They call him The King. But George Strait never seemed to notice. He still showed up the same way he always did — pressed shirt, clean boots, no fuss. A nod to the band, a quiet “let’s do it,” and the kind of silence that belongs to men who don’t need to prove anything. He never chased the spotlight. He just stood in it long enough to let the songs do the talking. No speeches, no grand gestures — just honesty, smooth as Texas wind and twice as steady. When the show was over, he’d tip his hat, smile, and disappear backstage — not to hide, but because humility doesn’t like to linger. Some say legends are made by crowds. But George Strait built his on truth — one song, one night, one handshake at a time. Maybe that’s why the title stuck. Not because he demanded it, but because he never had to.
Introduction There’s something about “The Seashores of Old Mexico” that feels like a daydream you...