NEW YORK, NY – I was one-third of the way through writing a column titled Angry Wardle Wednesday, where I was going to try like crazy to tie the Wordle craze into sports. I know that sounds absolutely riveting, but I quickly discovered that I couldn’t stop writing stuff about the Dallas Cowboys. So, here we are. I’m going to devote an entire post to my least favorite team in all of sports.
After watching the Cowboys lose on Wildcard weekend to the 49ers in hilariously heart-attacky fashion, I had the following thoughts.
Mike McCarthy. Seriously, what’s really left to say about the Cowboys’ head coach? Remember how excited chattering teeth novelty owner Jerry Jones (more on him in a few) was to get him to coach his team? When I watch Mike McCarthy coach a game I imagine the inside of his brain looking something like the WOPR computer, from the Matthew Broderick movie War Games, playing tic tac toe against itself. X’s and O’s aren’t his strong suit, and there are no winners… except people like me who LOVE unintentional comedy. Please come back next year, Mike.
Dak Prescott. As mentioned here before, Dak’s actual first name is Rayne, which makes it sound like he’s from the River, Leaf, and Summer Phoenix family tree. But why choose to shorten your middle name, Dakota, to Dak? Are you a canned ham or a badass NFL quarterback? I know Dallas fans are a bit divided on Dak, but I’m all in on a Kirk Cousins for Dakota Prescott trade.
Ezekiel Elliott. The past few years I’ve been railing about how overrated Ezekiel Elliott is as a running back. That streak comes to an end today. Zeke is not overrated. He’s not anything, really. You don’t need to game-plan for him. I’m not sure you ever did. He should move fairly seamlessly now into his new role as the guy you call when your top three running backs all have season-ending injuries. He’ll be on speed dial along with Latavius Murray, Le’Veon Bell, Adrian Peterson, and a host of other guys who, in their primes, were better running backs than Zeke.
Dallas Cowboys Fans. Growing up in New York City in the 1970s, I knew a great many Dallas Cowboys fans. Some of them were my very best friends; far, far, far many more were not. For the most part, your garden variety ’70s Cowboys fan was a smarmy, front-running jerk. How does anyone, in good conscience, root for a football team that calls itself “America’s Team?” Jesus! Anyway, flash forward to last Sunday. The cutaway shots to Cowboys fans during the Dallas-San Fran game are best described as a Carnival of Fear; pearl clutching, hand wringing, tears, tears, and so many more tears. It looked like a sad group therapy flash mob. Don’t mess with Texas… or it will cry all over you.
Jerry Jones. This f**king guy. Don’t you love those shots of Jones in his owners box with his cracker family? I’m as white as they come, and I’m here to tell you that the Jones gang makes me look like an ethnic type. “Pass da, gabbagool!” For Dallas haters like me, it’s definitely for the best that Jerry is still drawing oxygen and has a couple of sharp-witted sons ready to take his place. The Steinbrenner Model sequel no one asked for, but many people desperately want.
I haven’t even scratched the surface here. I could give you 1000 words on that California Quakin’ a-hole, Butch Johnson, and at least a couple of paragraphs about the whole wearing white uniforms at home BS, but I’m done.
Come back tomorrow for Ill Iggle fan himself, Buddy “Ryan” Diaz.
