For The H. Coach Jacket

Houston weather doesn’t ease you in. Neither does this. It’s that tightness in the chest when the lights come up and the whole city pretends it isn’t superstitious. Red in the face. Blue in the mouth. The kind of pride that doesn’t need a speech because everybody in the building already knows the score.

This is for the ones who stayed through the heat and the jokes and still treat kickoff like a personal insult. For The H isn’t a slogan. It’s the feeling you get when your city finally looks like itself.

You don’t explain it. You put it on and go.