A Longhorn see's Barry at the Cotton Bowl!! I saw Barry Switzer Saturday. Like much of the aging, crumbling Cotton Bowl, the men’s facilities on the upper west deck were not working, so I made my way to a lower level. Coming out of the bathroom, who did I see but the Boootlegger’s Boy himself, grinning and posing for photos, reeking of brimstone and good cheer. Switzer looked old, gray and frail, about like you’d expect for someone kicked out of meth rehab fourteen times. He had retracted his great, leathern wings, pointed tail and forehead horns (they were playing the Horns, after all), but that mischievous smile was still there. His “hang half a hunnert on ‘em” days far behind him, Switzer can look forward to a string of increasingly expensive hookers (proportionate to his “Ewwww, gross!” factor), felonious mismanagement by whoever is handling his money and a thirty second piece on ESPN upon his transition to the nether regions. Considering his origins and the skill set he brought to the table, it’s been a pretty good run. Which is more than I can say for the Horns’ performance in the Red River Shootout. The operative phrase I want is not language-appropriate for Inside Texas. Let’s just say it involves defecating in your own queen size.