewey Hulme, the president of the Jarrell Economic Development Corporation, and Bill Gravell, the pastor of the Sonterra Fellowship Church who moved to town in 2006. The race sums up the changes going in Jarrell.

Thirteen years ago, people passed the city without second thought. Now the exit to town is marked by a pair of huge, state-of-the-art truck stops, complete with a Denny’s and Subway. A brand new McDonalds sits next to them. A little further off the interstate lies the brand new Sonterra development that has houses “from the $90s!” for sale, and also is home to Gravell’s church. All of this development is happening on the east side of I-35, away from downtown, away from Double Creek and the mobile homes with Confederate flags, away from the city’s history.

With Clawson, the 1,400 residents can choose to go with tradition and, in a way, the legacy of the tornado. With Hulme and Gravell, they can plunge full-on ahead into a future of strip malls and fast food, but with the risk of losing track of the history of the town.

But for those who still call the west side of I-35 home, they can never forget what happened May 27, 1997.

“But how can they? We’re standing in it,” Blackmon says after he steps out of the voting booth. “People are real strange about that. They don’t want to be remembered for a famous tornado.”

Blackmon opens the glass door, waves and says goodbye to White and Helms and slowly walks to his Camaro. He pauses, looks back to where the tornado hit, bows his head, and finally enters his car. He backs out of the parking space before gunning the throttle and speeding up County Road 305 one more time.

Note: I’d be remiss not to mention what resources I used to research this story. The Austin American-Statesman covered the hell out of it and had a wonderful special report for it for the five-year anniversary. http://www.statesman.com/e/content/specialreports/jarrell/0526jarrail.html

I interviewed James Blackmon in person. I just lucked into meeting him at the voting station, where I happened to be awkwardly hanging out, hoping someone would talk to me that remembered the tornado. It turned into one of the best interviews of my life.

That’s why today holds such importance.

On this day two years ago, my college apartment, the beloved 1970s-beach-condo-looking Sandpiper, caught on fire thanks to an electrical short that may or may not have been caused by squirrels.It didn’t burn down. It didn’t kill or injure any one. It was bad enough to that it totaled four apartments, ours included.

Thankfully we only lost a handful of things. Here’s my original note about the fire on Facebook. Basically I got a mass text while in class from my roommate John that said something like “PIPER ON FIRE, FLAMES SHOOTING OUT OF BLAKE’S ROOM.”

My first thought was, ‘Why is he TEXTING this info to me, said person whose room in aflame?’ Then I hauled ass on my bike from campus. I couldn’t see any smoke or anything so thought it was just being overblown. Then I saw this:

Oh. Shit.

Yeah. Pretty intense. I found John, who had been showering when a maintenance man banged on the door and told him there was a fire. He quickly dressed and fled, not having the time to grab any of our possessions. He was pretty upset about that. So then we waited around with our distraught friends for hours, got aid packs from the Red Cross and $100 debit cards (“for clothes”) and pretty much prepared to be possessionless. When the fire chief said they would take us up to look at it after the fire was put out he said to prepare for total loss.

"My perspective on life: I try my best to do "The Brett" in the face of tragedy."- John Meller

Luckily, it didn’t turn out that way. We were homeless for two days. And by homeless I mean I stayed with Amanda and John stayed with his family friends. All of our stuff just smelled like smoke. We found a place right across the street, and were moved in by the end of the week. If you’re going to have an apartment fire, do it how we did.

Like I said, there were no major losses, but we did lose something that day. The Piper was our group of friends’ first place to, you know, be college kids. It was the center of our universe. Not all of our friends had off-campus places yet so we hosted every party and get-together. It was a time of innocence. That and under-age drinking. Innocent, responsible under-age drinking.

I feel that we left a little bit of authenticity and wholesomeness with the Piper. Our next apartment was nicer and the parties we hosted were way bigger, but they never felt the same. I don’t look back with regret. It was a change that was bound to happen. It’s just unique to have such a clear event to mark when things changed.

So here’s to you, Sandpiper 305. Our youth lives on forever in you.

We did some Riffter reminiscing, and it was fun to go back and listen to our old tracks, talk about how much cooler we’d be now as 16-year-old musicians and admit that we’re getting old. It’s not often that I feel compelled to share memories of our scrappy-yet-crappy garage band.

So I’ll leave you with the dramatic evolution of your favorite Richland High School rock ‘n’ roll band.

2005:

Victorious at our Battle of the Bands debut at the Door Fort Worth.

2006:

Album cover the never released masterpiece: "Mongolian Oligarchy"

2007: The College Years/Permanent Hiatus

2010: Grown men/wondering what could have been

I must say, quite the dapper group of gentlemen.

And I know you’re dying to actually hear what our crappy band sounded like. So go here to our ancient purevolume and enjoy a bunch of 16-year-olds living their dreams and trying to be Led Zeppelin.

We're already planning on playing Richland's 10-year reunion.

In all seriousness, that’s pretty fucking cool.

Tonight, just like most of you, I watched my Texas Rangers lose the World Series. I watched Brian Wilson strike out Nellie and get mobbed on our mound. I watched Mitch Kramer tie up the AL MVP. I also heard a “Let’s Go Rangers” chant break out as the Giants celebrated.

And yet, I’m OK. Sure, it’s a bummer. But after getting past the Yankees, the World Series has felt way less stressful. Maybe the players felt that way too, and maybe that’s why their bats went silent. Hell, the Rangers got the monkey of their back (winning a playoff game and series) and exorcised their demons (beating the goddamn Yankees) all in one whirlwind month.

Being a Ranger fan for the past, oh, 18 years has taught me to enjoy the ride. For years, all I really had to look forward to was hoping guys like Kason Gabbard or John Koronka would put together a promising September with the Rangers 10 games out of first place, providing hope for spring.

Yeah, the Rangers looked bad in this series. Couldn’t hit worth a crap. Mitch Moreland was the only guy to consistently show up and the dude’s a rookie. Sure the bullpen had a meltdown and Cliff Lee lost twice (aside: to anyone calling Lee a “goat” for his performance in the Series is stupid. The guy just showed that he was human in Game 1 and made one bad pitch in Game 5. The offense is your goat, folks). But what the hell. We went so far above expectations against the Rays and Yanks that it seemed inevitable. And quite simply, the Giants out-Rangered us. If I’m going to lose a World Series, I’ll lose it to a team like San Francisco every time. I love the way their team plays and for all the jokes about Lincecum or Brian Wilson out there, I’d take either in a heartbeat.

But I’d also keep any of ours. This team was the most fun to watch in Ranger history. And all of the best parts are going to be back, even if Cliff is wearing pinstripes. We’ve got an owner with money, a young corps of suddenly playoff-tested players and a rejuvenated fan base. Next year should be fun.

Thanks for 2010, Rangers. Can’t wait for spring training.

Hamilton with an epic jumping Claw.

I’ve been thinking about this blog post for a long time, about how I’d cleverly celebrate the Rangers winning the pennant, what obscure former player references I’d drop to add credibility to my fandom (Mike Pagliarulo anyone?) and how I’d predict they’d fare in their first ever World Series.

But all that’s out the window now. I can’t do it justice and I don’t even want to. I’m just completely content with this baseball team, a feeling I’ve never really had about the Rangers. These guys are a bunch of fun-loving bad asses and it’s a joy to watch them. And even though I didn’t watch the game (I was holed up in a pressbox in Converse, Texas) following it on Twitter and then watching on the highlights have been just as pleasing. I just wish I could have been at the Ballpark.

And besides, Jim Reeves wrote the column that I wanted to write. And the longtime Star-Telegram-er and my sports writing idol hit it out of the park:

Enjoy and go Rangers.