It's time to scale new heights and forget heartbreak Bill
A liberal dose
November 06, 2007
Like a jilted lover, I've been slow to trust again.
In the Cowboys, I mean.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. That's been my motto.
Until now.
Now, they've hooked me.
It took Cowboys 38, Eagles 17 in Philadelphia to finally do it, but now I'm there, heart, body and soul.
I'm not just on board the bandwagon, I'm driving it. Next stop, Super Bowl XLII. Phoenix, here we come.
There'll be some irony there, because the last time the Cowboys showed up in the Super Bowl, the Triple X version 12 years ago, it was also in the Valley of the Sun.
But you're right, no need to get ahead of ourselves. For the moment, let's simply savor the journey.
Frankly, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to feel this way again, not after four years of heartbreak with Bill Parcells. But now the feeling is back.
Sweaty palms on game day.
Increasingly rapid pulse rate at kickoff.
The urge to bump chests with the family pooch after every Tony Romo completion.
You know what I'm talking about.
It's love again.
Parcells almost ruined me. It wasn't necessarily his fault, but his four-year reign was little more than heartbreak and empty promise. So many teams that looked like they might be decent. So many bleak Decembers.
No wonder we felt betrayed. No wonder we vowed we would never put our faith in another coach, another team. It hurt too much when December came and they disappeared again.
And then to learn, after he'd left us, that Parcells was out there late in that final season, sitting in the Meadowlands parking lot, wheedling for the Giants' GM job just hours before the Cowboys would take the field to play the team he was hoping he would soon be leading... oh, agony.
Cheating on us right to the end. Somebody throw a flag for piling on. Is it any wonder we vowed we'd never love again?
I didn't want to believe in Wade Phillips, not after Parcells. God help me, I was a Norv Turner disciple. If I was going to fall for anyone, it would be someone I already knew, not a dumpy, silver-haired stranger. Truth be told, if Wade grew a mustache, I'd think I was looking in a mirror.
And so, I let his little idiosyncrasies irritate me more than they ever should have.
His goofy, giggling, cheerleading theatrics on the sideline once made me wonder if he didn't have any better coaching advice to contribute to the team. Now they just seem harmless, even cute.
His gentle, but pointed comments during press conferences, conveying his own irritation at his team not being given enough credit, once seemed paranoid and petty. In retrospect, they've obviously been justified.
Like when he made a point of saying after Sunday's game, 'We have the second best record in the league. Not in the conference, in the league.'
As if people might be forgetting that. But you know what? He's absolutely right.
His little protest about those of us in the media poking fun at him for calling himself 'Mr. Fix-It,' seemed like an overreaction at the time. Now... well, we did make fun of 'Mr. Fix-It.'
Until he fixed it.
Sure, I still have some nagging concerns about this defense, but Romo and the offense have been so good, even those are fading. The defense gives up some yards and some points. No worry, Romo and the boys will get more.
Consider that the fewest points the Cowboys have scored all season is 24. They're averaging more than 33 points a game and have scored 34 or more in six of their eight starts.
They even scored 27 in their only loss to New England. In case you missed it, the Super Bowl champion Colts only rang up 24 against the Patriots on Sunday.
In fact, as well as Romo played Sunday night, maybe Jerry Jones should gift him with a fat new contract every week.
The Eagles' once-vaunted defense had no answer for Romo and his weapons. The Cowboys' offensive line dominated the line of scrimmage and picked off Philly's meager blitz packages with ease. Flozell Adams was a rock on the left side; Leonard Davis anchored the right like a small, immovable mountain.
Yes, we'll have an even better idea about this Cowboys team by this time next week, after they've faced the Giants at the Meadowlands on Sunday, but suddenly I'm not so worried about that anymore.
The Giants are a good team, but they're coming off a lackluster game in London where they barely beat the hapless Dolphins and then a bye week. Will they be rested or rusted?
Either way, I'm convinced the Cowboys will find a way to win. I didn't have faith like that 48 hours ago.
Now that leap of faith seems more like a baby step.
Watching the Cowboys destroy the Eagles in front of their own fans rekindled that almost forgotten passion.
I exulted at Romo's precision. I cheered the Barbarian's barbarianism. I fist-pumped Jason Witten's helmet-less charge downfield.
Forgive me, but I even enjoyed T.O.'s nose-thumbing arm-flapping after his touchdown.
Ain't love grand?
November 06, 2007
Like a jilted lover, I've been slow to trust again.
In the Cowboys, I mean.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. That's been my motto.
Until now.
Now, they've hooked me.
It took Cowboys 38, Eagles 17 in Philadelphia to finally do it, but now I'm there, heart, body and soul.
I'm not just on board the bandwagon, I'm driving it. Next stop, Super Bowl XLII. Phoenix, here we come.
There'll be some irony there, because the last time the Cowboys showed up in the Super Bowl, the Triple X version 12 years ago, it was also in the Valley of the Sun.
But you're right, no need to get ahead of ourselves. For the moment, let's simply savor the journey.
Frankly, I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to feel this way again, not after four years of heartbreak with Bill Parcells. But now the feeling is back.
Sweaty palms on game day.
Increasingly rapid pulse rate at kickoff.
The urge to bump chests with the family pooch after every Tony Romo completion.
You know what I'm talking about.
It's love again.
Parcells almost ruined me. It wasn't necessarily his fault, but his four-year reign was little more than heartbreak and empty promise. So many teams that looked like they might be decent. So many bleak Decembers.
No wonder we felt betrayed. No wonder we vowed we would never put our faith in another coach, another team. It hurt too much when December came and they disappeared again.
And then to learn, after he'd left us, that Parcells was out there late in that final season, sitting in the Meadowlands parking lot, wheedling for the Giants' GM job just hours before the Cowboys would take the field to play the team he was hoping he would soon be leading... oh, agony.
Cheating on us right to the end. Somebody throw a flag for piling on. Is it any wonder we vowed we'd never love again?
I didn't want to believe in Wade Phillips, not after Parcells. God help me, I was a Norv Turner disciple. If I was going to fall for anyone, it would be someone I already knew, not a dumpy, silver-haired stranger. Truth be told, if Wade grew a mustache, I'd think I was looking in a mirror.
And so, I let his little idiosyncrasies irritate me more than they ever should have.
His goofy, giggling, cheerleading theatrics on the sideline once made me wonder if he didn't have any better coaching advice to contribute to the team. Now they just seem harmless, even cute.
His gentle, but pointed comments during press conferences, conveying his own irritation at his team not being given enough credit, once seemed paranoid and petty. In retrospect, they've obviously been justified.
Like when he made a point of saying after Sunday's game, 'We have the second best record in the league. Not in the conference, in the league.'
As if people might be forgetting that. But you know what? He's absolutely right.
His little protest about those of us in the media poking fun at him for calling himself 'Mr. Fix-It,' seemed like an overreaction at the time. Now... well, we did make fun of 'Mr. Fix-It.'
Until he fixed it.
Sure, I still have some nagging concerns about this defense, but Romo and the offense have been so good, even those are fading. The defense gives up some yards and some points. No worry, Romo and the boys will get more.
Consider that the fewest points the Cowboys have scored all season is 24. They're averaging more than 33 points a game and have scored 34 or more in six of their eight starts.
They even scored 27 in their only loss to New England. In case you missed it, the Super Bowl champion Colts only rang up 24 against the Patriots on Sunday.
In fact, as well as Romo played Sunday night, maybe Jerry Jones should gift him with a fat new contract every week.
The Eagles' once-vaunted defense had no answer for Romo and his weapons. The Cowboys' offensive line dominated the line of scrimmage and picked off Philly's meager blitz packages with ease. Flozell Adams was a rock on the left side; Leonard Davis anchored the right like a small, immovable mountain.
Yes, we'll have an even better idea about this Cowboys team by this time next week, after they've faced the Giants at the Meadowlands on Sunday, but suddenly I'm not so worried about that anymore.
The Giants are a good team, but they're coming off a lackluster game in London where they barely beat the hapless Dolphins and then a bye week. Will they be rested or rusted?
Either way, I'm convinced the Cowboys will find a way to win. I didn't have faith like that 48 hours ago.
Now that leap of faith seems more like a baby step.
Watching the Cowboys destroy the Eagles in front of their own fans rekindled that almost forgotten passion.
I exulted at Romo's precision. I cheered the Barbarian's barbarianism. I fist-pumped Jason Witten's helmet-less charge downfield.
Forgive me, but I even enjoyed T.O.'s nose-thumbing arm-flapping after his touchdown.
Ain't love grand?
posted by The Gryphon at 7:45 AM
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