Father’s Day weekend:

I never look forward to it since my dad passed. I never stop missing him, but I have found it is a bit easier when my memory is triggered to a time in which he made me laugh. Which was often. My dad was the funniest human being I knew. I like to think I got my sense of humor from him, but I really don’t think I’m quite that funny. Ornery – definitely; and I inherited that from him as well. I also got my love of sports from my dad. So since my blog is supposed to be sports related, I thought I’d share a few memories of him that involve sports that make me laugh every single time.

I suppose the first memory is something I don’t remember at all even though I was there. Sorta. But as often as my mom told the story this memory is crystal clear. It’s a short story, really. Dad was playing baseball, mom went into labor and dad said “Let me bat one more time.” I was literally 45 minutes away from being born on a baseball field because my dad had to go yard one more time – which he did. And because of his playing and coaching, the baseball field was where I spent the majority of the first 12 or 13 years of my life.

I started playing softball at a very young age. The very first practice I ever went to – I think it was 3rd grade, my dad couldn’t be there because he had his own team to coach. This first practice was basically the coach throwing balls to us to see if anyone actually knew how to hit or even hold a bat. When it was my turn I knocked the hell out of the ball – first pitch. The coach looked shocked and threw another. Same result. And again. He looked at the other coach and told him it looked like they had a clean up hitter. I really didn’t know what that meant at the time, however at dinner that night when my dad asked how my practice went I told him what I heard the coach say. The proud grin that came across my dad’s face told me all I needed to know. Clean up hitter must be a good thing. From that moment on he tried to make as many games as possible.

That being said, when he did attend the games he would forget he wasn’t the coach. He would end up on the field telling me what I did wrong or what I needed to do better. As a former pitcher, it drove him nuts that I would swing at absolutely anything that was thrown my way. ANYTHING. All I wanted to do was hit the ball. During an at bat in 5th or 6th grade the opposing pitcher accidentally released the ball too early and the ball rolled on the ground to home plate. I became a pro golfer on that day. I swung that wooden, bright red Louisville slugger like Tiger Woods (minus the hoes) was teeing off at the Masters – right into center field and got a triple. My dad came running out there completely livid. His face was as red as my beloved red bat. He was yelling, “If you wanna play golf, I will take you on Saturday!!!” My actual coach was on third with me laughing which pissed dad off even more. After about the third very loud golf invitation, I just looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and yelled back, “I’m on third base aren’t I?” Now don’t get me wrong, I never liked making my dad mad, but I was just a girl who wanted to hit a ball. Now every time I attempt to play golf I think of him as I’m teeing off.

It broke his heart when I decided I wanted to be a cheerleader instead of a ball player. I had just reached the age where being around a bunch a football players made me happier than being on a softball field.

OU vs. Texas: He was there at all of them. Dad had a way of getting into places he should not be. He never really “sneaked” around, he just acted like he was meant to be there. And it worked. One year he walked on to the Cotton Bowl field with a friend of his. It was very early – warm ups hadn’t even started yet. The entrance to the field he apprently used landed him in the Texas endzone. My dad standing on burnt orange would be the same as him walking barefoot on the coals of Hell. So what does he do to put out the fire of Hades? He peed on the T of Texas. Literally pissed on Texas. Nothing made him happier. He boasted about that story every second Saturday of October every single year. I called bullshit for a long time until the friend he was with confirmed it. It’s a damn shame cell phones weren’t around then to capture such shenanigans. He would have made the best GIF.

Dad also spent a fair amount of time at horse tracks. One day at the races I’m assuming he had a large amount of money on a certain horse. When the horse won, he wandered over to “mix and mingle” with the owners and trainers in the Winner’s Circle. When it came time for the group picture with the winning horse and rider, there was my dad standing there as if he were part of the team. I’m quite certain he spent so much money at the track that in his heart he truly believed he did belong there. Every time I watch a horse race I envision that picture of him standing there with that ornery grin.

I could go on and on, but I will leave you with one more dad story – my favorite:

When I told him I was getting married he wouldn’t talk about it for the longest time. He refused to accept a son-in-law that went to Oklahoma State. He even offered to send me to therapy. It made matters worse when I broke the news we would be getting married on October 10th the following year. His exact words: “I won’t be there.” I was so upset at the thought at him being so against a “mixed marriage (OU-OSU)” that I was in tears. He then looked at me and said “That’s OU-Texas weekend and I won’t be there and I’m disappointed you wouldn’t know this.” Oops.

Needless to say I got married on October 3rd – a bye week for the Sooners. On that Saturday afternoon, I saw my dad in a tux for the first and last time of his life. Trust me – it was absolute hell just getting him to get fitted for it. But when it came time to walk me down the aisle, he was there for me. Like he was every day up until the day he died. All the way down the aisle I could hear him say “The car is still running. Let’s go. We can turn around right now. You can’t marry a Poke.” Also, all the way down the aisle I felt him shaking. Shaking so hard I questioned if it were me. We made it to the end of the aisle in what my dad told me later was the longest walk of his life. I was somewhat shocked he didn’t voice any objections, but he gave me away and as he did I looked up and saw my daddy cry for the very first time in my life.

As I wipe away tears from the very keyboard I am using to type this, I kinda giggle knowing that dad and my husband more than likely aren’t watching the bedlam game together from the heavenly bleachers, but you can bet your Sooner ass that dad finds him after every Oklahoma victory to lay a healthy heap of trash talk upon my husband.

If you’re a dad, I wish you the happiest of Father’s Day. If you are lucky enough to still have yours, make sure to make as many memories as possible. I promise, they will end up being gold.

Congrats to the Toronto Raptors and St. Louis Blues!

Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa


Like a lot of you, Mother’s Day always brings a sadness that will always will be present that second Sunday in May. If you are blessed enough to still have your mom please make sure you make her feel special. In fact, take it from someone who has lost hers, celebrate her every day. Only those who no longer have their mom understand completely the emptiness losing your mom creates.
This past week has been an emotional one. First thing Monday at work I glanced at my calendar and it was if Sunday, May 12th jumped out at me like a demon stabbing over and over again in my heart. Not only is it Mother’s Day, but this year it falls on my late husband’s birthday. I stared at the calendar and thought, “Ok, so Sunday is going to really suck.” Little did I know how hard the entire week leading up to Sunday would be.
When I was growing up we actually played outside. I know, hard to believe but it happened. Some of my happiest childhood memories were playing kick ball in the street in front of the house with a bunch of the kids from the neighborhood. I have especially fond memories of a neighbor I grew up with named Vicki. She and I would drag our Barbies and all the accessories that Barbie had to offer across the street and sit under the streetlight and play for hours. This streetlight plays a significant role in my childhood memories because once it turned on it was time for me to go home. I had no cell phone, iPad, or even watch. When I saw the glow of the streetlight I knew what time it was and I better walk through that front door 2 minutes later.
I’m telling this story because today I saw that very streetlight for the first time in a very long time. Earlier in the day as I was trying to focus on anything but tomorrow and a song started playing. It stopped me in my tracks. The song was The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert. If you haven’t heard it the lyrics talk about her going home to the house she grew up in and the memories the house holds. Needless to say the words seemed to be speaking to me and me alone. It was time for me to go home.
It has been years since I’ve seen the house that built me. I was brought home from the hospital to this very house and stayed until I moved away to college. As I turned the corner onto the street I so often rode my bike down I saw it. It looked a lot different than the last time I was there. I parked across the street, ironically just beside the streetlight. All I could do was stare out the car window while THE song played on loop. Damn you, Miranda Lambert.
I pictured mom sitting on the porch in the same lawn chair she had for what seems like decades. I saw myself practicing my cheerleading and tumbling while she “coached” me even though she had never shaken a pom pom in her life. But she ended up being my biggest cheerleader throughout all those rah rah years. I saw the same storm door that we had to replace when a tornado barreled down our street and destroyed so many homes surrounding us but only took that door from the frame of ours.
Then the memories came flooding back of when I moved back to this very house, but this time with my husband. Mom had bought a new house and allowed us to rent my childhood home. It was surreal when I first moved “back home” but this time as a married woman. Mom had done a lot of upgrades but I still put my touches on it and tried my best to make the old place new to us. Darren and I had some good times there. In fact, it was on the back patio by the pool where he proposed a few years before. We celebrated anniversaries by candlelight on that very patio. I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of happy memories I was encountering. I win, Miranda!!!
I had to laugh out loud when I looked at the front door and somehow acquired xray vision and saw my moms piano still sitting there front and center as you walked in. I was laughing hearing her playing what as young kids my brother and I called “The Skipping Song.” It was a tune she had written and every time she played it we would skip through the house until the music stopped. She would play faster and louder until we would wear ourselves out. I used to think she did it to drive my dad nuts, but looking back I recall it was always at night so she was doing it to avoid the bed time drama.
I also laugh thinking about the piano because it was that piano bench Darren sat on the first time he met my family. He was so nervous and wouldn’t take his hands out of his pockets. He was never a really big talker, but on this day he barely spoke a word. His nerves wouldn’t let him form any. It’s funny how a simple wooden bench can be so emotional. Especially when you’re not actually looking at it.
I then once again focused on the porch and saw my mom one more time. This however was the memory of the very last time I would see her alive. After a long lunch and visit with her on a Tuesday afternoon, we were saying goodbye. As I turned to walk away she said, “Hey, come back here.” She reached out and grabbed me and gave me the longest, tightest hug I can ever remember. She told me she loved me, kissed my cheek and smiled her beautiful smile. It was like she knew a few days later she would be gone.
Exactly one year later Darren was also gone. I didn’t get the privilege of that last hug or kiss from him. The alcoholism and depression that he suffered from got the best of him. He was tired and chose to take his own life not realizing how it would destroy those he left behind. Truthfully, I couldn’t tell you if I was more sad or more angry. More truth be told, I still fight with those emotions. One thing I know for sure, going through something like that, a girl sure needs her mamma and I was still not quite over not having mine. But, because of the inner strength I inherited from her I got through it. So I guess she was with me after all. She still is.
She was definitely with me in that car by the streetlight helping me to remember some of the good and happy times. Darren was there too and for the first time in a very, very long time I saw him smile. It helped to see that ornery grin and miss that part of him instead of being pissed off at him. They are both in every tear hitting the keyboard as I type this. I can only hope they both saw my smile as I pulled away from the happy and not so happy house of memories and in the rear view mirror I saw the glow of the streetlight.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom,
Happy birthday, Darren.
I hope everyone has a wonderful Mother’s Day weekend and makes happy memories.
Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa

Dr. Seuss vs. a Thunder Fan

Posted: April 22, 2019 in Uncategorized

     As a Thunder fan I was extremely happy to have the opportunity to go to the first home game of the round 1 playoff series versus the Portland Trailblazers. With the team down 0-2 coming back to home court, I knew I was needed to cheer my team onto victory.  I was more than happy to oblige and was super stoked to arrive at the arena to let the cheering commence. When I entered the Peake my worst fear was confirmed. It was covered in orange. 

     If you know me — even the slightest bit – it is no secret that orange is not my favorite color. In fact, out of every possible color in the world, “that color” is at the bottom of my list. THE. VERY. BOTTOM. Earlier that afternoon I had wondered if the t-shirts given out would be that horrid shade of disgusting. Sure enough every seat was draped with the complimentary shirts turning the Peake into a big bucket of puke. Now, if you ask someone from the Thunder office, they will say the color is called sunset. I call it bullshit. They were “that color.” 

     Now I feel like I did my part. I wore a Thunder shirt – in fact my shirt was the same color as the team jerseys that night. I wore a Thunder ball cap and didn’t even bitch about the very small amount of orange included in the logo. Yet, there were still fans pissed off at me for not participating and wearing the shirt. Not participating?? “I’m here, aren’t I?” I drove up from Tulsa to be here, didn’t I?” “I am wearing Thunder apparel, aren’t I?” Sit down and shut the hell up. When you pay for my ticket, accommodations, gas money, and Thunder apparel you can tell me what to wear. I was raised to hate “that color” and nobody will change that. And that shade of blue looked a lot better with my eyes than the other.

     There was one fan in particular sitting behind me that continued to give me a hard time throughout the game – especially at the beginning. He kept tapping me on the shoulder trying to talk me into slipping into the devils color. He asked, “Won’t you just wear it here?” I shook my head no. Then he pointed across the arena. “Will you wear it over there?” I again, shook my head no. Then, as if he weren’t annoying enough he turned into Dr. motherfucking Seuss “You will not wear it here. You will not wear it there. Will you wear the orange shirt anywhere?”

     For a quick moment I wanted to tell him to sit down and just stop, but then I decided to play along. After all, Green Eggs and Ham was one of my favorite books as a kid and I’m quite certain I can win this battle of silly rhymes. I looked at him and answered, “I will not wear this shirt tonight. Wearing it is just not right. Please don’t ask me anymore, you’re becoming quite a bore.”

     To my surprise, my poetic nemesis decided to continue our ridiculous game. “I’ve asked you now more than twice. Will you please wear it if I ask real nice?” 

That all you got, rhymeboy?

     I will wear this shirt the day after never. I will hate this color always and forever. I will despise it til the day I die. Now shut up before I punch your eye.” Please keep in mind that I am not usually a violent person, but being pressured by a stranger to wear “that color” seemed to turn me into a different person. Plus I was starting to feel the pressure of the battle.

His reply: “Please just wear it while you’re here. Will you wear it for free beer?”

     I give him props for making me stop to take a another look at the shirt and rethink it for a split second. Yeah, no. “I will not wear it while I’m drunk. I will not ever wear that junk. It’s ugly and it’ll make me itch, So just shut up and stop askin bitch.”

     Game, set, match. He had no reply. Although he did high five me and I took this as a sign of concession. I felt proud because obviously I am really a 12 year old child. Then 10 minutes later he reaches across my shoulder and hands me a beer. I took it because I didn’t want it spilled on my BLUE shirt. Dude, do you really think I’m going to drink this? You could have slipped some sort of pill in there that would make me feel an urge to wear the shirt. I’m not that blonde, buddy. 

     He said it was just a friendly gesture – a peace offering. Although I did appreciate it, I still did not drink the beer. “I will not drink this stranger’s beer. I will not do it out of fear. I have no idea what’s in the cup, but thank you anyway and Thunder UP.”

     It was an interesting night to say the least. Russ once again played like a beast. Despite the color I still had fun, But the best part is the Thunder won. 

See what I did there?

     Game 4 of the series starts shortly and I’m fairly confident the Peake won’t be painted “sunset.” As usual I’ll be cheering for OKC and will once again will NOT be wearing the color all that is evil. THUNDER UP!!!!

I hope everyone had a beautiful Easter.

Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa














Dear Robert Kraft

Posted: February 22, 2019 in Uncategorized

Robert Kraft giving himself a much needed hand.

Dear Robert Kraft,

First of all, I need to thank you. Thank you for getting busted on two counts of soliciting prostitution. I’m thanking you because it has been a very rough day for me and you sir, have brought some sunshine and laughter to an otherwise dark and dreary day.

I know you may not see the humor in this illicit situation but trust me – most of the rest of the world does. Oh, and please understand that I, in no way condemn you for needing to have an “extended victory” celebration. I do however question your methods.

Come on, Mr. Kraft. You have enough Super Bowl rings to fill one hand and a thumb. Why add a prostitution ring? Perhaps I just answered my own question. Maybe you think you need to wear each ring at one time which would leave neither hand completely free to, you know, self-pleasure yourself. I can see how very uncomfortable that would be. It would be hardware vs. hardware – if you get my drift, R. Kraft.

From what I’m reading – and we both know this “breaking news” will change by the hour – your recent transactions took place in day spas and massage parlors in Florida. Why would a multi-billionaire need to go to such establishments to get his rocks off? As a widow, I completely understand the loneliness a person can feel after losing a spouse. But you are worth billions. BILLIONS. I can guarantee you, despite having old, wrinkled balls there are plenty of females out there in this cold world that would be more than happy to call you daddy in exchange of being “taken care of.” Then you would just be a sugar daddy instead of having to face a judge and explain yourself. (If, of course it comes to that – the news is still in the very early stages)

I am undecided if I should be impressed by the fact that a 77-year-old man still has the libido you apparently have, or just assume your Viagra pills are Patriot blue. You gotta do better, Robert. You must know prostitution is illegal. I personally don’t have a problem with it, you’re a grown ass man that can do whatever you want. Live your life but damn, try to stay out of legal trouble. It’s a bad look. I get that even old men gotta get it in, but you really need to make better choices on how to do so.

I would also be willing to wager that your name is more than likely not the only notable name that’s involved in this once all is said and done. Surely you didn’t dream this up on your own. I could be wrong, but you can’t convince me you hopped into your ride and headed to a massage parlor and/or day spa for a happy ending without someone putting the idea into your head. Or maybe you’ve been doing it for a really long time and just now getting caught. I don’t know. I would love to find the ho in question though so I can ask if YOUR balls are deflated.

I can only assume that the lingering kiss you planted on Tom Brady’s mouth after the Super Bowl victory did not satisfy you. That I do believe. In fact, if I were a billionaire old widowed man, I too would probably want to go out and get some real pussy instead of just kissing one.

Enjoy your weekend, Mr. Kraft. Thanks for the comical relief.



Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa

Brady fans: Please leave all hate comments here and then go find a sense of humor. Just don’t go find one at a Floridian massage parlor.

It’s been 11 days since the Super Bowl. Life without football has begun.

Or has it????

It’s normally a very dismal time of year. Usually, for me there is an insipid gap between Super Bowl Sunday and March Madness. It’s the time of year where I usually take advantage of Netflix and PPV channels and try to nourish my mind with something other than sports.

Speaking of PPV channels, the other night I was looking for a game and discovered where the PPV porn channels are through my satellite provider. My attention rapidly moved from locating the game to the titles of these adult entertainment pieces of art. I was in the middle of a phone conversation and was so distracted by the title: Saturday Night Beaver I had to stop mid-conversation and giggle like a 12-year-old boy. True story, the last time I giggled in such an immature fashion was when I stopped off at Bunghole Liquor and asked the cashier to pronounce the name of the store multiple times. I’ll give you a second to say it out loud……

Anyway, I couldn’t help but wonder if the soundtrack to Saturday Night Beaver is as good as the original.

Probably not. Although, now that I think about it, wasn’t the Cherry Picker a name of a very popular disco dance featured in Saturday Night Fever? Cherry Picker….Saturday Night Beaver….cherry…. kind of goes hand in hand, right?

What game was I looking for again?

Ok, back to the main topic. The name of the blog is SheSaidSports not SheSaidPorn.

Sports, Leesa, sports.

March Madness is just around the corner. Major League Baseball Spring training starts next week, the NBA is in full swing and there’s a new little thing called the AAF. The Alliance of American Football. FOOTBALL!!!!! Football in February and March??? It’s true.

They’re calling it the Alliance. It’s a professional league consisting of eight centrally owned and operated teams: The AAF’s inaugural eight franchises are as follows:

  • Arizona Hotshots

  • Atlanta Legends

  • Birmingham Iron

  • Memphis Express

  • Orlando Apollos

  • Salt Lake Stallions

  • San Antonio Commanders

  • San Diego Fleet

There are some notable names in the league both on the player and coaches front. Steve Spurrier is the coach of Orlando, Dennis Erickson is heading the Salt Lake City team; Mike Singletary is the front man for Memphis and Rick Neuheisel is head coach of what I’ve chosen as my favorite team, the Arizona Hot Shots. I decided to choose Arizona only because Trevor Knight is on the team.

After watching their first game, I almost changed my mind because their uniforms gave me a headache. And honestly, the name Hot Shots sounds like a can of something that kills roaches. Nevertheless, I chose the Hot Shots so I shall remain a Hot Shots fan despite how they look. I mean they have a great personality and that’s what really counts. (please enter sarcastic reading tone here)

If you’re not familiar with the Alliance, let me educate you in the most efficient manner I know how.

There are 8 teams and it will be a 10-week season. The playoffs will consist of four teams, the top two teams from each conference and the league’s championship game will be played in Vegas on April 27th.

There are some notable rule changes that, in my opinion keep the game moving at a faster pace. Adding to the faster pace is the fact that there are no television timeouts and 60 percent fewer “full-screen commercials.”

There are no extra-point kicks and teams must attempt two-point conversions after a touchdown. There are also no kickoffs. Each team will start from their own 25-yard line at the start of each half and after scores.

The Alliance is serious about their balls. I mean, shouldn’t everyone be? They have planted a tracking device in each game ball and players are not allowed todeliberately spike or throw the football into the stands or hand it off to a spectator following a touchdown. If they do it will result in a 15-yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty. In other words – handle your balls with care and keep them to yourselves, fellas. You have been warned. Other touchdown celebrations are allowed, and I saw some comical ones this past weekend.

I think my favorite change is that officiating has a ninth member, called a sky judge, an off-the-field official who reviews every play using technology like a booth review. The sky judge can call or take away penalties missed or made by the field officials. So obviously, the sky judge is the shit and/or the Simon Cowell of the AAF.

So there it is – a very brief description of the new Alliance of American Football. To be honest, I had fun watching it and it doesn’t hurt that 2 of my favorite former Steelers, Troy Polamalu and Hines Ward are high in the front office. How could it not be a good product with those two names??

If you have a football jones like I do for 6-7 months out of the year, check out the AAF and feed your football fix.

Football is good. Very, very good.

Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa

My Last “Dear Bob” Letter

Posted: February 8, 2019 in Uncategorized

Dear Bob,

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written, but please know I haven’t forgotten about you. The truth is I think about you often. However, you’ve been on my mind more than usual lately since the news was broken that you are going to be the head coach and GM of the Dallas franchise in the re-launched XFL league.

Bob, it’s been a rough week for me. My best friend and sidekick for almost 11 years left for a better opportunity, I’ve inherited a horrible ringing in my ears due to a chronic vertigo situation, and apparently, I have been banned and/or blocked from ChristianMingle.com. That’s another story for another day, but it does leave me questioning my romantic future. Once again, I will be spending another Valentine’s Day either alone or with Satan because of one single website ban.


And then this news. You’re going to coach south of the Red River. In THAT state – the one I was raised to despise when it comes to all things sports related. As loyal as I am and as much love that I still have for you, please understand the dilemma this puts me in. I really want to support you, but I’ve gotta be honest – it won’t be easy. I mean the last time I rooted for a team from THAT state was never. Never, Bob.

I know you have your reasons for this move, and I can grasp the fact that I may actually never completely understand them, but damn Bob, why???? I feel as if you are not letting me be me and trying to change me. After all our years together, you should realize by now this will never happen. I am who I am. It’s not like I will root against you. Chances are I’m not even going to have a favorite XFL team, but you never know. But know this, if I do I promise that team will not represent THAT state.

Now that I think about it, I guess it will be a lot like the Baker Mayfield being a Cleveland Brown situation. I am so proud of him and his rookie year, and wish him continued success, but my Steeler loving heart will never, ever cheer for the Browns. Never. I also wish you success and will be happy for you when you do succeed. And you will – we all know you will. I don’t know who the genius is behind your hire, but kudos to them. Is Vince McMahon the mastermind? Did I just give props to Vince?

So, it has come time to end this letter. I get the eerie feeling this may be the last one. We had a beautiful, long relationship, but I am coming to face the reality that it’s time for me to move on. You will forever hold a place in my heart, and I will (not so) secretly admire you on the sidelines from afar. Coaches in the XFL will wear headsets, right? Just please, PLEASE don’t let them use orange in the new team colors. My heart could not take it.

Love always and Boomer Sooner forever,


Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa

We’re Bringing Hell With Us

Posted: November 25, 2018 in Uncategorized

It’s Sunday morning, and though there is an entire day left, this weekend has already been an enlightening one for sure.

Let’s start with Oklahoma vs. West Virginia Friday night.

I’m not gonna lie, I was nervous coming into this game. Ok, I was nervous until the very end, but my boys pulled through! It was indeed a barn burner, but isn’t the object of the game to score more points than the other team? That’s what we did continuing our true road win streak bumping it up to 20 – still the best in FBS. And let’s not forget our November streaking. You’re welcome to the visual, people.

We left moonshine country leaving the Mountaineers STILL (get it, moonshine still?) winless against us since they joined the Big XII, and most importantly we punched our ticket to the Big XII championship game this Saturday against Texas. We also returned to Norman with the best record in the Big XII. Yet there are “fans” that continue to whine and complain about our team. Shut up – we’re 11-1, bitches.

Unless you are living under the proverbial rock, then you already know that the Red River Shootout 2018 part 2 is a real thing. What???? OU vs. Texas twice in one season? The last time this happened was in 1903. (I think – don’t come at me if my info is wrong. Early Sunday morning is my excuse) Right or wrong, it hasn’t happened in a really, really long time.

Kick-off will be Saturday at 11 a.m. Sound familiar? A little déjà vu but this time we will cross the Red River following the game north to Norman with a Big XII Championship trophy on board. I’m not going to lie, I did for one second wonder if that meant we could bring the Golden Hat back to where it really belongs, but I’d rather have the Big XII Championship trophy. (but really, is the hat saved for just the regular season game?) This game is an early Christmas gift and I can’t wait to see it unwrapped. You have to agree, that winning the Big XII and beating Texas in the same game would be like hitting the lottery.

This blog post has been interrupted by a sudden girl moment………

Meanwhile in the Big XII, Texas Tech head coach Kliff Kingsbury has been fired after 3 consecutive losing seasons. I must confess that I am somewhat disappointed. Pardon me while I have a girl moment, but there’s not a coach out there that can make play-cards down the front of his pants look so hot. Makes a girl wanna learn how to read in braille.

He provides sideline eye-candy for the ladies and I’ll kinda miss that. Ok, enough girl talk and back to football………..

I’m not even going to start a conversation about the play-off race. I just want to focus on the Big XII Championship and and going into Jerry’s World and finishing the job. One game at a time is how it should be and let the pieces fall where they may. As a fan, I have no control over it, and I refuse to let something I have no control of stress me out. The reality is, someone who feels they deserve to be there will be left out. Welcome to the reality of today’s college football world. As of right now, I’m just going to sit back and fight the jealously of the muchlauded SEC defense that was on display last night during the 7 OT TAMU-LSU game. Because that high scoring marathon of a game is considered greatness by a lot of people – yet our defense is a joke. For those praising that high scoring affair and saying our defense sucks because of how many points are put up against us, suck it. Get off our jocks – again the team with the most points gets the win.

I expect my Sooners to come away with the most points on Saturday and a 4th straight Big XII Championship along with a great big plate of Longhorn with a double scoop of revenge on the side. You’re going down Bevo and it’s going to taste so good.

Look out Texas, the Sooners are coming and they’re bringing hell with them.

Follow me on Twitter: @soonerleesa