Silver and BlueBlood

Who Dat Quarterback!

It took the New Orleans Saints organization 21 years just to post their first winning season. It was 33 years before they won a playoff game. Consequently, Super Bowl XLIV is the ultimate rags–to–riches tale in NFL lore. (Or, perhaps we should say bags–to–riches, since this is the team whose fans once wore bags over their heads and called them the ‘Aints.)

You would expect some memorable communications to come out of such a seminal moment in NFL history, and that is just what happened. Being the consummate investigative reporter, I was able to intercept some key text messages being sent before, during and after Sunday’s big game. Here are the ten best…

Number Ten

Tom Benson to San Antonio Mayor Julian Castro: “Looks like I won’t be needing that contingency plan after all. We’re staying put.”

Number Nine

Peyton Manning to his father Archie Manning, the Saints’ legendary quarterback and color analyst, after throwing the pick six to basically end the game: “You’re welcome.”

Number Eight

The wheels-off, derelict-looking Pete Townsend to the Devil: “Hey, man! We had a deal!”

Number Seven

Coordinating Producer for CBS Sports Steve Karasik to James Brown: “WTF did Sharpe just say? It’s unintelligible.”

Number Six

Shannon Sharpe to his speech therapist: “I demand a refund! I swear I am getting worse, dude. I can’t even understand me any more.”

Number Five

George W. Bush to Katie Couric: “You never looked at me the way you looked at President Obama today. Drool much? LOL.”

Number Four

Eli Manning to Peyton Manning, right after big brother threw that interception: “Hey Bro! Who has dumb face now? LOL.”

Number Three

Sean Peyton to Jim Caldwell right after the onside kick to lead off the second half: “You been punked, rookie.”

Number Two

Carrie Underwood to former boyfriend Tony Romo: “Told you I would make it to the Super Bowl before you did. LOL.”

Number One

Drew Brees to Phillip Rivers, as Drew was receiving the MVP award for Super Bowl XLIV: “Who dat quarterback?”

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Here's your sign!

“What is crude, crass, classless, Alex.”

(Answer to the Jeopardy question: “What are the three best words to describe a typical Philadelphia Eagles fan?”)

So, Pulitzer candidate and editor of PhiladelphiaEagles.com Dave Spadaro hocked a loogie on the hallowed midfield Star at Cowboys Stadium before last Sunday afternoon’s game, recorded it on his web cam, and posted it to the Eagles’ website, thus forever endearing himself to the City of Brotherly Lust-For-Just-One-Super Bowl-Win-Please.

This from a representative of the organization whose classless coach Buddy Ryan once ordered to fake taking a knee in a game they had well in hand, and then fire a touchdown pass, adding insult to injury. This from the team whose fans gathered in mind-numbing temperatures in that toilet known as Veteran’s stadium to spit on opposing teams and pelt their players and coaches with everything from snowballs to batteries. Read the rest of this entry »

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love is in the air

My Dearest Wade,

I have noticed how giddy you have been during our alone time lately. It warms my heart to see you so happy…especially at Christmas.

I know you had hoped to find a contract extension in your stocking. Please don’t think I am a Grinch for not putting it there. Besides, everybody loves an Applebee’s gift card. Take your lovely family out to dinner there on me and have a nice fat, juicy steak for yourself. You deserve it.

I cannot express how much it means to me to have beaten the previously undefeated Saints. They were just way too full of themselves. It was especially sweet because that coach, whats-his-name, the one who used to languish anonymously on our staff when Purcells (I know it is PAR·cells, but I always said it pur·CELLS, just to tick off the overrated Tuna) was making me and everybody else around here miserable as heck.

Isn’t it just wonderful how that smug SOB has his team under .500 and set to miss the playoffs and that little Tuna Helper up there in the Big Easy—and it was easy, wasn’t it? Like taking candy from a baby—getting knocked off his “I’m a football genius” pedestal?

But, anyways. I digress. Back to your giddiness. I know you heard my interview with the Sunday Night Football bunch and got all excited. I know you think it means that an extension of your contract is inevitable. But did you really listen to what I said? Did you hear what I didn’t say?

Let me remind you of my words:

“When I look at our team and I look where our needs are and where our input needs to be, I like Wade Phillips’ skills there. I just want for him and for our Cowboys fans to culminate in a Super Bowl run.

“There’s nothing in me right now that wants to make a coaching change, that thinks we need to make a coaching change. I want that feeling ratified by some success and we’re at the cusp, maybe, of being able to have it.”

So, yes, my dear Wade, I did confess my love for you.

Of course I like having you for my coach. You don’t suck like Chan Gailey or Dave Campo. You aren’t disinterested like Barry Switzer. You know football, but you don’t insist on actually being the coach the way Jimmy Johnson and Bill Parcells did. You are perfect for me. You let me be the coach when I want to be, but never call attention to the fact I am doing it. You…complete me.

I love you, Wade. But even love has its limits.

You will note in my words that I said I wanted this thing to “culminate (get your mind out of the gutter) in a Super Bowl run,” and I mean it. I say it is for the fans, but you know it is really for me. My legacy is in danger. Those three Super Bowls in the nineties, and all the goodwill they bought me, are no longer enough currency to stave off a mutiny if we don’t win a playoff game soon. You hear me, Wade? A Playoff game, damn you!

No more of this “well, we finished in the top eight” crap, either. You make yourself look like a loser and an idiot and that hurts me, because it makes me look like a fool for loving you.

Am I a fool, Wade? I don’t think so. I want this feeling ratified. Justify my love, Wade. Gratify my ego, Wade. Satisfy our fans, Wade.

Or, we are through.

Happy New Year.

I remain…

Your Biggest (and sometimes only) Fan,

Jerry Jones

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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the stands
Not a person was cheering, not one single fan.
They all held their breath in the brisk night air,
And wondered if Santa would bypass them this year.

Their faces were painted all silver and blue,
With streaks of flesh-color from a stray tear or two.
And mom in her Nine jersey, and me in my cap,
Hoped our team would not go for that long winter’s nap.

Ho Ho Ho, Y'All

When out on the lawn I heard the snow splatter
And sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a news paper predicting another bad year.

With a flick of his pen, and his sharp-edged wit,
The writer predicted the team would just quit.
He called to my memory Christmases past,
And he smirked and insisted, “This winning won’t last!”

“Now Phillips! now, Romo! now, Garrett and Witten!
And Newman, and Spencer, they’ll all be a-quittin’!
So don’t get your hopes up, you silly old fan,
These guys will collapse and disappoint you again!”

With dry lips and wet eyes, I read on with a sigh,
Who’s this fool anyway? Just a regular guy.
Not Nostradamus anymore than I.
So I rolled up that paper and started a fire.

And then with a sigh, I said to St. Nick
Come rescue this season and come do it quick.
Surely you’ve room in that magical sleigh,
To bring us a victory this coming Sunday.

We will leave the roof open so you can get in,
And we’ll greet you with shouting and clamoring din.
And we’ll hear you exclaim as you take off again,
“Merry Christmas to all…except you Redskins.”

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Cards for EVERY Cowboys Occasion

On this glorious Monday morning in Dallas, the morning after the biggest Cowboys win in two years, this enterprising entrepreneur is busy designing Thank You cards for the Cowboys fan too busy to write his own. The window for such a venture is very, very small, so I am wasting no time.

Here are a few of the offerings from the newly-formed Silver and Blue Blood Hallmark Moment Press.

To Andy Reid:

Dear Coach Reid,

Thank you for angering the football gods, annoying the officials, and poking Philadelphia fans in their bloodshot eyes, waving red flags like a demented matador with a death wish, and kicking a useless field goal with precious little time left and no timeouts in your pocket.

PS- My brother suggested you have David Akers on your fantasy team. Is this true?

To Victor Butler:

Dear Vic,

Thank you for making a play every single time you get an opportunity to do so (which is not very often, for some reason known only to Wade Phillips.) Your shoestring tackle of Donovan McNabb was a game-saver. We owe you. More importantly, Wade owes you a closer look.

To Tony Romo:

Dear Tony,

Thank you for growing up before our eyes. You turned your cap around, protected the football, withstood the blitz storm, made just enough positive plays, took sacks rather than throwing the ball up for grabs, and didn’t once use the word “fun” in your post-game interview.

To Miles Austin:

Dear Mr. Awesome,

Thank you for being the anti-T.O.

To Roy Williams:

Dear (the current) Roy Williams,

Thank you for navigating your way through all the “baiting” by local media types without going all T.O. on everybody.

To DeMarcus Ware:

Dear D Ware,

Thank you. Just…thank you.

To Greg Ellis:

Dear Fussy Pants,

Thank you for taking your bitching to Oakland. You would not believe the difference in attitude now that you are not a “team leader” …and Keith Brooking is.

To the Month of November:

Dear Mother of All Cowboy Months,

Thank you for being so kind to Romo and his Cowboys. Thirteen straight wins under your umbrella. No one has done that since 1950. Oh, and thank you for Thanksgiving and turkey and football (and family that helps eat the turkey and doesn’t interfere with the football.)

To Santa:

Dear SC,

All I want for Christmas is a December to remember for something besides late-season collapses.

These are just a few of the cards we are rolling out for the elated fan. Get yours now! Supplies are limited.

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