It has nothing to do with alcohol or other substance abuses, believe it or not.
Mr. Jones: you’re a great marketer who will probably be in the NFL Hall of Fame someday. But please, please swallow your pride and hire a general manager for the Cowboys, someone who has football savvy.
In the 16 years you’ve been doing it your way since Jimmy Johnson was, well, fired, the Cowboys have been quieter than Marcel Marceau in the postseason. Sure, they won the Super Bowl in 1995, but that was with Barry Switzer letting the players Johnson mostly assembled do their thing.
Paris Hilton will probably win an Academy Award before a team you assemble wins a Super Bowl.
Nothing personal, Mr. Jones. You just need to leave the football decisions to those who know football.
Case in point: taking the infamous Quincy Carter in the second round of the 2001 NFL draft when he still would’ve been available in the late rounds. (Of all the quarterbacks taken in that draft, only Drew Brees is currently a starter). Maybe you could coax Johnson to return as general manager, but you’d have to promise not to pester him on draft day.
Otherwise, I fear this will happen:
While in your office, you are abruptly visited by Gene Jones (your wife), Stephen and Jerry, Jr. (your sons), Roger Staubach, Troy Aikman, Bob Lilly, Emmitt Smith, Michael Irvin, Jimmy Johnson and, somehow, the ghost of Tex Schramm.
Mrs. Jones: Jerry, we love you, but it’s time.
Jones (confused): Time for what? To sell the naming rights to Cowboys Stadium? I have it down to Papa John’s Pizza, Nike, Netflix, Papermate Pens and—
Stephen: No, Dad, not that. It’s time for you to swallow your pride and hire a general manager, someone with football savvy.
Jones (indignant): Are you sayin’ I don’t know nothin’ about football, son?
Aikman: We all are, Jerry. Football and, apparently, grammar.
Jones: What do you base this upon?
Johnson: Jerry, if you’d just swallowed your pride and let me do things my way, it wouldn’t be nearly 15 years since Dallas’ last Super Bowl. But no, you were so convinced you knew football. Well, it’s apparent now that 500 men could run this team as well as you could.
Jones: You think so?
Schramm: Jerry, you drafted Quincy Carter in the second round when no other teams even had him on their draft board! Last I heard, he’s working the graveyard shift at 7-11.
And you signed Terrell Owens, even against the best wishes of Bill Parcells—a man who won two Super Bowls and who deserves some credit for the New England Patriots dynasty. Never mind that San Francisco 49ers coach and president Bill Walsh, one of the greatest NFL minds ever, all but branded T.O. “uncoachable.”
And what’s this nonsense of drafting only one wide receiver the past two years? And would you mind telling me why you’re telling the Fort Worth Star-Telegramyou might want to have Adam “Pacman” Jones back?
Jones: Well, I took Michael Irvin back after his drug problem.
Irvin: Whoa, don’t drag me into this! Yeah, I had legal problems, but at least I caught touchdown passes and helped the team win three Super Bowls! The only action Pacman’s seen is sprintin’ at full speed to avoid being arrested. When I try to think of Pacman’s Cowboys highlights, all I hear are crickets chirpin’!
Mrs. Jones: Honey, we have the private jet fueled up. You’re heading out to the Betty Ford Clinic for 30 days. We’re here for you.