"Because I am an American and they are America's Team."
Eyes roll.
The truth is, it is partially true. I was born in New Orleans, but only lived there for the same portion of the Earth's orbit around the sun as my gestation period inside my mother's womb. I do not claim my birthright to be a New Orleans Saints fan.
Growing up between multiple moves between Colorado and Connecticut, I failed to catch Broncos' Fever, nor did I align myself with any New York teams. I could have pledged allegiance to the New England Patriots as I did to their summer brothers, the Boston Red Sox. However, back during my childhood in Connecticut, I do not remember too many Pats fans - most of them arrived with Bledsoe and Brady, not with Eason and Grogan and whoever else was on those teams.
Somewhere out there, on the gridiron battlefields of Sunday afternoons, there was a knight who lead his team to battle with a star on each side of his silver helmet. My father has told me, on more than one occasion, that the best way to keep me quiet for three hours as a toddler was to plop me down in front of the TV to watch Roger Staubach, the Doomsday Defense and the rest of America's Team.
To this day, the best way to keep me quiet for three hours as an adult is to put me in front of the TV while those wearing the same silver helmets play football.
My very first football memory is that of watching Super Bowl XII in January of 1978 at the age of 5. I had been watching games before then, but I do not remember them.
Life was good for Cowboys fans back then. A few stinging losses to the Pittsburgh Steelers (How many of their fans claim that the team with the non symmetrical helmets is the true "America's Team?") were suddenly behind Dallas as they won a second Super Bowl. The future looked good.
One championship later, Roger Staubach retired and things never really kept going. I don't remember disliking Danny White at all - I still think a combination QB/punter is really cool and a great way to open up a roster spot - but I do remember hoping, after Dwight Clark's "The Catch," that Roger Staubach would magically come out of retirement, pull the #12 jersey over his shoulder pads, and march Dallas down field to victory.
Well, the "Almost Team of the 70's" was now not going to be the "Team of the 80's" and the dark days began.
I started college in the early 1990s when America's Team was in transition from the Landry days to the tumultuous beginnings of the Jerry Jones era. I remember the win against Washington in the 1-and-15 season. I also remember, when things started getting good, having college chums accuse me of being a bandwagon fan. "No way," I would tell them and show them my football trading card collection that featured only players who wore the star. I had purchased some collectable cards from the 1960s and 1970s with my childhood heroes - how much is a Raphael Septien (Rams) rookie card worth? As I flipped through the pages in front of my friends, out came the mostly-nameless running backs and wide receivers of the last days of the Tom Landry era along with quarterbacks like Steve Pelluer and Gary Hogeboom.
No, sir. Not a bandwagon fan. I suffered through the 1980s and got to enjoy the cool efficiency and swagger of the "Team of the 90's" as my reward.
I will say that the Jerry Jones takeover of the franchise and the poorly handled removal of Tom Landry tested my resolve as a fan. However, the team is bigger than any one person – bigger than the owner, the quarterback, the head coach, the star wide receiver – and I stayed true to the star.
For some reason, as one gets older, time seems to go by more quickly. Thank goodness this is the case, because the hey-day of the Dallas Cowboys of the 1990's seems, to me, like it was not too long ago. Didn’t Aikman just retire? A closer study, however, shows that it has been a rough ride since then and, under this closer inspection, ugh; it has been a few long seasons of late.
I can barely remember the Quincy Carter/Chad Hutchinson era. I can however remember the dawn of the Tony Romo era as it happened very soon after I watched Drew Bledsoe give a game away from the stands in Seattle.
My resolve was tested, once again, as Dallas picked up one Terrell Owens as a wide receiver. It was clear to see that, despite his enormous talent, he was poisonous to the locker room. I personally think he stunted Tony Romo's growth, not as a quarterback, but as a leader, but that is a topic for a future column. I reluctantly cheered for Owens, er, the team, and never quite figured out why he was always smiling after dropping a lot of passes. Thankfully, he, like most players in the league, moved on and brought his attitude elsewhere.
Since the departure of #81, I have entered each new season with the hopes that "this is going to be the year." Unfortunately, it has not happened - not at all. A few flirtations with the playoffs, but there has not really been anything to rally behind. Is this the year? I don't think so, but if the season is not over yet and you never know what can happen in this league.
So this brings me to today. I dislike Dallas' rival teams, yet I hate no one. I love the game and enjoy watching highlights and low lights from around the league. So, you probably will not catch me spewing vile hatred here.
I am still a fan of the star. Still a fan of the Cowboys. And, I am looking forward to writing some editorials here about the Cowboys and peripheral matters. See you again soon!
-Todd Vorenkamp
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