There is not a more delusional fan base in the wide world of sports than that of the Dallas Cowboys.
“Three-and-one, baby! We’re going to the Super Bowl! America’s team!”
Will you idiots ever learn? You’re not just drinking the Kool-Aid, you’re chugging it and feverishly licking spillage off the kitchen tile. Why do you put yourselves through this, year after year? The heartbreak, pain, and constant disappointment is destroying your mental health, self-esteem, and personal life, but you refuse to take a hint.
Oh look, the Cowboys beat a 1-2 New Orleans Saints team that’s notoriously terrible on the road and isn’t even close to having its shit together this season. Big whoop. Keep your pants on, delusional Dallasites.
Sure, you have a semi-dangerous offense when it’s firing on all cylinders, but we all know that won’t happen every game, and your defense is shaky at best. I say “shaky at best” instead of “dog shit” because you held the Saints to 17 points, which is less than the Falcons, Browns, and Vikings managed, but no one has forgotten the historically godawful defense you fielded last season. Most of those losers are still around.
More importantly, your “dangerous offense” is dependent on the health of a quarterback who’s coming off his second major back surgery, and a running back who missed 11 of the first 40 games of his NFL career with ankle, foot, and knee injuries. Tony Romo is one J.J. Watt body slam away from retirement, and DeMarco Murray has never started more than eight consecutive games in a season.
Yet, once again, you’ve somehow convinced yourselves that starting 3-1 validates extremely unrealistic expectations for your shitty team. Pull yourselves together. You’ve beaten the Titans, Rams, and Saints, who have three wins between them. If you were out there knocking off winners, maybe you could start to validate that pathetic smile on your undeserving faces. You’re setting yourself up for tears, Cowboys bandwagon — sweet, sweet tears with which I will happily quench my thirst. The sad tastes so good.
As you may have guessed, I’m a Texans fan, and the Texans are 3-1 as well, but I’ll be the first to tell you they suck balls. Ryan Fitzpatrick is completely out of his mind and is a constant liability, and our two best offensive weapons are aging and injury-prone, so unless J.J. Watt can clone himself enough times to fill every position on both sides of the ball, the Texans are screwed. I’ll be happy if they finish the season at .500, but that’s because I’m not delusional. I’m not a habitual Kool-Aid drinker. I learned my lesson long ago (2012, 2013).
You’re just like the Chiefs last season, and the Texans before them. Nobody is scared of you. Nobody. And when it all comes crashing down, when inevitably the season is lost and you realize it was all for naught, I will be there. I will be there when you’re staring at yourself in the mirror, eyes watering and lips quivering, asking, “Why did I drink the Kool-Aid? Why did I buy in?” I will be there. We will all be there. But you’ll do the same shit again next year, because you’re a Dallas Cowboys fan, and that’s what you do.
So, today, the fan bases of two terrible 3-1 teams will make the commute to Arlington, Texas (where the Cowboys play, which, you’ll note, is not in Dallas) to watch their teams square off in a battle for shit-talking rights that only a truly disturbed person from Houston or Dallas can understand. If the Texans win, Cowboys fans will come crashing back down to Earth, crucify Romo, and grumble about how Jerry Jones should hire a real GM. But if the Cowboys win, there will be a 4-1 team out there that hasn’t beaten anyone that’s even close to good, and a bunch of wildly irrational Cowboys fans will book flights and reserve hotel rooms in Arizona for February 1, 2015.
In closing, one of my good friends from Beaumont, Texas, now lives in Houston and is a die-hard Cowboys fan. Below is a photo of his cat taken last night. I rest my case.