I just cannot even muster the strength, indignation or snark to blog about the Cowboys game yesterday or the team as a whole. What's to say that hasn't been said already? Jerry has, in his own words, had all the fire knocked out of his butt by yesterday's game. Apparently, ambition and hope is expressed in very odd ways back in Arkansas. I don't want to dogpile on a team that is looking like a dog pile of another kind altogether as of late. I would ask if anyone is sorry yet but the Cowboys seemed to have Quantum Leap-ed past sorry and headed straight into "you can't divorce me if I swallow all these pills before the papers go through" territory.
Clearly, there needs to be some sort of remedy for Wade's lack of butt fire. I think the only thing that frustrated me more than how badly the Cowboys played was Wade's total indifference and slight confusion during the game. Do SOMETHING. ANYTHING. I don't care if it involves stripping down to your Hanes white briefs, removing them, tying them to the end of a broomstick and hobbling across the field waving your makeshift surrender flag. Because at least that would show that you were somehow slightly interested in the game.
I think that Brad Johnson is a great example of what happens to a player when they reach retirement age and are not in the mental or physical place they need to be to fulfill the role of starting quarterback. He reminded me of the guy in movies where the pilot has a heart attack or has become incapacitated and they find the Brad Johnson of the flight to try to land the plane with the help of the control tower. Only problem is that the passenger is usually someone who has only a vague and distant history of flying planes successfully. And usually the air traffic controllers (Wade Philips) has some sort of plan or idea or steely determination to help the Brad Johnsons of the world land the plane safely. I'm pretty sure if Wade was in air traffic control, his only words of advice to the makeshift pilot in this situation would be "Well, golly that sure is horrible how your pilot died. I....I just don't know what to tell you......I mean you could just, you know land the plane.....I mean it sure would help me out if you really applied yourself and tried to bring 'er down safe but......I just don't......don't know what to tell you......I mean maybe the crash won't be that bad.....you know.....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. (audible whimpering in background)"
But here's something we learned: Tony Romo is good and despite his bad calls and clumsy fumbles in the past three games before he suffered the pinkie injury, he's the difference between a Cowboys team that doesn't make the playoffs and one that does. I take back all my "Tony Romo is kind of an oaf" statements. Please heal. You know what, fuck it. Play with the broken pinkie. Or better yet, you know that Tony Iommi cut off the tip of his finger and he still went on to become the guitarist for the first heavy metal band in the world. Rick Allen lost an arm and is still playing drums for Def Leppard. You know what that means, Tones. Time to take one for the team. Think of all the money you will save on gold nugget horseshoe shaped pinkie rings!
Come on, let's make this season Pyromania and not Animalize.
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