Monday , 18 June 2018

Eliska Counce: An Open Letter to Hawkins Crawford Romo

By Eliska Counce, TSB Columnist

Dear Hawk:

Yep, Hawk. I just know that’s what they’re going to call you. This name of yours may or may not be the first Texas weirdness you will probably experience as the first born son of the very famous Tony Romo and your mom, the slightly less famous but fabulously blonde and toothy Candace Crawford Romo. Plus, barring some sudden Tim Tebow-esque quick changes in loyalty, you will be raised in this strange, strange  and sometimes plastic- and silicone-based place called Dallas. This can be both a blessing and a curse.

Given the above and that I am nothing if all about the children, I thought I would pen you a little note you can reference for some guidance in how not to become what I call a Dallas Douche as you grow up into a good little Texan. Have you seen Good Christian Bitches? Oh, wait. You’re a newborn. But let’s just say none of us wants you to grow up thinking hard times are leaves in the pool and your Beemer in the shop.

On this note, allow me to, in the interest of your future, give you some ideas about how to maintain your realness and assure your safe passage into adulthood here in the DF Dub:

Consider not being called “Hawk,” which sounds like a character ON  the show Dallas, not a child FROM the city of Dallas. Perhaps “Ford” would have less of the douche factor. At least they didn’t name you Landry or after a city, county, or city in Texas. I think those come with an automatic DSM diagnosis.

I don’t care what Daddy does. NEVER WEAR A KANGOL. I blame the many head shots he’s taken. Concussions make you do funny things like go to Mexico right before the playoffs. Silly Daddy.

Do not in any circumstance allow yourself to be used by Jerry Jones to sell chicken or pizza. Left to his own devices, he’ll dangle you in front of reptiles like the Crocodile Hunter did with his two month old son. Jerry’s clownish commercials are the height of douchebaggery. I fully expect him to break into a soft shoe. The man is a cartoon. Don’t be forced into breaking bread sticks with him.

Don’t let Uncle Chace talk you into smoking any of that wacky tobaccy. Those Hollywood types are dicey. Related: NEVER, EVER PARTICIPATE IN REALITY TV.

If you run into Jessica Simpson, don’t say you heard she cursed Daddy.

Don’t just consider the debutantes to date. Pretty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone.

Football, contrary to popular belief, is not a religion. It’s okay to not follow in your father’s footsteps.

Don’t go near Rowdy. He’s creepy.

Life does exist beyond Al Biernat’s, Ghost Bar, and Neiman’s. Related: there are other area codes besides 214.

You can count on Daddy for at least the first three quarters of your life. Forgive him if he drops you in December. And Mommy for the times you will find her sobbing in the closet.

That’s it. So go forth, Hawk, or Ford, or whatever you’ll be called. I wish you Godspeed in this almost certain circus into which you have been born. At least you’ve got your Uncle Whitten. He’s usually pretty good at making your Dad look better. And of course you have us, the Dallas Cowboys fans and community. We’re incredibly loyal and very forgiving. Between seasons. As long as you’re winning. Hey, but with the charmed life you’ve been born into? So far, so good.




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