Clash of the NFC titans

[GimmeTheBall!]

In John Facenda vocce:
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Naowwww, as the shadows grow short and the air turns crisp, there are murmers of a clash of the Titans:

Green Bay Packers, monsters of the frozen tundra and the Dallas Cowboys, team of the 90s and now of the 2000s meet on an evening on the hallowed turf of Texas Stadium.
It is only fitting to mention this clash as a mythic gladiatorial clash of an NFL icon -- Farve -- and a rising star of the future -- Romo.
As in the mythic playing fields of consecreated Rome and Sparta and Greece, these two quarterbacks bring their teams with 10 wins. The winner goes on to home field advantage; the loser visit the opponent in the playoffs.
Never since the Cowboys vs. Pats game has there been such anticipation.
The Cowboys showcase their offensive machine that puts numbers on the scoreboard the way they did in the early to mid-90s.
The Spectre of Romo to T.O., Romo to Witten, Romo to some starlet, MBIII, JJ and a powerful and towering offensive line cause fitful sleep in the land of ice fishing, short days, bowling, polka and cheese.
The Cowboys proud defense, a steel wall of muscle, sweat and lycra and spandex, rarely lets a runner through. Its deep secondary is a greedy, anticipatory one that many QBs fear. Safety Roy Williams, oft criticized but the envy of many other teams, will be roaming the short-range passing attack, like a predator, eyes darting and feet pedaling. Williams, proud and tough as nails, knows about criticism. That is why he will intercept two and cause at least one fumble on Thursday, forever silencing the Romans at the Forum who are quick to turn a thumbs-down but slow to recall his exploits. Also, forever silenced with be Zelda, the dizzy but beautiful siren of Irving, Tx., who questions the safeties.
Now, as we near this classic clash of the NFC titans, it is wise to recall the classic struggles of yesteryear. The Ice Bowl seems like a distance memory, etched in painful recollections of a year gone suddenly bad. Bad like an Emmitt Smith analysis of . . . anything. Bad like the coaching stops of Norval Turner, Art Shell and Chan Gailey.

Naowwww, on Thursday night, When the crowd counts down the seconds in the fourth quarter, the score will be Dallas 34, Packers 14.
MVPs will be Romo, T.O. and Williams.
The crowd will stomp and clap as their heroes disappear into the tunnel.
Autos, SUVs, low-riders and the occasional Conestoga wagon, snaking along in a caravan reminiscent of the Romans in their carriages after an afternoon of bachanalia and tigers eatng flesh, will retreat into the gloom that is North Texas. Secue-ah in the knowledge that their heroes, once again, tamed the beasts from the North.
The ghosts of Lombardi, Landry, Tex and Curly fade into the night as America celebrates its gladiatorial tendencies and as rulers of the earth. Monsters of the turf.

Your announcing icon, John
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sniff-sniff, that Facenda sure gets to me. No, those aren't tears, it's just the mace the gals keep spraying in my face.​