Old Crazy Eyes Shall Inherit the Cowboys

First off, I cannot get enough of that picture. We all have a bad drivers license photo. A passport picture where (in my case) you look like a drunken forest sprite. But to have that be your official photo? Wow. I guess the lesson learned here is that there are no second chances in NFL staff pictures.

But more importantly, I do believe we've confirmed what I have suspected for a long time. Peepaw Phillips will probably only be around another year or two but essentially the Cowboys coach is, for all intents and purposes, Jason Garrett. He's turning down head coaching offers from Baltimore and Atlanta to stay on with Dallas. Jerry Jones' sphincter is probably tightening as we speak while he mumbles "two million a year, that's my offer" under his breath through pursed lips. Now don't get me wrong, I love Peepaw more than most people (and though I am not inclined that way, I will even admit that his daughter is ridiculously hot) and was genuinely upset to see his playoff collapse record go unblemished. But he frustrates me sometimes. If I was choosing which NFL coach I would most like to eat s'mores and wear matching footie pajamas with, Wade Phillips is number one with a bullet. With maybe Lovie Smith coming in a distant second. However, a Wade Phillips press conference is quite possibly the most disheartening, disinterested, vaguely depressing and completely apathetic event a human can witness outside watching REM record a new album.

I must admit that I don't remember being particularly blown away by anything I have ever heard Jason Garrett say on camera or into a microphone. But whether it's his youth or his head of flaming red hair, I have to believe that he will be a slightly more enthusiastic cheerleader (not literally although if you've seen how much makeup Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders wear in person, it's not outside the realm of possibilities) than Wade "just give me a biscuit and a cup of buttermilk and let me watch this Perry Mason" Phillips.

I'd also like to bid adieu to Tony Sparano who is leaving his post for the sunny and slightly gay climes of Miami. I don't know what they offered him but I have sat here trolling my mind for what kind of compensation I could be offered to be around Bill Parcells for any extended amount of time. A new car? A house? A guaranteed seat at the right hand side of God's throne for a clear line of sight during the Rapture? Nope, I can't think of anything that could make the Tuna tolerable. I don't mean to be body fascist but Bill Parcells' figure disturbs me deeply.



Bill Parcells shown offering Terrell Owens a sip of his imaginary custom-mixed Route 44 Mr. Pibb/Countrytime Lemonade/red eye gravy drink.

I would also like to bid a premature farewell to Julius Jones. Sorry you can't run the ball well. Take it sleazy wherever you end up, dude.

Now might I suggest that Flozell Adams spend his off-season playing Whack-a-Mole until his reaction time becomes more fine tuned than ohhhhhhh say, Liza Minelli's as she falls from a bar stool? Mmmmmmkay thanks!

And finally, I sure am happy that somewhere out there in the world tonight Tony Romo is teaching Jessica Simpson new and exciting words and numbers and stuff. You kids have fun! Who needs a championship ring when you've got a hot blonde d-list actress to bang while her father whittles a crucifix in the corner? You are truly the Bogart and Bacall of this crazy Who Wants to Skate With Dead Celebrities on an Island of Love? post-apocalyptic world.

The Tears of Terrell Owens

Well, I am proud of my Dallas Cowboys. Let me explain. They got the season they deserved and the playoff outcome they deserved. A team that gets cocky two-thirds of the way into the season and decides to phone in games whilst dreaming of banging hotties in Cabo is a one-and-done playoff team. So I am proud of the Cowboys. They played exactly as they were expected to play based upon the final four or five games of the regular season.

The unfathomable part of all of this is that they have somehow made me feel empathy for Terrell Owens. Not because of his teary defense of Tony Romo and seemingly heartfelt disappointment over the outcome of the season. Mostly because the guy who was once the protype which other sports jackasses were based upon apparently took something seriously for once. He was training and working on Christmas morning, New Years Eve and New Years Day.

I pray that for the Tony Romos, Jason Wittens and Jerry Jones of the world lucrative endorsement deals for everything from pizza to satellite bundles to corrective eye surgery are enough to dull the pain of being outed as a franchise who doesn't have what it takes to make it past the first round of the playoffs.

The only dangerous part now is the temptation to placate myself by remembering that the Mavs are really starting to pick up some steam. Yeah, there's a great idea: transfer your sports loyalty from the Cowboys to the only other franchise that can give them a run for their money in the ChokeMaster competition.

I'm going to go play Golden Tee until the pain subsides. Maybe then a little Big Buck Hunter. Shooting things seems cathartic.

If this Cowboys season were a Celtic Frost song, which one would it be?

New York Giants v. Dallas Cowboys at Texas Stadium. I like it. Washington scared me more than the Giants do. We beat them both times in the regular season. We had the bye. We are playing at home. Terrell Owens should be able to play. Jeremy Shockey is out. These are all very good things.

Do I like that Tony Romo has spent the bye in Mexico with Jessica Simpson and the entire creepy Simpson clan? No, not really. Do I wish that instead of doing that he was preparing for the first round of the playoffs? Yes. Do I like that Roy Williams can't understand simple things such as "No horse collar - makes legs go break-y"? No, not really. Do I like having scored 1 rushing yard against the Redskins in the final regular season game? Nope, I don't think scoring 1 yard on the ground is very cool. Do I wish that I could have faith in the belief that Terry Glenn has healed enough to play well? Yes, but I kind of don't.

But still for some reason I know that if we win against the Giants, I will not care about any of those things. Jessica Simpson can sing the national anthem with a headset mic on whilst doing topless kartwheels across midfield at halftime for all I care. I just want a Super Bowl party, a Super Bowl tshirt, a Super Bowl parade, a Super Bowl half-day of work to attend said parade and perhaps a Super Bowl car tipping.

Speaking of tipping over a car, I apologize to whomever owns the Hummer I flipped over last week when the Dallas Mavericks sodomized the Golden State Warriors. What can I say? I was excited.

If Dallas goes to the Super Bowl, you may want to just drop me a brief line with your car make, model, color and plate number to avoid finding your car overturned and smoldering. I can't promise anything though.


PS - Jason Witten, please stop vacaying with Tony Romo during the season. You guys can't wait a month to take a fucking trip to Cabo? Is Senor Frog's closing soon? I don't feel good about the Giants game. I take it all back.