Mad at Myself, Not the Cowboys

Sitting here less than two hours after the Cowboys’ four-game win streak was ended by the Packers on the green, lush and completely thawed early November tundra of Lambeau Field, I want to be able to direct my white-hot rage at every single Cowboy player and coach. But if I’m completely honest, the only target truly worthy of my anger can be no one but me – because I’m the one who was ridiculously naive and stupefyingly idiotic enough to actually buy into that mirage put forth by the Cowboys over the past four games.

It was ridiculous of me to think that they had finally figured things out, righted the ship and become legitimate contenders. The penalties weren’t just miraculously going to disappear. The dropped passes weren’t going to turn into solid two-handed grabs overnight. The missed tackles weren’t going to be replaced by flawless technique. And the team that seemed capable of never doing anything but repeatedly shooting itself in the foot was eventually going to start blowing their toes to kingdom come once again.

I should have followed the immortal advice of former Cowboy and current inmate Nate Newton, who so wisely once said, “Don’t fall for it, big cat.” This team’s not going anywhere – they never were. At least we don’t have to wait until December this year for them to break our hearts. I’m running out of glue, anyway.