I’m thinking of writing a book. Its working title: The Most Hated Team in the World: The
Story of the Dallas Cowboys. You may think I’m flogging a beaten horse, but
hardly a week goes by without another outrageous example of this most peculiar
national phenomenon. And it is strange. And it is a national
phenomenon. Outside of Texas, Dallas is universally reviled. There are 29 other
teams in the NFL, yet if you combined the hate factor of the next five
most-disliked teams they wouldn’t fill half of a Cowboy hate-beaker.
The common rejoinder — typically arrogant Dallas — is itching envy of Cowboy
success. Sounds good but wrong. Take San Francisco. They’ve enjoyed as much
success as Dallas, though you don’t hear masses of people from Cedar Rapids,
Bangor, and Carson City discourse on a hatred of the 49ers. No, it’s a uniquely
Dallas phenomenon. How did this come to pass?
Hatched inauspiciously on the floor of the Cotton Bowl in 1960, the infant
Cowscum were innocuous. In fact, considering all the factors involved, the
players themselves are the least of the culprits. It begins with a perception
of Texans as loudmouth, boastful blowhards. There is a truth here. In a
peculiarly (how does this virus spread?) uncertain transmission of these
traits, Cowboy converts from upstate New York, rural Missouri, and Tokyo
develop all the obnoxious swagger and braggadocio of lifers from El Paso. Strike one.
Tom Landry has — in retirement — developed a kindly, warm, grandfatherly
persona. As a coach, he was a tough, efficient, ruthless, emotionless snake.
Unlike his contemporary Vince Lombardi, who had many of these characteristics
but was clearly a man capable of great emotion and warmth, Landry mimicked and
personified the city his team represented: sterile, symmetrically sharp angles,
polished glass-and-steel, haughty, rich, and conservative. His team —
buttoned-down, successful, smugly arrogant (Roger Staubach being the
franchise’s perfect poster boy) — ideally reflected a coach and a city.
Somewhere in here, they became “America’s Team” (a moniker quickly embraced by
the pretentious organization). They were not my team. Others shared this
sentiment. Strike two.
As the ebb and flow of the NFL took its toll, the team fell into mediocrity.
Old-line Cowboy haters softened. Even I felt sorry for the ‘Boys. Then
along came Jones.
Jerry and Jimmy were in many ways the polar opposite of dull, drab old Tom. This was not an
improvement. Though still smug, arrogant, and ruthless, the J/J regime ditched
the conservative conceit of the depression-era banker for the
shove-it-in-your-face braggadocio of acquired wealth. Drugs, whores, numerous
drunken incidents, suspensions, and paternity suits as commonplace as locker
room bennies, once unthinkable, became the norm. Who cares what anyone thinks?
We’re the Cowboys. Strike three.
None of this properly explains the obnoxious, reviled Cowboy fan, an
attractive combination of self-important, ungracious winners and sullen,
finger-pointing losers. Most of the people I know are Cowboy fans. Tuesday
through Saturday they are, on the whole, perfectly likable people. What warped
these people? What happened? Enter the football-crazed Texas media, in
particular, the Dallas media.
I wasn’t at the Cotton Bowl for the birth of the beast, a 35-28 loss to the
Steelers. That season ended 0-11-1. There was no hint what was incubating. In
1966, out of nowhere, after suffering through five dreadful seasons, the
Cowboys hatched. They went 10-3-1 (their first winning season) and won the
Eastern Conference. The monster sprang, fully grown. Possessing a perpetually
optimistic view, my suspicion is that Cowboy fans are made, not born.
I don’t know what young Blackie Sherrods, Bud Shrakes and Dan Jenkinses were
writing in those formative years, but they or their colleagues must have set
the tone. This attitude — whipping up the natives — was picked up by
reporters statewide. It evolved into the hysterical Cowboy reporting we see
today. Contemporary example: Week one, Chicago beats Dallas. Metro-Plex media,
only the week before smugly reporting “everything would be fine…” now calls
the season “lost.” They want the coach’s head. Week two, Dallas beats a
terrible Giant team. Sweet baby Jesus, the ‘Boys are back!! Week three, the
‘Boys blow an 18-point lead to a crippled, not-very-good Colt team.
“Disastrous” becomes a redundant headline adjective.
How many times is the sportsfan subjected to the sad, melancholy litany of
Cowboy woes? Troy is missing his “go-to guys.” Poor Emmitt is “nicked” up.
Cowboy fans believe injuries to their team are flat unfair. A league
conspiracy! Star players are out all over the league but in Dallas excuses
instead of responsibility abound. Five All-Pro linemen still block for poor,
bruised Smith. The world’s greatest quarterback still throws the ball. Deion
still covers. Cowboy All-Stars — more than entire divisions possess — litter
the roster. Still, this sorrowful lament is whined incessantly.
All the elements are in place for a best-seller. Hate, lurid scandal of every
conceivable sort, envy, greed, revenge and, at last, retribution. I just need a
publisher. n
This article appears in October 4 • 1996 and October 4 • 1996 (Cover).