An Open Christmas Card To Randy "Ebenezer" Galloway

How lonely it must be to live in Randy Galloway's world. The crusty old alleged sportswriter has made his living sniping at Jerry Jones and all things Cowboys-related for the past decade. Only God knows (because it is doubtful Galloway can remember that many stiff drinks ago) how many times he has called for Jerry to fire himself as General Manager. It has been a popular stance that no doubt sold more than a few papers for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram.

So, what does Mr. Negativity do now that there is so little about which to be negative? Well, he just looks a little deeper until he finds something. There aren't too many bad things you can say about a team that is 8-1, has yet to lose a road game, and has taken care of business on both sides of the ball. But if you look hard enough, you will always find something you can bitch about. And, if bitching is your thing, then that's just what you will do.

So, this week's Galloway column accuses the Cowboys of being good, but dumb. Certainly, the 'Boys took a couple of dumb penalties, especially the Kevin Burnett taunting penalty just before the half. That could have cost a lot more than the three points that immediately resulted from it. But it didn't. The Cowboys saw to it that it didn't by storming out to a comfortable second half lead and then cruising in with a relatively easy road victory.

Even Galloway reluctantly admits that the Cowboys, as currently constructed by his whipping post, owner and general manager Jerry Jones, are pretty darn good. Declares the surly, dried-up, marginally-talented sportswriter, "The NFC East is under new ownership." That difficult admission notwithstanding, Galloway continues to strike that lone, dissonant cord in a symphony of cheers.

So, join me in offering Season's Greetings to Dallas' very own Randy "Ebenezer Scrooge" Galloway:

Enjoy that lump of coal while the longsuffering Cowboys fans celebrate a bountiful Christmas for a change. Your bitching is nothing more than the faint, fading voice of the glassy-eyed Ghost of Christmas Past.

Is Greg Ellis Sorry?

Most have no trouble spotting sorriness when they see it in, say, Terrell Owens or Randy Moss. The flamboyant athlete in a team sport, the one who seems to exude the me-first mentality is an easy mark. So, when T.O. had his little was-it-a-suicide-attempt-or-not thing last year, or when he missed most of training camp and hammed it up on his stationary bike while the rest of the team beat the dog out of each other, sports pundits had no problem saying, "Heeere we go again!"

But then there are the "good guys," the "team players." You know, the guys who are always courteous to the media and go about their business quietly and toe the company line. Guys like, oh, I don't know, Greg Ellis. Greg Ellis, a team captain. Greg Ellis, an upstanding guy. Greg Ellis, a hard worker.

Greg Ellis, a bum? Maybe! Consider that the Cowboys' trainers have said, since way back in training camp, that Ellis was fine to play as far as they could tell. Consider that he missed all of training camp, all of the preseason, and three regular season games. Consider that as soon as Jerry Jones stepped up and said that if Greg would play, he would purchase an additional $2 million dollar insurance policy for the player out of his own pocket to get him on the field, Ellis felt well enough to play the very next game. Jerry essentially agreed to work out a new deal for a player who was under contract, a player who had signed a deal, and a nice one, of his own volition, and then decided it wasn't good enough and he didn't want to be a Cowboy anymore.

Ellis has basically held Jones and the Cowboys hostage for two years. He has pissed and moaned to the media over and over. He has insisted that he wasn't sure he was healthy enough to play...until...he got what he wanted. Then, voila, he is miraculously cured, plays against the Rams, and records a sack and gets credit for half of another.

So, this "team" player abandoned his teammates, deserted his post, contemplated retirement (yeah right), and rode the pine until Jones ponied up. Credit Jerry for putting the team's interests ahead of his own sense of propriety and accommodating Ellis. But be wary, Cowboys' fans, of the fallout. What will happen the next time a player is unhappy with his contract? Will he remember Ellis and suddenly develop a phantom injury?

I know, I know! Ellis' injury was serious, the kind that can be difficult to come back from, the kind that can end a career. But it didn't; he healed. He got better. And he did not retire. He just refused to play until he got what he wanted.

Sometimes that whole team player or team cancer thing is murkier water than anyone cares to admit. But, hey, the Cowboys are 4-0 and riding high.

So, who cares, right?

Is He Really All That? We'll See...

Somewhere there is a thin, nearly-invisible, not always discernible line between confident and cocky. The new Rangers' skipper dances all over it. To hear him talk, he is a baseball man par excellence, a players' manager, a winner, and just what the doctor ordered for an anemic club that has spent the past four years being brow-beaten by the Buckaroo.

This is the time when expectations are set. It is certainly necessary to set the bar high. We want the team manager to be positive, upbeat, demanding, and expectant. Ron Washington has certainly been all of those things...and more. In his radio and TV interviews he has not been one bit hesitant to tout his abilities as a baseball man. He has done everything but say he "floats like a butterfly and stings like a bee."

I like what I hear from him...with slight reservations. I keep remembering how my daddy taught me the concept of "under-sell and over-deliver." It's a solid philosophy, too. No one (with the possible exception of Jimmy Johnson) ever got run out of town for exceeding expectations. Plenty have seen their careers end prematurely or had to take their show on the road because they couldn't deliver.

The Rangers' organization has chronically under-delivered. Only one manager in their history ever took this team to the playoffs. Now we have this rookie manager selling himself pretty hard. But the proof will be in the pudding. The product he puts on the field will ultimately confirm or disprove his genius.

I am tired. I am tired of the promise of Spring fading into the harsh reality of Fall. I am tired of giving up on baseball as soon as Cowboys' training camp starts. I am tired of ho-hum teams and so-so seasons. And I am ready to believe. I am ready to buy into the swagger of a man who believes in himself.

Washington wowed Hicks and Daniels. They put all their baseballs in this guy's basket.
Here's hoping they didn't lay an egg. Here's hoping he really is all that...and a bag of chips.

Vern Is Still My Guy

The best thing to me about the North Texas vs. Memphis opening-round game was not that UNT was in the tourney for just the second time in school histroy. It wasn't even that they represented themselves well, fought hard, and did some promising things on the court. (How's that for generic sports talk?)

The best thing about that game was Vern Lundquist. Once again, he reminded us all of why America's gain twenty-odd years ago (or was it thirty?) was DFW's loss. Some of us are grizzled enough to remember when the best sports anchor in this burg was really the best.
While his eventual replacement at WFAA, Dale Hansen, was patting himself on the back for being so much better than Scott "Sports-Cliche Machine-Gun" Murray, Lundquist was establishing himself as one of America's most reliable and endearing, though understated, national sports broadcasters.

Vern and Dale are polar opposites. Vern is unassuming. He doesn't constantly remind you who he is. He comes across as a friend. He is the kind of guy you want to see do well. Dale, on the other hand, comes across as a blow-hard, egocentric, overrated empty suit. Vern is a local legend; Dale is a legend in his own mind...not to mention a grown-up version of a middle-school brat. (See the recent incident where he gets pissed at John McCaa for stealing his thunder and shoots the wheels off the newscast.)

Don't get me wrong, here. Both have talent. Dale is an enormously talented communicator (at least on TV; he pretty much makes my ears bleed on the radio.) In fact, I used to listen to Dale exclusively during the 10 O'clock news hour. But then somewhere along the line, he started believing the numbers and the press. Dale decided that he was actually the story and whatever news he was delivering was a mere platform on which he could stand and shine for all the world (or at least DFW) to ogle.

Before NBC 5 finally grew a brain and put Scott Murray out to pasture, Dale used to love to compare himself to Murray, which was roughly the equivalent of a college professor laughing at a retarded kid after he kicked his ass in a spelling bee. Maybe all this time, Dale should have been comparing himself to his predecessor. Maybe, just maybe, if he had been half the professional Vern has been...half the gentleman...he would still have his gig as color analyst for the Cowboys, he never would have had the crap scared out of him in that famous shoulder-punching interview with Barry Switzer, and he wouldn't be so bitter.

In the meltdown mentioned a couple paragraphs ago, Dale asked, "Why am I here?"
Um, because Vern isn't? Because there is no justice in the world? Because Dallas is really Purgatory?

Your guess is as good as mine.