Even the churchgoer has to laugh here. "O.K., I doubt Jesus was talking about Barry when he said that. Barry would crack up if you told him that. But people didn't understand Jesus, and they don't understand Switzer."
Galbraith enters the Greater Harvest Church of God in Christ, on Overton Road—Bishop Frank W. Smith Jr. presiding—and takes a seat in the middle of the flock. He immediately begins singing with the congregation. Last night his party gang had started off at the Cowboys Sports Cafe, checking out karaoke night there. Galbraith and Coleman had pored over the songbook before deciding that Galbraith, who sang in his church choir as a boy, would go on stage and do Gladys Knight and the Pips' Midnight Train to Georgia. Galbraith looked at the 200 spectators, got cold feet and then was told quietly by the 250-pound Coleman, "If you don't sing, I'll strangle you."
Galbraith reluctantly climbed onstage, sputtered, sang a bit, skipped a couple of verses and bolted from the bar. This, though, is different.
Galbraith nods his head, rocks back and forth and claps his hands with the other worshipers. The organ is wailing and the drums are pounding and tears are running down some folk's faces, and one woman is singing so passionately that Galbraith seems transported.
"I'm on my way!" sings the organ player. "And the devil can't stop me!"
Galbraith, singing along, eyes closed, raises his arms, index finger on each hand held high. Two Super Bowls in a row.
Could there be one more?