erod
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Allow me a therapeutic thread to hopefully start a healing process. I need to somewhat bury a weary hatchet. Let it go. Turn a tired page on a decades-long frustration with one of the most Jekyll-and-Hyde people to ever happen upon this earth.
Family can be damn hard to love, even if it's just "football family." But Thanksgivings and Christmases, weddings and funerals, there they are, always, nothing you can do about it. Always glad to see them, even more glad to see them leave. The feeling's likely mutual. Such is, family.
It's time, perhaps the perfect time, to extend a hug long overdue. I'm tired of carrying the weight and angst, especially when part of me can't help but love the man for so many good reasons, despite all the folly and foolishness. Like I said, Jekyll and Hyde.
The Cowboys will dance on our screens tonight for the first time in 2017, and Jerry Jones will be front and center of it all, no doubt. This is his week. Jerry's week. It's a culmination of perhaps the most amazing life of any Cowboy figure in franchise history. "Amazing" carries a lot of definition in all directions, you understand.
Jerry is a talented and passionate man, far more than most. Legendarily so. But he's also a flawed man, again more than most, and it's snagged and tugged at the fabric of this franchise, which until him, was known for the stoic and understated class of the Landry silhouette.
Jerry walked in the door, hung his hunting trophies all over Valley Ranch, and yee-hawed his way to every microphone and spotlight he could find. He hired Jimmy, then convinced himself he was a football man. Jimmy left, and Jerry took a two-handed stranglehold on this franchise, choking the life out of this storied team and all its glory for most of two decades.
I've sat red-faced, smiling impatiently through the confusing colloquialisms and national ridicule. I've paced the floor during his cringe-worthy binges on party and pride. Go home, Jerry, for God's sake. For their sake. Just stop.
I think, finally, he has. Jerry looks today a humbled man, forgiven for the unforgiveable by the people he loved and hurt the most. That's a family built on an undying faith and commitment to each other that reaches far deeper than its fortune and fame. He too often took it for granted, and I think he knows that deeply now.
Evident also is the humility and self-awareness he's conceded to running this team, as he's lightened his grip on the reins and allowed his capable kids and trusted circle a real voice and control beyond just suggestion. Jerry acquiesces now, often, which has changed the structure of football in Dallas in meaningful and positive ways.
Undeniably, through it all, the people around Jerry have always loved him. Family, friends, and even foes. It's palpable, not fabricated, and for very good reason.
There's a good side to Jerry. In fact, a wonderfully good side. He's real, and he honestly cares.
At the heart of this driven man, Jerry loves to elevate people. He wants to share in the success of the journey with those that couldn't get there without him. He wants to share in their joy, and console when they hurt. He feels their emotion as much as they do.
The countless stories of Jerry's gestures to folks in need or despair or loss are impossible to sum up in words. Even those with whom grudges remain. He's at his best when people need him most. That's who he really is when he gets out of his own way.
"Jerry loves people he doesn't even like," his daughter Charlotte has said on occasion with a chuckle. That's who he is behind it all, just a good ole boy never meaning no harm.
Jerry simply loves control, as control freaks tend to do. But his infliction isn't drawn from anything sinister, but rather just pure energy and drive. He wastes no daylight, even when he should, and he's perpetually in motion. That ethic is his greatest strength, and occasionally his Achilles heel.
The Hall of Fame called because Jerry's friends and foes across the league know he's made an impact they never will. They know the NFL has benefitted ten-fold from his presence, and the league will never see another one like him. Forget the football, Jerry is simply unforgettable. That alone makes him an all-timer. I once suggested this honor was unwarranted, but I've re-thought that opinion.
I'm tired of wrestling with my frustration with this man. If he can step back and reflect, then so should I. If the league can honor him for his strengths in spite of the other, then so can I. If his family can love and forgive him, than perhaps I can as well.
Congratulations, Jerry. I'm glad you're my owner after all. Finally.
Family can be damn hard to love, even if it's just "football family." But Thanksgivings and Christmases, weddings and funerals, there they are, always, nothing you can do about it. Always glad to see them, even more glad to see them leave. The feeling's likely mutual. Such is, family.
It's time, perhaps the perfect time, to extend a hug long overdue. I'm tired of carrying the weight and angst, especially when part of me can't help but love the man for so many good reasons, despite all the folly and foolishness. Like I said, Jekyll and Hyde.
The Cowboys will dance on our screens tonight for the first time in 2017, and Jerry Jones will be front and center of it all, no doubt. This is his week. Jerry's week. It's a culmination of perhaps the most amazing life of any Cowboy figure in franchise history. "Amazing" carries a lot of definition in all directions, you understand.
Jerry is a talented and passionate man, far more than most. Legendarily so. But he's also a flawed man, again more than most, and it's snagged and tugged at the fabric of this franchise, which until him, was known for the stoic and understated class of the Landry silhouette.
Jerry walked in the door, hung his hunting trophies all over Valley Ranch, and yee-hawed his way to every microphone and spotlight he could find. He hired Jimmy, then convinced himself he was a football man. Jimmy left, and Jerry took a two-handed stranglehold on this franchise, choking the life out of this storied team and all its glory for most of two decades.
I've sat red-faced, smiling impatiently through the confusing colloquialisms and national ridicule. I've paced the floor during his cringe-worthy binges on party and pride. Go home, Jerry, for God's sake. For their sake. Just stop.
I think, finally, he has. Jerry looks today a humbled man, forgiven for the unforgiveable by the people he loved and hurt the most. That's a family built on an undying faith and commitment to each other that reaches far deeper than its fortune and fame. He too often took it for granted, and I think he knows that deeply now.
Evident also is the humility and self-awareness he's conceded to running this team, as he's lightened his grip on the reins and allowed his capable kids and trusted circle a real voice and control beyond just suggestion. Jerry acquiesces now, often, which has changed the structure of football in Dallas in meaningful and positive ways.
Undeniably, through it all, the people around Jerry have always loved him. Family, friends, and even foes. It's palpable, not fabricated, and for very good reason.
There's a good side to Jerry. In fact, a wonderfully good side. He's real, and he honestly cares.
At the heart of this driven man, Jerry loves to elevate people. He wants to share in the success of the journey with those that couldn't get there without him. He wants to share in their joy, and console when they hurt. He feels their emotion as much as they do.
The countless stories of Jerry's gestures to folks in need or despair or loss are impossible to sum up in words. Even those with whom grudges remain. He's at his best when people need him most. That's who he really is when he gets out of his own way.
"Jerry loves people he doesn't even like," his daughter Charlotte has said on occasion with a chuckle. That's who he is behind it all, just a good ole boy never meaning no harm.
Jerry simply loves control, as control freaks tend to do. But his infliction isn't drawn from anything sinister, but rather just pure energy and drive. He wastes no daylight, even when he should, and he's perpetually in motion. That ethic is his greatest strength, and occasionally his Achilles heel.
The Hall of Fame called because Jerry's friends and foes across the league know he's made an impact they never will. They know the NFL has benefitted ten-fold from his presence, and the league will never see another one like him. Forget the football, Jerry is simply unforgettable. That alone makes him an all-timer. I once suggested this honor was unwarranted, but I've re-thought that opinion.
I'm tired of wrestling with my frustration with this man. If he can step back and reflect, then so should I. If the league can honor him for his strengths in spite of the other, then so can I. If his family can love and forgive him, than perhaps I can as well.
Congratulations, Jerry. I'm glad you're my owner after all. Finally.
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