clock menu more-arrow no yes mobile

Filed under:

The Daily Bull Approves of This Statue

Just a weathered 40 years of Texas

February is brutal. There’s been weird news, lots of shit news, Ole Miss news, and sometimes no news, but every once in a while there’s some really damn cool news.

There’s gonna be a huge-ass statue of two of the world’s most famous Aggies where they wrote “The Front Porch Song.”

Northgate is great. It’s a landmark and a playground for adults of all ages. It has aged reasonably well over the years and maintained a healthy mix of dignity and debauchery. But now that enough time has passed, there’s going to be a splash of history thrown in.

Sometimes we only think of Northgate as a flurry of lights and blurred memories. Most people only hit it on the weekends when they’re in school, and then maybe one or two football games a year after they move away. It’s shrouded in night and loud music in most folks’ collective memories: cars whizzing by and honking the first few bars of the War Hymn and cacophonous drunken yelling and all the sensory adventures that come with that.

But then there’s the other 90% of the time, the normal Northgate. When I was in school I worked on Northgate for two years. In the summer, on hot afternoons you can feel the stillness quaking in the air, sending a reverb through the streets with the cicadas and the more subdued whispering of tires on the streets. It’s not hard to imagine a couple of scruffy non-regs walking stiff-legged to their porch in shorts and wife-beaters on one of those hot afternoons 40 years ago and tuning up a couple of guitars before making their own strain of music that would eventually help them become two of the most recognizable Aggies anywhere.

The statue is gonna be big, and it’s gonna be bold, the way it should be. Texan with no apologies. A behemoth chunk of varnished metal that screams of boastin’ rights and braggadocio (hell, John Sharp reportedly financed half of it). But in this case, it is right and it is worth it. It’s built to last, just like the legends and the songs.

This old porch is just a long time of waiting and forgetting

Remembering the coming back and not crying about the leaving

And remembering the falling down and the laughter of the curse of luck

From all those son's of bitches who said we'd never get back up