I am not pretending to be a sports writer. No, sir, my knowledge of football and the NFL is as sparse as a Teralingua lawn. I possess the cutting humor—or maybe it’s cutting-edge angst—that allows me to see the man behind the green curtain and pay attention to what he does and doesn’t do.
It’s been almost thirty years since America’s team has been to a Super Bowl game. Still, I would bet the owner, Jerry “Smiley” Jones, has attended more than a few super bowl parties in his ostentatious Dallas neighborhood of Highland Park. The day that smirking hillbilly with a gold card bought my team, the Dallas Cowboys, and fired the legendary Tom Landry was a low point for that shining turd on the hill, known as Dallas, Texas. Landry was almost a saint, a winged Arch Angel in a grey fedora that stalked the sidelines like a lion, pushing his team to victory with a blend of tough love and radar-melting glares. If Landry didn’t like you, no one would. The man should have been allowed to resign instead of a quick meeting and a handful of traveling papers. Smiley Jones, the new owner of the team and the son of Jed Clampett and Ma Kettle drove into Dallas with furniture tied to his Mercedes and grandma strapped to the roof. It’s been a shavit show since.
Jimmy Johnson clashed with Jones from day one. Johnson was a football man, a brilliant coach, and had the best hairstyle in the NFL. Jones was a wannabe coach who knew nothing about football, so the mating was bound to go sour, and it did, but only after a few Super Bowls. Barry Switzer took over and coasted across the finish line for another shiny trophy. Then Jones took over, and the team has been complete crap since. The Cowgirls are on track to deliver their worst season after paying a mediocre, nice guy quarterback 60 million a year for life. Prescott is a has-been; the money has taken over his brain, and he doesn’t care; he’s got the money, and Smiley doesn’t have shavit to show for it. The days of wine and roses are over for the Jones family. What is sad is that after Jerry is laid to rest, there are two more sons, a daughter, and a surgically enhanced wife to take the helm, which should put the city out of its misery.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 