Growing Up Cowboy, And The Sticky Business Of
Rooting For The “Wrong” Player
This one
requires some backstory.
Thanksgiving
Day, 1974. We had just gotten home from dinner at my grandmother’s house when
Jimmy cut a direct path to the living room, switched on the TV, and began
watching a football game with great interest. But why? The Patriots
weren’t involved. This was a match up between the Washington Redskins and
Dallas Cowboys. I sat down and joined him, mainly because I was always curious
about things my older brother was interested in, especially when it came to
sports, but there was a buzz of excitement coming from the TV that drew me in
as well. The crowd was loud and fully engaged. The stadium was vast and modern
with a big star in the middle and you could tell the building was serving its
one and only purpose: to host big-time football games. Jimmy told me the
Cowboys and Redskins hated each other. I settled in to watch.
The first thing
I remember happening was the Cowboys starting quarterback getting hurt with
about 10 minutes left in the third quarter and the Redskins leading 16-3. I
knew who Roger Staubach was from—you guessed it—trading cards and magazines,
knew he attended one of the military academies and won the Heisman Trophy, and
that he led the Cowboys to their only Super Bowl victory. I also knew by the
concern on Jimmy’s face that he was rooting for the Cowboys, and that number 12
leaving the game was a big deal.
The backup
quarterback’s name was Clint Longley and he led Dallas on consecutive scoring
drives to bring the Cowboys to within six, at 23-17. Then, with 28 seconds
remaining and no timeouts, Dallas had the ball at midfield.
When you’re nine
years old, 28 seconds doesn’t seem like enough time to do anything. It usually
took longer for me to tie my shoes. To me, the situation seemed hopeless. How
could the Cowboys go 50 yards in less than half a minute? But the announcer’s
voices kept rising as the cameras flashed quickly between coaches George Allen
and Tom Landry on the sidelines, then between a cheerleader with her fingers
crossed and a fan with his hands folded in prayer.
I wasn’t aware
of it at the time, but this is what people mean when they say that NFL football
is a made-for-TV sport. With just a few dramatic images and a word or two from
an excited play-by-play guy, I was swept up in the possibility that the Cowboys
could actually win the game.
It
happened in an instant. Longley dropped back to pass and hit Drew Pearson
streaking down the near side of the field for a 50-yard touchdown and a 24-23
Cowboys win. The stadium erupted. Again, the cameras captured every reaction:
the celebrating Cowboys, the dejected Redskins, the delirious fans, and several
replays of the winning play. Jimmy looked pleased with the victory. I wonder,
too, if he was also pleased with, or even aware of, how drastically my NFL
fandom had just been altered. That play—they called it a long bomb—and the ensuing
celebration was the football equivalent of a Bobby Orr end-to-end, goal-scoring
rush at the Boston Garden.
 |
| Clint Longley and Rayfield Wright, Thanksgiving Day, 1974 |
I have friends
who root for the Notre Dame and New York Giants football teams. Most of them
also root for the Patriots. They explain that the Patriots weren’t founded
until 1960, and that for years the Giants were the closest professional
franchise, while Notre Dame games were regularly televised nationally. Some
followed in their father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, going with what was
familiar. I became a Dallas Cowboys fan because of my brother—my dad would have
nothing to do with an NFC team—and because the Patriots played in a toilet of a
stadium, which rarely sold out, leaving fans victims of the NFL’s blackout
policy. The Cowboys seemed to be on TV every week. I followed in my brother’s
footsteps and went with what was familiar.
Similar to
baseball, where I would eventually spend about a decade and a half rooting for
the Red Sox and Royals, I would have two favorite football teams, one in the
AFC, and one in the NFC. And just as I would hope the Sox and Royals would
never meet in an ALCS, I dreaded the thought of a Pats-Cowboys Super Bowl
(thankfully, neither happened, but for the record, I always would’ve rooted for
the home team).
The 1974 Cowboys
finished 8-6, missing the playoffs by two games. The Patriots started 5-0, but
after going 2-7 down the stretch, finished the season at .500. There would be
no Super Bowl concerns during my first full season as a football fan. The only
question heading into the 1975 season was, Who would be my favorite player?
A couple of
Patriots stood out: “Mini” Mack Herron was an exciting running back and kick
returner, who set the single-season record with 2,444 all-purpose yards in 1974
(the all-time record for a 14-game season), and DE Julius Adams was a good pass
rusher with a cool sounding name. But I knew my favorite player would come from
the Cowboys. They were the more glamorous team.
It didn’t happen
right away. Unlike with the Royals, where I followed a player-first,
team-second progression, I embraced the Cowboys as a team before auditing their
lineup for a favorite player.
As it
turned out, the two obvious choices had already been taken. Drew Pearson, who
finished the 1974 season with 1,087 receiving yards, was Jimmy’s favorite
player, and Roger Staubach, who had returned to his starting role the week
after Thanksgiving, and was the team’s unquestioned leader, had been chosen by
my friend, Bobby (not his real name). As stated earlier, choosing the same out-of-town favorite
player as your friend or relative was a direct violation of the unwritten rules
of player favoritism. It was understood that if you ventured outside local
boundaries to find a player, you were granted exclusive rights. So, I settled
for number 43, Cliff Harris. |
| Cliff Harris |
Harris was a 6’ 0”, 185 lb free-safety, who hit like a 250
lb linebacker. A four-time first-team All Pro, he is one of only13 players in
NFL history to play in five Super Bowls. In choosing a favorite player, you
could do a lot worse than Cliff Harris. But he wasn’t really my
favorite. Seriously, how many kids at that age would be watching the free
safety? You watched the guy with the ball. For me, Harris was more like the
girl you date in school just so you can be near her friend, who is seeing
someone else, and that someone else happens to be your friend.
Roger Staubach
was really my favorite player. Obviously, this created a bit of a problem for
me, but being a Cowboys fan provided a loophole that would allow me to root for
Staubach without upsetting Bobby, who was rather possessive when it came to his
favorites, and rather paranoid and easily upset when it came to everything
else. So, if asked, I’d tell everyone that Cliff Harris was my favorite player,
but that I was also a big Roger Staubach fan. Thus, keeping the peace beneath
the safety of the Cowboy Fan Umbrella. Simple, isn’t it? I know this all sounds
pretty insane, but we were sports-obsessed kids, and took it quite seriously.
1975 would be a great year for the Cowboys. After a 10-4
regular season, they became the first Wild Card team to make it to the Super
Bowl, where they would lose 21-17 to the Pittsburgh Steelers. But the enduring
highlight of that season—and the moment that solidified my fandom of Roger
Staubach—took place during the divisional round of the playoffs.
December 28,
1975. The Sunday after Christmas. School vacation was just getting underway. I always
loved that first weekend of the NFL playoffs with doubleheader games on
Saturday and Sunday. Living in the cold Northeast, those extra games on TV were
both a comfort and a bonus, like a bowl of hot soup and an extra blanket. The
Cowboys were playing the Vikings in Bloomington, Minnesota. This was before the
Metrodome was built. The game was played outdoors at old Metropolitan Stadium.
Snow was plied high along the sidelines, mud caked the field from years of
overuse (the Met was also home to the Twins) and cold breath filtered through
every facemask. With the Vikings ahead 14-10 in the waning moments, the scene
was set for a legendary finish.
Once again, the
Cowboys found themselves facing defeat with the ball at midfield. This time
with 32 seconds left. This time with Roger Staubach at quarterback. I knew from
the previous Thanksgiving that this was not an impossible situation, but things
looked bleak just the same. The Vikings were the defending NFC champs with
future Hall of Famers Alan Page, Carl Eller and Paul Krause on defense. This
possession would either extend, or end, the Cowboys’ season.
Lined up in
their shotgun formation, Staubach took the snap, rolled right, pump faked left,
then let fly with a desperation pass to Drew Pearson, who caught the ball
against his hip before stepping into the endzone. When asked about the play
after the game, Staubach told reporters, “I just closed my eyes and said a Hail
Mary.” It’s one of the most famous plays in NFL history, known simply as, The Hail
Mary. From that moment on, I always felt the Cowboys had a chance with Roger
Staubach at quarterback.
They called him Captain Comeback, and Roger The Dodger. I
liked that first nickname, which alluded to Staubach’s being the catalyst
behind so many come-from-behind Cowboy victories. But Roger The Dodger? Never
liked it. I knew it was a tribute to his scrambling abilities and his
propensity to dodge tacklers as he ran around searching for an open receiver or
a first down marker. But to me, calling a military veteran, someone who served
a tour of duty in Vietnam with the US Navy, a Dodger, for any reason, seemed a
bit off. I felt this way even as a boy. Besides, I always viewed Roger Staubach
as someone who never shied away from contact. He absorbed so many thunderous
hits in his career. He was much more of a Captain than a Dodger.
In 1977, the
Cowboys went 12-2 in the NFL’s final 14-game season. Roger Staubach led the NFC
in passing and the Cowboys crushed the Orange Crush Denver Broncos 27-10 at the
Louisiana Super Dome in Super Bowl XII. I remember how confident Staubach
looked under the bright lights, and how proud I felt to be a fan of the best
team in the NFL. But things were about to get crowded on the Cowboys bandwagon.
1977 would also be the last season that the Dallas Cowboys
would be known, simply, as the Dallas Cowboys. In 1978, NFL Films released
the Cowboys season highlight film under the title, “America’s Team”, and the
name stuck. I’m happy to say that, thanks to my big brother, I was a legitimate
fan of the team before all the foolishness started and the frontrunners showed
up.
Staubach led the
NFL in passing in 1978 and the Cowboys once again made it to the Super Bowl,
where they once again lost by 4 points to the Pittsburgh Steelers. In 1979,
Staubach repeated as NFL passing leader with career highs in completions (267)
yards (3,506) and touchdowns (27). Then, after a 21-19 loss to the Los Angeles
Rams in the divisional round of the playoffs, and fearing the after-affects of
recurring concussions, Roger Staubach retired from football.
It’s ironic that
my first memory as a Cowboys fan is of Staubach getting hurt in that
Thanksgiving game back in ’74, and that his backup led the team to victory in a
manner that Roger would become known for. But it’s fitting that he reclaimed
his starting job the very next week, and that he would only miss two games for
the rest of his glorious career.
Just as Bill
Russell’s commitment to defense will always personify the Celtics of the 1960s,
and Bobby Orr’s overall brilliance will define those great Bruins teams of the
early 70s, so, too, will Roger Staubach’s competitiveness and leadership
represent the spirit of those 1970s Dallas Cowboys teams that I came to love.
Captain Comeback. Roger Staubach.
Afterward:
*I lost touch with my friend Bobby after high school, but
someone told me that he had become a San Francisco 49ers fan shortly after The
Catch, and that Joe Montana had become his favorite player. Huh? I must
admit, I felt the pang of betrayal, as if he’d dumped the girl I’d secretly
pined for just so he could chase the newly elected Prom Queen. And what kind of
fan abandons the team he grew up with in favor of the team that broke their
hearts?
*Cliff Harris was one of the best football players of the
1970s. You might say that he was the Cowboys’ defensive version of Staubach in
that their careers practically mirrored one another’s (Staubach ’69-’79, Harris
’70-’79) and that both were named to the NFL’s 1970s All-Decade Team, and both
were as tough as they come. Harris really should be in the Hall of Fame. He was
great. But he wasn’t my favorite player.
*March 17, 2006 was my last day as a fan of the Dallas
Cowboys. That’s because on March 18, they signed a guy who, besides being one
of the most despicable self-promoters in sports history, once danced a
touchdown dance on the midfield Star at Texas Stadium as a visiting player. I
should know better than to get mad at something like that, but these are the
things fans care about. I could not go on supporting a team that would forgive
such disrespectful behavior from a guy who would be #1 on my list of least favorite
players. Of course, I’m talking about Terrell Owens. I’ll admit I was also
growing increasingly annoyed by the routine pomposity of owner Jerry Jones, so
the fact that he signed Owens also helped to make my decision. I’ll also admit
that, if the Cowboys hadn’t signed Owens, I probably would’ve given up on them
sooner than later anyway. That’s because not long after Owens arrived, Tony
Romo was named starting quarterback, and a soap opera of mediocrity ensued.
People actually mention Romo favorably in conversations that include the names
Troy Aikman and Roger Staubach.
Troy Aikman: 11-5 in playoffs, 3-0 in Super Bowls.
Roger Staubach: 12-6 in playoffs, 2-2 in Super Bowls.
Tony Romo: 1-3 in playoffs, no Super Bowls.
So that’s where I stepped off the America’s Team bandwagon
I had a good 32-year run as a fan of the Dallas Cowboys,
through the lean years of the late-80s, and the glory years of the early-90s.
But nothing compared to those teams of the 1970s. Before they became America’s
Team, they were my team, and they were led by number 12, Roger Staubach.
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