A Rare Medium Well Done: 10.29.12
They call it a game of inches.
Don’t fool yourself. This game was not lost on the outstretched digitis secundus manus of Dez Bryant. The fingerprints of this defeat were lifted much earlier.
And don’t be a braying jackass carping about the absurdity of a near miss.
It requires more than one metacarpus to enumerate the Former Cowboys turnovers.
Six. Seis. Sechs. uuects. Roku. Szesc. No matter the language, it’s six. SIX!…6!…Freakin’ SIX!
If you’re computing Super Bowl victories, six is great. If you’re talking turnovers, its feeble and deplorable.
But undraping their bloomers and putting their ass on full display is nothing new for the Former Dallas Cowboys. When the team from the once township of New Amsterdam comes to town, ominous signs of doom and misery hang in the air. There is no evidence of the last home win against the Gotham Giants. It is forever lost in the confines of the convergence of highways 183 and 114. The once now vanished and destructed Texas Stadium is no more. The ‘house that Tom built’ now gives way to the ‘team that Czar Jerry demolished’.
Where do we start with Sunday’s deceiving, misleading and enervative scalping? The possibilities are endless.
Why not start with Dez. What a piece of shrouded craftmanship this guy is. DEZ=Do Expect Zilch. He never fails in his fateful distortion. If you don’t know a horse, check his track record. Dez never shows. Much less wins or places. By my mathematics he dropped three very catchable passes. He was on the blamable side of phantom pass routes four times. He remains an owlish effete defeatist. A master at the art of deception. Full of brash theatrics and empty of any substance. Five catches for 110 yards. Never in the lineage of the Former Dallas Cowboys has there ever been a subset of such barren numbers. This guy is a canine of epic proportions. He should be sampling his super from a bowl with his name on it. I’ve said it prior, and I’ll echo it again. Dubious Dez will never outweigh the headaches and hindrance he will furnish. He suffers from ADD. ‘Another Dez Drop’!
Let’s not forget Tony Romo. His four interceptions were a colossal calamity. He launched the contest wrapped in fog and shadow. His exacerbated mime of chaos resembled an animal being led to the abattoir for butchering. Much like Dez, he dabbled in the obscene devoid numerals. Thirty-six of 62 for 437 ( third most in Cowboys history )yards. That doesn’t even begin to tell the tale. Notching his 31st 300+yard passing day did little to catapult his mates to a win. Mark Twain once pontificated that there are three kinds of lies: “lies, damned lies, and statistics”. Tony Romo expanded on this notion. And in the end when his squad had a chance to snatch a virtually impossible, improbable win, he failed to goose the ball into the end zone.
There were legions of other suspects. Even the crowd in Czar Jerry’s domicile don’t escape blame. After drafting a letter to ticket-buying fans pleading for their vocal, undying support, they answered with a stirring rendition of ‘CRUZZZZZZ’ after enemy wideout Victor Cruz caught a pass. It was a Darryl Johnston-Moose-like chant. For an enemy combatant? Oh yeah, the cocaine and boob-job mink coat mafia were present and accounted for. But it was nice to see that they did turn up the decibels on their booing. It was a significant improvement. It only kindled the cauldron of intrigue.
When time expired we were treated with much too frequent cries of ‘strong effort’, ‘didn’t quit’, and ‘played hard’. As if to hand out credit for doing your job. But as it has become a custom and habit, in the end it’s another failure to secure a win. Post season participants aren’t measured with ‘good game, good effort’ tokens. Losing breeds comfort and complacency. And the poisonous snake of setback and ruin has slithered into this Former Dallas Cowboy mass psychosis.
You may delay, but time will not. And lost time is never found again.
Noted Greek thinker Aeschylus was pondered: ” he who learns must suffer.
And suffer they continue.
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