GimmeTheBall!
Junior College Transfer
- Messages
- 38,051
- Reaction score
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From the retro 60s-style offices of Air Cowboys America, a 50,000-watt conductor of truth serum, justice, fine logic and the Armenian Way of Life, this important statement from Farmers Branch were we aint funding no more fancy scools.
:starspin (and the one that could have been in the wasted, wearisome Wade era)
Gather around hail fellows, soccer dads, recent parolees and eternal boys.
In voce seria vio John Facenda:
Now in January, when the gladiators of four state nations gather to play and to pose their silhouttes upon the gray contours of olympian stadiums across the land, there is the tiny sigh, the inarticulated whimper of a Cowboy fan who stares out the window.
What could have been.
Yea, unto the tithe bowls of the current Caesar, Roger Goodell, Super Bowl Sunday will bestow riches upon the NFL and chest beating rights to the victors.
Buuuutttt, back to the Cowboys, the mythical sheriffs of the wild west that is the NFC East. Icons and heroes. Whence they suffer their might upon the chests of their vanquished foes, children sleep securely in the knowledge that all is right in the world. That America's Team is protecting America from communist aggression, boredom, silly sports like baseball and basketball and that the universe is in proper and autumnal sync.
What could have been.
Spagnuolo.
Shanahan.
Gruden.
Capers.
Yes, even Garrett.
And others.
So one by one the usually ebbiulent and exciteable Jerra yawned as the specters of each came before him. Caesar can build and Caeser can destroy. Jerra can give a thumbs down and make our hopes go down.
But will this American NFL Caesar resist the allure and cache that a Gruden or Shanahan would bring?
The sturdiness that a Spagnuolo -- moot point now -- portended?
The by the book sterness of a Capers?
As the winter shadows of windswept gloomy afternoons pass by on Sundays, when Cowboys fans hear the clarions of clashing citizens of Cowboyland crushing their crustacean opponents on Sunday -- we can safely assume that the Spartans of Cowboys past rest in their sarcophagi of seasons past when Cowboys teams were led by passion and hard work and icy stares from the coach. Icy as the frozen tundra, like Landry's personality, like the cold winters that await with Wade and with no winners to warm our wracked and weary hearts.
(Excuse me as I sob at the beauty of my writing acumen.)
:starspin :starspin :starspin :starspin :starspin
:starspin (and the one that could have been in the wasted, wearisome Wade era)
Gather around hail fellows, soccer dads, recent parolees and eternal boys.
In voce seria vio John Facenda:
Now in January, when the gladiators of four state nations gather to play and to pose their silhouttes upon the gray contours of olympian stadiums across the land, there is the tiny sigh, the inarticulated whimper of a Cowboy fan who stares out the window.
What could have been.
Yea, unto the tithe bowls of the current Caesar, Roger Goodell, Super Bowl Sunday will bestow riches upon the NFL and chest beating rights to the victors.
Buuuutttt, back to the Cowboys, the mythical sheriffs of the wild west that is the NFC East. Icons and heroes. Whence they suffer their might upon the chests of their vanquished foes, children sleep securely in the knowledge that all is right in the world. That America's Team is protecting America from communist aggression, boredom, silly sports like baseball and basketball and that the universe is in proper and autumnal sync.
What could have been.
Spagnuolo.
Shanahan.
Gruden.
Capers.
Yes, even Garrett.
And others.
So one by one the usually ebbiulent and exciteable Jerra yawned as the specters of each came before him. Caesar can build and Caeser can destroy. Jerra can give a thumbs down and make our hopes go down.
But will this American NFL Caesar resist the allure and cache that a Gruden or Shanahan would bring?
The sturdiness that a Spagnuolo -- moot point now -- portended?
The by the book sterness of a Capers?
As the winter shadows of windswept gloomy afternoons pass by on Sundays, when Cowboys fans hear the clarions of clashing citizens of Cowboyland crushing their crustacean opponents on Sunday -- we can safely assume that the Spartans of Cowboys past rest in their sarcophagi of seasons past when Cowboys teams were led by passion and hard work and icy stares from the coach. Icy as the frozen tundra, like Landry's personality, like the cold winters that await with Wade and with no winners to warm our wracked and weary hearts.
(Excuse me as I sob at the beauty of my writing acumen.)
