My Coaching Application – NY Jets


Portrait of the artist as a well paid football coach with furrowed brow
Portrait of the artist as a well paid football coach with furrowed brow


Attn: Director of Personnel  – NY Jets


Dear Sir,

I am Mr. One Point Perspective, part-time, award winning blogger extraordinaire and full time jack-ass.  I would like to take this opportunity to formally offer my name for consideration as Mr. Rex Ryan’s successor as the head coach of the New York Jets.

As you are undoubtedly aware, the world of professional football is going through some challenging times in recent years.  On the field, teams have taken to using formations of such complexity that many teams have resorted to hiring choreographers.  Celebratory dances alone have nearly been elevated to an art form.  From a play-calling standpoint, things have gotten so confusing that the referees are often the only ones on the field who aren’t either calling audibles or decoding the giant postcards held high on the sidelines by back-up quarterbacks and assistant-assistant coaches.

Off the field, things are stickier than ever.  Player behavior is making headlines for all the wrong reasons.  The public relations quicksand gets deeper by the day.  Who would have guessed that giving millions of dollars to idolized young men who make their living doing violent things could possibly be lead to problems?

These league-wide scandals, in addition to your abysmal record the past several seasons may have disastrous results.  At this rate, there is a distinct possibility that some fans may actually be upset enough to give up their season tickets, mandatory pre-season ticket packages and seat licensing fees.  Without taking action, there is a chance the Jets organization could end up losing a few doubloons over this, not to mention your share of lucrative parking revenues!

The time is now, gentlemen.  Your organization can be a pioneer in making the bold move into uncharted territory by hiring a middle-aged guy from suburbia to be your head coach.  A person with no practical experience in coaching can provide your team with the fresh, unpredictable direction which only a true neophyte can provide.  My attached resume will show that I’ve spent my adult years following several career paths, none of which involve professional football.

I did play football in high school.  Granted, the game was different back in those days, we didn’t wear gloves or Darth Vader visors.  I do recall a few guys on the JV team who tried to sneak gloves out onto the practice field when the weather got cold – they were subjected to some good natured ribbing, let me tell you.

I have participated in a fantasy football league for several years.  The experience has been one of rather limited success, likely due to my drinking too much at the draft parties.  The large amounts of beer and tequila may have been the root cause of my drafting players who were not actually available to play due to incarceration, retirement and in one case, death.  The parties were typically held at my home, so there was no driving under the influence or other scandalous behavior on my part.  I can’t speak for Hacksaw or Tommy Tilt, both of whom have  left the league.  You’d have to speak with their respective wives for full details as to why they withdrew.

Since I have none of the football coaching experience of Rex Ryan, I’ll compare myself to him in a general sense;

  • Rex Ryan has been rumored to have quite the foot fetish and his wife even allegedly appears in several videos, showing off her tootsies.  While I won’t deny being as much of a fan of pretty toes and dainty arches as the next guy, I have the common sense to keep the camcorder in its case except for family birthdays and holidays.
  • Rex has a brother, Rob Ryan, who is a defensive coordinator for the New Orleans Saints – at least he is at the moment.  I also have a brother, and like me, he has no experience coaching football.  He keeps his thinning hair much neater than Rob Ryan’s tangled mane.
  • Rex is known for being outspoken and a straight talker, much like New Jersey Governor Chris Christie.  I’m also widely considered to be a loudmouth, especially when I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about.  Predictably, Gov. Christie is a Cowboys fan and to the best of my knowledge is not interested in coaching your NFL team, as he has eyes on bigger game (or it could be he’s looking at the “sale” sign in the front of Tartaglione’s Cannoli Emporium).
  • I can’t beat the Patriots either, but I’ll damn sure dress better than Belichick on game day.

My noteworthy personal attributes include:

  • I haven’t managed a whole team of players, but I did have a hand in raising three children, none of whom have served any significant time in prison.
  • Mike Vick and I go way back – Oh the dog-fighting yarns we could tell!
  • I’m okay with sharing a stadium with another team as long as those Giants fans promise to pick up after themselves.
  • I appreciate the history of your great franchise – for example, I’m pretty sure that Weeb Ewbank did not host The Newlywed Game.
  • I look really good in green

In closing, I’d like to thank you for your consideration.  Again, I urge you to take the trailblazing step of handing the reigns over to a complete novice, before another team steps up and does it first.  To be completely fair, I intend to send similar applications to parties in Atlanta, San Francisco and Chicago.  Since I already live in Jersey, I’ve decided to give you first dibs.



One Point Perspective


P.S.: I understand a position has also opened up in Buffalo.  I don’t want to be an NFL coach badly enough to apply for that gig.


Out of the Closet And Up Against A Jumbo Package

In a recent chapter of the gay-guy-playing-pro-football saga, an online article actually supplied me with so much material to write about, I barely knew where to start.

First, ex-football coach and Skeletor look-alike Tony Dungy said he would not have drafted Michael Sam, the NFL’s first openly gay player.  Dungy said that he would not have wanted to have to deal with the complexities which Sam’s impeccably stylish, matching personal baggage might contain.  I haven’t spoken with Mr. Dungy personally, but I think I understand his logic.  Also, he didn’t actually talk about Mr. Sam’s luggage, that was just me using a cute metaphor.

He doesn't look too much like Dungy in this pic and in an ironic twist, Skeletor looks kind of effeminate here.  (Image from Cracked dot com)
He doesn’t look too much like Dungy in this pic.  In an ironic twist, Skeletor looks kind of fem in his signature lavender tights…and girlfriend, those nails! (Image from Cracked dot com)

The NFL is a tough place to do business, and potential players are put under intense scrutiny.  Teams want to avoid drafting anyone whose off-field behavior might sully the league’s reputation or distract fellow players from remembering blocking assignments and locker combinations.  Sports psychology experts will tell you that all it takes is one accused murderer, wife beater, dog fighter or date-rapist to disrupt the delicate balance of locker room morale.  Drafting a guy who already “plays for the other team” is just asking for trouble.

It appeared during the draft that many of the NFL’s talent scouts may have agreed with Dungy’s assessment of Michael Sam.  After all, it’s one thing to have pink accessories to show support for breast cancer awareness (and then donate pennies to the actual cause), but damn it man, the NFL doesn’t need players to start pushing for rainbows too!  You let gay men into the league and the next thing you know they’ll be having “Say Yes To The Dress” marathons on the jumbo-tron!

Boobies – 7  Judy Garland worship – 3

Oh hell no girl!  It's gonna take more than some pink ribbons to fix that dress.  Get your ass back in the limo!  (Image from xoxobook dot com)
Oh hell no girl! It’s gonna take more than some pink ribbons and wrist bands to fix that look!  (Image from xoxobook dot com)

Dungy’s quote did not get past sports commentator and arbiter of all-things politically correct Keith Olbermann, who promptly labelled  him “The Worst Person in the World“.  I’m not a close follower of Mr. Olbermann.  I’m hoping that he names a new worst person in the world every week or two and this is not a one-time thing.  While Dungy’s comment could certainly be construed as prejudicial, it’s hard to imagine that he beats out Adolf Hitler, Charles Manson or Donald Rumsfeld, just for uttering a few words.  In Olbermann’s defense, if he just labelled Dungy a jerk, he wouldn’t have likely gotten much mileage out of it.

If you let zee homos into zee league, zoon zee schwartzas vill follow, und before vee know it, zee Juden vill own zee teams und have access to zee zuperboxes und bunkers" (Image from dot net)
“If you let zee homos into zee league, zoon zee schwartzas vill follow, und before vee know it, zee Juden vill own zee teams mit access to zee zuperboxes und bunkers” (Image from taringa dot net)


Next in line was Tim Wildmon, the CEO of the American Family Association.  Wildmon discussed the PC media’s fervor over Dungy’s remark.  In addition, Wildmon volunteered that having spent quite a bit of time in locker rooms as a sports reporter himself, he felt that surrounding Michael Sam with all that naked “beefcake” was unfair to the players (Insert cheap “illegal contact”, “holding” or “too many men on the field” penalty joke here).  I’m reserving my opinion on anything else Wildmon wrote, and just taking some perverse thrill in his use of the term “beefcake” in discussing naked manly men.


Brutus the Barber Beefcake.  Honey, those stripes are just not working...and those tights!?  You need a make-over!  First, let's put some shoulder pads on you.  (Image from cakechooser dot com)
Honey, those stripes are just not working…and those tights!? You need a make-over! First, let’s put a jock strap and some shoulder pads on you. We’ll finish the look with a snazzy visor! (Image of Brutus The Barber Beefcake from cakechooser dot com)

As the keeper of my own blog, I’m entitled to give my two cents on this whole issue.  The thought of a gay man being anywhere around the hallowed ground of America’s most prized gladiators is simply too much for many of us to wrap our narrow minds around.  Clearly doing elaborate celebratory dances while wearing tight, colorful pants and eye make-up is no place for some kind of Nancy-boy.  If openly homosexual men are able to infiltrate the league, it’s only a matter of time before the F in NFL will stand for “Flaming”.  Players will start patting one another on the backside, displaying fancy footwork, wearing knee socks and gathering in “huddles” to talk about their plans.

Tony Dungy didn’t really elaborate on the risks of hiring a gay guy to do a straight man’s job.  Had he done so, he might have pondered how on earth anyone could expect a homosexual to use a spin move on a tight end while trying to get his hands on the ball.  In any case, the deed is done, and Sam is here to stay, at least for now.  It’s only a matter of time before homosexual men start showing up in other sports like figure skating and drag racing.  At least purists of heterosexuality in professional athletics can take comfort in the lack of any lesbians in women’s sports.








The Week In Normal – Two Point Oh!

My beloved brother bestowed a bottle of this fine limited edition single malt scotch upon my 50th birthday.  I typically enjoyed it out of a glass.  (Image from luxist dot com)
My beloved brother bestowed a bottle of this fine limited edition single malt scotch upon my 50th birthday. I typically enjoyed it out of a glass. (Image from luxist dot com)

A western Pennsylvania man has been charged with drinking multiple bottles of prohibition vintage whiskey while employed as the caretaker of a mansion outside of Pittsburgh.  Apparently, the hooch was hidden in the mansion during prohibition by the man of the house, away from the prying eyes of federal agents.  The 52 purloined bottles of whiskey were valued at $104,000.  While the man initially denied drinking the whiskey, his DNA was eventually recovered from several of the bottles.  I’m assuming that that the genetic evidence was from his lips, which means he was drinking $2000 a jug whiskey right out of the bottle!  That’s straight gangsta yo!

Cheating?!  Is this what they taught you at Lawrenceville Prep?!  (Image from wikipedia dot com)
Cheating?! Is this what they taught you at Lawrenceville Prep?! (Image from wikipedia dot com)

Harvard has been stripped of quiz tournament titles after officials found out that a member of the university’s team had gained unfair access to subjects to be covered in the questions.  I’m surprised – that’s such a state-school thing to do!

I don't know what's worse, the idiots at the IRS spending 60k on a worthless video, or Joe Biden and his entourage dropping a cool mill in 48 hours in the City of Lights.  (Image from wikipedia dot com)
I don’t know what’s worse, the idiots at the IRS spending 60k on a worthless video, or Joe Biden and his entourage dropping a cool mill in 48 hours in the City of Lights. (Image from wikipedia dot com)

The IRS is catching heat for a training video in which employees dressed up in Star Trek costumes then filmed their skit on a set of the Enterprise in an IRS studio….”an IRS studio” ??!  These dopes are spending my money on a studio?…to make Star Trek parody training videos?!!?  I’d be happier if they were selling crack and gambling with the profits.  I’d write a whole post about this, but I’m not enough of a Trekkie and I’m already too much of a taxpayer.

Kids today!  Am I right?!  (Image from tvgasm dot com)
Kids today! Am I right?! (Image from tvgasm dot com)

An ex-NFL cheerleader has been accused of attempting to have sexual contact with a 12 year old boy.  First and foremeost, this is a serious accusation.  That being said, where were the ex-NFL cheerleaders when I was 12?  In her defense, she admitted to approaching the boy, but said she was drunk, and confused him with an adult male who was also at the gathering.  Just to clarify, I was pretty big for my age at 12 – where were the drunk ex-NFL cheerleaders?  Seriously though, maybe she was trying to recapture her lost youth by capturing a youth.

A news chopper flew to the scene in Philadelphia’s Germantown section to report on a suspected dog fighting ring.  Like any news team, they were hell-bent on beating the other networks to the story.  Turns out at least two of the dogs in question were not feeling quite so combative as the chopper hovered nearby.  Some pitbulls find the chance of being caught in the act is a big doggie turn on.

It’s The Big Game – Let’s Play Dress Up!

There's me with my little brother Chris.  If we got to the games early enough, we could get a spot near the fence.  It was easy to recognize our favorite players, since there were no facemasks on their leather helmets (Image from guardian dot co dot com)
There’s me with my little brother Chris. If we got to the games early enough, we could get a spot near the fence. It was easy to recognize our favorite players, since there were no facemasks on their leather helmets (Image from guardian dot co dot com)

When I was a kid, I used to go to high school football games with my brothers.  We’d watch the varsity and dream of one day wearing those uniforms ourselves.  As it happened, through hard work and the good fortune of some decent genes I eventually got to play on that very field wearing one of those sacred jerseys.  I still remember my number from that epic senior year.  I was also lucky enough to play lacrosse for an undefeated team for that same school though on a different field in a different jersey.  My lacrosse skills were sufficient for me to go on to play in college, on yet another field wearing yet another jersey.

Ahh, those college days!  So many new things to experience, so much partying.  Lord I wish I could remember a fraction of the good times.

I do have a few things which I can still recall.  One which recently popped into my mind was midnight movies.  These were usually stoner flicks for the party-set to stagger into when there weren’t enough good times to be had elsewhere.  Movies like Woodstock, Frank Zappa’s 200 Motels and The Harder They Come, starring a young Jimmie Cliff.  There was one midnight movie which seemed to play on every campus and always had a bigger crowd than the rest.  Its audience was not the usual group of wannabe rastas and Deadheads though.  Actually, they might have been, but it was hard to tell, since they were all dressed up.

I’m referring of course, to the Rocky Horror Picture Show.  For the record, I’ve never seen the movie.  Any one of my regular readers would understand why.  A movie where people talk back to the screen and throw crap is just not going to be on my calendar.  To this day, anybody in a theater, or anywhere else for that matter, who hits me in the back of the head with a slice of toasted rye is going to have a problem.  In any case, the people who went to see RHPS would dress up like characters in the movie, and enjoy what they considered to be some odd form of interactive theater with the celluloid images on the screen.

On second thought, let's just go ahead and dim the lights.  Seriously though, I get hit with one piece of toast and I'm gonna stick my high heeled fott where the sun don't shine! (Image from livefromskokie dot blogspot dot com)
On second thought, let’s just go ahead and dim the lights. Seriously though, I get hit with one piece of toast and I’m gonna stick my high heeled foot where the sun don’t shine! (Image from livefromskokie dot blogspot dot com)

Those of us who were not into Rocky Horror would wander past the theater wondering what the hell the allure was.  One time I took a fleeting interest in it, strictly because of the girl I saw standing on line in the fishnet stockings, heels and corset.  My interest quickly faded when I realized it was a guy named Doug from my art history class.  It provided an important life lesson – No matter how nice your legs are, a mustache is a deal-breaker.

My friends and I saw those people weekend after weekend.  We laughed at what geeks they were.  This was a time before geeks had any social standing.  Revenge of the Nerds was still years away and geeks were simply not cool.  Not even geeks wanted to be geeks.  Yet somehow, around 11:30 on those nights, they came out in droves, dressed like hunchbacks, bookworms, and mostly like transvestites.

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why they did it.  They dressed up in costumes for a showing of a movie whose characters could neither see nor appreciate their allegiance.  Anyone who wasn’t into Rocky Horror would mock them.  I yearned to scream out, “Tim Curry doesn’t care!  Shave your legs or put on some pants!”

Fast forward three decades or so to yesterday.  My employer started enforcing a new dress code a couple of years ago.  Jeans and shorts were banned as were T-shirts with any print on them.  I’ve been known to physically exert myself at work.  I miss my shorts and T’s much more than I do my Levi’s, even in these frigid days.  For the spirit of the upcoming Super Bowl, the powers that be granted us a day of denim, provided we wear football jerseys.

On principle, I take offense at the whole thing.  Do we have a dress code or not?  Further, people who are not football fans or do no have jerseys are discriminated against.  As both my loyal readers will tell you, I live in the Philadelphia area, and as such there has been nothing to get excited about football-wise since Andy Reid waddled out of town and Chip Kelly rolled in – neither one of which has actually translated into a single notch in the win column.

Despite our football challenged locale, the halls were filled with people in jeans and jerseys.  Though largely Eagles colors, most of the NFL was represented.  Some of the more exotic and/or depressing locales were not in attendance (Seattle and Cleveland).  I walked among these people dressed in my standard khakis and polo shirt, wondering why I had no jersey.  My fundamental disagreement with administration’s suspending a rule they just instituted notwithstanding, there was some other reason for my attire.

My standard line has always been that as a former athlete, I have been conditioned to wearing my jersey for games and not wearing it otherwise.  It was a privilege to have a jersey, it was not for everyday wear.  My jersey was part of the uniform I wore for game day, for my job at the time.  I couldn’t imagine police officers dressing up as a cop for fun, or painters putting on their speckled overalls to go to church.

As an aside, women often look quite hot in athletic jerseys, just like they do in men's dress shirts.  Obviously I cannot complain about women looking fetching in any sort of attire.  They don't even have to be fans of the team, looking good is the point.  If the Bengals away-uniform really sets off that new hairstyle, let's get out that T.J.Houshmanzadeh jersey, girl! (Image from volnation dot com)
As an aside, women often look quite hot in athletic jerseys, just like they do in men’s dress shirts. Obviously I cannot complain about women looking fetching in any sort of attire. They don’t even have to be fans of the team, looking good is the point. If the Bengals away-uniform really sets off that new hairstyle, let’s get out that T.J.Houshmanzadeh jersey, girl! (Image from volnation dot com)

As the day rolled on, I started to wonder about the validity of my rationale.  I was an athlete before many of these people were even born.  Surely by this late date my “game day” logic had lost its luster.  Perhaps the only reason I had stuck with it was to give myself a chance to inform people who were thirty years younger than me that I used to play – good God, I’m pathetic!

Somewhere in my day, the Rocky Horror Picture Show crept into my brain.  Had the thought of playing dress up for people who didn’t care play a subliminal role in my decision process?  I’ve been to a few Eagles games.  People in the old 700 level wore their Bill Bergey jerseys and cheered loudly and booed nearly as often.  Technically, many of these people were sitting closer to the underside of the jets which were coming in for landings than they were to the players on the field.  Their screams of happiness or discontent would never reach the ears of the players over a quarter mile below, no matter how much they wished they would.

Maybe eagels fans would have a better reputation if they threw toast at a movie screen instead of snowballs at a drunken Santa.  (image from aolnews dot com)
Maybe Eagles fans would have a better reputation if they threw toast at a movie screen instead of snowballs at a drunken Santa. (image from aolnews dot com)

Maybe it’s time for me to take the plunge.  To go ahead and bite the bullet and admit that my playing days are in no way related to my status as a fan.  Maybe it’s time to accept the reality that even though none of the players will likely ever see me wearing it, a jersey would be a nice addition to my admittedly one-dimensional wardobe.  Maybe I need to consider getting a jersey before I’m too old to wear jeans.

Let’s Talk Tinkle!

I shouldn’t have to tell you folks that trying to get pee pee from a Bronco can be tricky. Don’t believe me? Just ask my my buddy, Cal “Flathead” Rodgers, here. (Image from

The Denver Broncos are going to be without star linebacker D.J. Williams for an additional three games.  The three extra games of suspension are being tacked on to the original six games which were imposed due to his violating the league’s substance abuse rules.

This story in and of itself is not such a big thing.  Professional athletes and even regular folk occasionally do ill-advised things.  When caught, they have to pay some sort of penalty.  Driving while under the influence, which is what got Williams into trouble in the first place, certainly falls under that category.  Driving under the influence is irresponsible and dangerous.  It should not be seen as acceptable behavior under any circumstance.

OK – enough of the public service announcement, let’s get to the fun part.

Williams’ trouble with the league is for failing a urine test.  The failure of the test was not due to their finding traces of banned substances in the urine.  As far as I could determine in my 13 minutes of online research, the urine was as clean as a whistle.

While the urine was free of any traces of banned substances, it still sent up a red challenge flag.  It turns out the urine was from the wrong species.  Williams is in trouble for submitting a “non-human urine sample”.  I find this so funny, that I’m nearly peeing myself in laughter – How’s that for irony?

Dammit Paris! Your ugly lil dog peed on the floor again! At this rate, we never gonna get that jar filled! (Image from

Apparently, despite graduating from the University of Miami and being a grown-assed man, Mr. Williams didn’t think it through.  Clearly, he didn’t realize that in addition to testing for traces of illegal drugs, the screen might also be looking for markers which could determine that the tinkle in question came from a cooperative Rottweiler and not from a star linebacker.  One good bit of news was that the league informed Williams that he does not show any signs of heart-worm or Parvo virus.

I’m taking the liberty of guessing that the pee came from a large breed dog for several reasons.  Pro football players aren’t known for having Tea-Cup Yorkies around the house – unless they’re dating Paris Hilton and she’s got a few in her bag*.  In addition, I’m not sure one of those miniature breeds could produce enough wee wee to fill the specimen jar, unless you really scared them.  Cats are also out of the picture, assuming the guy doesn’t have a snow leopard he bought from a couple of magicians outside Vegas at their exotic animal clearance sale.

While linebackers aren’t necessarily known for their intellect, you’d think that their multi-millionaire agents would have the wits about them to advise against using critter pee.  Any agent will tell you the only good use for that suff is putting the coyote whiz around the country estate to keep deer out of the pinot noir trellises.

It’s also unfortunate that Mr. Williams was unable to forge the celebrity connections to link up with rapper R. Kelly, who might have been able to suggest other options.  It really makes you wonder.  I mean, what’s the point of being rich and famous if you don’t get to network when it really counts?

All this speculation is too little-too late to be of any assistance to D.J. Williams.  The damage is done.  Hopefully, he will move forward and be able to resume his playing career once he’s served his suspension.  I’m sure that opposing players and fans will not consider what he must have looked like as he chased his Rotty around the yard with a jar in his hand.  I’m confident the dog has already forgotten about the whole incident by now.  Dogs, unlike many fans of rival AFC West teams, can have very short memories.

* This broad-brushed, stereotypical view of professional football players is not meant to include quarterbacks or punters, who may well own small-breed dogs and even Persian cats. 

Looking So Hot in Them Silver-Blue Britches

There are two types of pro football fans; the ones who love the Cowboys, and the rest of us, who hate everything about them.  As if to rub salt in our wounds for any success they’ve ever had, some knucklehead once christened them “America’s Team” – a misnomer if ever there was one.  Fans of other NFC East teams will attest that it is in fact, un-American to be a Dallas fan, even if you live in Texas.

So, it was with a great deal of humor and a healthy dose of schadenfreude that I read about the latest controversy in the land of Romo.  Apparently fans of the team were greeted with an unexpected surprise when they clicked “” on their browsers.  It turns out that is not a exactly a pipeline to America’s Team.  It’s actually a gay dating site, dedicated to the Brokeback Mountain set, who are looking for a special guy in a Stetson hat.

The chaps aren’t metallic silver-blue, but you gotta love the hat. Git along, little dogie! (Image from

Likes: Camp fires, sleeping under the stars, show tunes.

Dislikes: Pushy people, replacement refs, the guy in the Village People who dresses like a Redskin – I mean really,  feathers?!  Girl -that’s so 1980’s!

Quite simply, this is the kind of thing that Dallas Cowboy haters everywhere will savor and laugh about for decades to come.  Sure you guys have Super Bowl rings.  Sure you have a shiny new stadium that’s bigger than the entire town of Pine Bluff, Arkansas.  Before you brag any further, let me say these three words to you: cowboys dot com!  The team I root for may be under-achieving again and headed for another disappointing season, but at least no one confuses them with a gay dating site. Not to imply that there’s anything wrong with gay dating sites, they just don’t go especially well with the National Football League – kind of like pairing a crisp Pinot Grigio with a Denny’s Meat Lovers Breakfast Combo.

My favorite team’s owner, who’s as filthy rich and detested as every other team owner in the NFL, had the good sense to buy the rights to anything and everything, including websites, which he could possibly parlay into profit and/or publicity for his business…I mean team.  I don’t know how the Cowboys let this happen.  I’m guessing that Jerry Jones, the team’s owner and self-appointed El Presidente for Life, has already fired several people in the social media and IT departments over this little golden turd.

I can just picture him, furiously waving stacks of money in the tiny offices of the website.  A vein is pulsing on his forehead as if the Giants just blocked what would have been the game-winning field goal.  Perhaps he’ll send one of his underlings to do his bidding.  Savvy deal-maker that he is, I’m thinking that he’ll choose that guy Dale from accounting.  Tell him to dress up as if he’s going to a hoedown and walk in kinda bowlegged, like he has an Appaloosa tied to the hitching post out-front.

Can’t you just picture it?

Dale saunters in through the swinging doors, orders a bottle of red-eye and tips his hat to the cute guy playing the pie-annie over by the poker tables.  The room hushes at the appearance of the tall, handsome stranger in the metallic silver-blue chaps with the shiny star.  He tosses a dollar coin to the piano player and asks him to play “sump’n purdy”.  Shocked by his generosity, the musician bites the coin to test for authenticity and then asks the cowboy in the glittery drawers what he’d like to hear.

“Play me some Ethel Merman if you know any, if not, Liza Minelli will do,” he drawls.

As the piano player launches into a medly of songs from “Gypsy”, the cowboys in the room resume their hollering, drinking and line dancing.  The handsome stranger picks up his bottle of red-eye and walks back to the table to sit and discuss business with the domain owner, a chubby feller in a black hat with a little too much wax in his mustache to be from these parts.  There’s a big burly guy standing behind Ol’ City-Whiskers – must be the hired muscle.

“I didn’t know we wuz bringing pets to this here meeting” Dale says, his steely glance showing no fear of the bear of a man.  “If’n so, I’da brought a coupla O-linemen from the practice squad”

He stands and stares at the hired muscle.  “Why doncha run along, son?  Pa and Little Joe are waiting fer ya back at the Ponderosa.  They’re likely worried sick bout ya by now”

City-Whiskers turns and nods to the mountain of a man and he reluctantly leaves, but not before giving Dale a look.  Ooo, such a look!

Dale smiles thinly and sits back down.  He pushes his hat back on his head with two fingers to the brim and pulls the cork out of the bottle with his teeth.  He pours a shot for Ol’ City-Whiskers, then takes a swig right out of the bottle himself.  It’s time to get down to business.

The deliberations are short and not so sweet.  City Whiskers makes it plain that he’s not changing his site name.  For the record, he’s not selling his land for pennies on the dollar just to make room for no dang railroad, neither.  Dale angrily rises from the table and tells him that he aint seen the last of him, not by a fer piece he aint.  He stalks out of the saloon, hops in the saddle and gallops back out to the Jones’ ranch to tell the boss man the news.

So yeah, my team might not be so hot, but Dallas fans know in their hearts that every away game for the next several years will include something witty about written on a bed sheet hanging from the upper decks.  The cameras won’t likely show it, but the fans will see it and have a good chuckle.  Sarcastic T-Shirts will be worn, bumper stickers will be printed.  Not all victories show up in the win/loss stats.

As for the website, I wish them well.  Hopefully the massive surge of hits the story has generated will propel them to huge success.  Everyone deserves the right to find a date, including lonesome gay cowboys.  Giddyup!