Some time during the fourth quarter of the Superbowl I foxed. Hard. Now that there is a forum to set the record straight, the legendary colloquialism "fox" and its origin will be forever settled. For those of you that don't know, to 'fox' is to sleep. Or crash. When in air combat, apparently, the pilot calls 'fox' with the corresponding number to what ever missile was launched upon firing. And when its target is a fluttering, smoldering ruin, they call 'splash'. With this in mind, consider the prerequisite met for 'fox' 101.
In my dad, Tor man's twilight years, he, myself and my brother Buzz were sitting on our respective couches. In a pain killer induced stupor, Tor found staying awake challenging. We were watching a program on the Military channel about airplanes. In the program, the cadence described above was used.
To induce a more lucid state out of my dad, I took in my immediate surroundings. As I eyed a piece of useless paper, an idea formed. I grabbed the paper, wadded it up, and looked at my brother with mischief in my eyes. He heartlily smiled and nodded his encouragement. Throwing the wadded up paper at Tor, I yelled "fox three!". My missile found its target. My dad woke up. And the English language got better.
This target was not easily swayed by my persuasion. Shortly thereafter, he fell to slumber's suggestion. Again. I reached for another piece of paper...This pattern went on for a few preemptive strikes, but my jet ran out of ammo. My brother and I alternately would call "Fox three" with the same results. Tor man would wake up and join us in our banter. And gradually, his weary head would settle on his pillow and he would get more prone. And fall to sleep.
With the Pavlovian response set, we no longer needed to launch projectiles. It was sufficient to yell 'fox three'. It was enough to yell 'fox'. We would yell 'fox'. He would wake up and yell 'fox! fox!' We would all laugh. The term "fox" was born. And the English language got better.