The dust has finally settled around the Cowboys compound as owner Jerry Jones finally kicked Terrell Owens to the curb on Wednesday-please understand the dust has been swirling there since they acquired the receiver and began this saga.

The Saga of T.O.

The Introduction of the Hero and the Villain

On a warm August day in a driveway far, far away, lay a man doing sit-ups for all to see.  This man was T.O. the great and T.O. the destructor, all at the same time.   Dazzling catches line his highlight reel as he was seemingly impossible for mere mortal men to cover, but in his wake he left teams-San Francisco and Philadelphia-in turmoil, and quarterbacks-Jeff Garcia and Donovan McNabb-in the fetal position.  As the hero pumped out sit-ups that would make the fat kid in gym class jealous, he was also the villain.

The question was never whether this specimen would ever play again, but whether he would destroy again.  (duhn duhn duuhnnn)

The Entrance of the Arrogant, Senile Man

The prune-ish, not prudish, owner of the team with the star on the side of its helmets, dumped boatloads of cash at the chance to rehabilitate the villain, and bragged of the ability the Cowboys have to be god-like changers of souls (Michael Irvin, Leon Lett, Pacman Jones, and Terrell Owens). 

On a spiritual side note, the Cowboys had the stadium with the unfinished roof.  It was so “God could look down on His team.”  But, I wonder if it just looked like a toilet bowl to God?  And I digress …

There is Only Room for One Ring at this Circus

There is no better way to describe the saga of T.O., than a circus, and no better way to describe T.O., the person, than that of a finicky animal.  He looks great and powerful from the stands, like a tiger at the Siegfried and Roy show, but at some point he will snap and rip the face off someone, like the tiger did to Roy.  There are a lot of faceless quarterbacks, offensive coordinators and head coaches in the league due to the savage attacks of Owens.

But Owens isn’t a one-trick pony; he diversifies his circus performance by looking like a clown, often.  “He is my quarterback.”  Sniffle sniffle.  “My quarterback.”  As he wiped the tears from his eyes indicating his undying love for little Romo, T.O. kicked him in the balls under the table.

Like a scorned fourth grader on the playground during lunch period, Owens sat in the corner and pouted over not being involved in the “special sessions” of Jason Witten and Tony Romo as they drew up those secret plays in the sand.  Owens complained of being the hand that is outside your blankets on a cold night.  “They are freezing me out, and I don’t like that.  I want to draw secret plays too.  I want Romo to text me a special play during the pre-snap audibles.”

Romo. Terrell. What happened to love shown on the field against those dirty Cleveland Browns?  You guys looked destined to be together forever, BFFs, with your little water bottle war.  It reminded me of my “game” back when I was trolling the halls as a sixth-grader.  “Hey baby, I think you are kind of cute.  I am going to stab you with my pencil.” 

Oh, how the love has grown cold, and all because of that home wrecker, Witten.

The Final Kick in the Groin leaves me with Two Questions

In these times of economic peril, the greatest kick in the groining is what just happened to our villainous hero.  There remain two questions running rampant in my mind:

1) How destructive of a force do you have to be in order to have someone pay 9-million dollars to guarantee you will no longer be a part of the team?

Answer:  Pretty damn destructive.  I struggle with the decision to spend the extra 82-cents to Super Size my Big Mac value meal, but to throw away 9-million in coin?  Wow, that is dictator-overthrow-type hatred.

2) What team owner is crazy enough to believe he can be the savior of T.O.?

Answer:  Drew Crookin-haus says there are a plethora of teams pining for T.O.’s services, which tend to be more about dropping balls and throwing teammates under the bus rather than super-human highlights.  I believe that about as much as I believed the chatter of the fellas in the high school locker room bragging of their sexual escapades from the night before. 

Seriously, there is only one place T.O. will go, and that is to the Oakland Raiders.  Why?  Because Al Freakin’ Davis is the only owner crazier than Jerry Jones.  Hey Bay Area, brace yourself for a show more crazy than that of Latrell Sprewell’s Choke-a-Coach episode, and this season’s Singeltary Peep Show.  

I stand corrected.  Evidently there are three crazy owners in this league.

And the saga of T.O. continues …

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J.David has never won an award for his writing, but he is a former collegiate athlete for a small college where everyone makes the team.  Currently, he is a grad student at the University of Southern California studying the archaic form called, Print Journalism.  J.David points to watching Barry Sanders catlike moves as the birth of his love for the NFL, and LT’s hit on Joe Theisman as the last day he ever wanted to play quarterback.

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