It seems like every time I hear about something out of Oklahoma, it's completely embarrassing and sets humanity back, as a whole, decades.  I'd file this gentleman, clad in the redneck tuxedo, in that category, but his heroism outshine his fashion and destruction of the English language.

I should come right out and say it.  I'm not an Okie.  I'm an Air Force BRAT, and I've lived all over the world.  My parents and all my extended family, however, hail from the Sooner State.  I grew up loving the Sooners.  I'd spend every summer in Oklahoma.  I called Oklahoma home for the longest time.  I spent my last two years of high school and both my fabulous freshman years in Oklahoma, so I consider myself SLIGHTLY Okie-ish, at most.

There's a reason I don't want to claim too much ownership in the state.  Oklahoma lawmakers have made a mockery out of the state, it seems, since I packed up and left my 2nd freshman year at the University of Oklahoma in early 1998 to pursue my radio career full-time.  It took less than a month to figure out that future wasn't going to be Mississippi, either, but it took another 8 months to find an exit strategy.

That exit strategy almost led back to Oklahoma City, but I was detoured to Waco, TX.  I haven't lived in Oklahoma since, and aside from a 2+ year stint in Alaska I've been here since 1999.  Outside a national championship and a few moments in between that have left me feeling nostalgic about my time in the state, it's been a stream of embarrassmentembarrassmentembarrassmentembarrassment, and more embarrassment.

Luckily, one man, not even an Okie but rather a Kansan (even more embarrassing than being an Okie), played the role of hero when one was needed most on the mean streets of Chickasha, Oklahoma.