A few years back, as Jim Washburn drove north from Dallas toward the coolest ranch he’d ever seen, he couldn’t help but consider the man who owned it. Fletcher Cox was born in Yazoo City, Miss. But limited? He was not. He high-jumped. He sprinted on relay teams. And he didn’t play football so much as he wrecked football games.
After 90 minutes, Washburn pulled onto the property. He scanned the 1,000 or so acres: the 7,000-square-foot-lodge, the exotic animals, the skeet shooting grounds and horseback riding trails and private cabins. He had never seen so many cattle. Nor an off-season retreat that came with a staff. Nor that many animal heads stuffed and hanging on every wall.
At that moment, he thought the only things any reasonable person would think: (1) This is beautiful, and (2) He’s already got the rest of his life down.
