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"We're gonna warp 'em," said Joe. "Guarantee you Saint Darrell's gonna drown 'em. Too much character. I don't care who they got. Joe Don Looney. Jimmy Jack Drunk. Anybody. They don't have Scott Appleton. They don't have Tommy Ford or Mr. Duke Carlisle," he said, referring to Texas's finest players: Appleton, the brilliant tackle; Ford, the swift, chunky tailback; and Carlisle, the resourceful quarterback who prefers to run rather than pass.
Mary Sue and Pat opened the beer, and Joe and Cecil sang a parody on a hillbilly tune.
I don't care 'bout my gas and oil,
They sang it several dozen times until the Cotton Bowl traffic slowed Cecil to a creep along Grand Avenue, one of the main entrance streets. "Joe, baby," Cecil said, "we're gonna have to sell the car, 'cause we got no place to park it."
"Keep goin'. We're gonna get in a lot right up here."
"No chance," said Cecil, observing maybe 5,000 parked cars.
"Go on," Joe said. "I'm gonna show you how to ease right on in. Keep goin'. Keep goin'."
Joe said, "Right there! That lot right on the corner, just across from the main entrance. Right there, Cecil, where it says, 'Full House.' "
Cecil turned in amid the frenzied waving and shouting of parking-lot attendants, but Joe leaned out of the window and hollered, "I got a five and a cold beer, podna, if you'll let us in."
Parking was no problem.