There are actually two major reasons for me. First, when I was a kid, there was this older kid down the street. Most of you know the one, inbred scion of a local family bandwagonning the Turds because the Oilers stunk throughout the seventies nonstop til '79. The thing is, this kid was not only the neighborhood bully, he was truly of limited intelligence (spent part of his school days in special ed). It was impossible to argue with him because A: he was too stupid to know when he was bested and B: he would just beat you up when the laughter of others made him realize how bad he was looking. He tormented me for years with his lowbrow Dallas smack. My revenge came years later when the police caught him breaking into my dad's shop at the front of our property and he wound up in prison(third strike). I was unable to shed a tear for some reason.
I couldn't stand it, really. I had to start a thread dedicated to the thoroughly enjoyable spectator sport of Dallas bashing. I was trying to make it a little creative, so, amidst your insults and loathing, feel free to share a story which reinforces just why we hate them so. I'll tell you mine after the jump.
Second, one day when I was about 21 or so, I was calmly having a meal at a local Denny's when I tuned in on a conversation going on in the booth next to me, whereupon this asshole was telling two of his friends(who were in agreement) how he couldn't wait to leave this 'miserable fuckin' town' and get back to Dallas and then referred to my fair city as the 'armpits of Texas'. Naturally I was unable to resist urging him to go ahead and leave right that minute. One thing led to another and next thing you know we were throwing down right in the middle of Denny's (I had an Irish intemperate youth). Somehow I got out of there before the cops arrived, but I had the satisfaction of seeing his blood flow. Now, that fight wasn't over football, but it polarized me nonetheless.
So........DALLAS.......the town that had a shotgun wedding with Fort Worth and adopted a couple of bastards named Arlington and Irving.....just so they could be big enough to warrant a yellow spot on the map.... Welcome to my beloved armpits. Welcome. That smell you smell is not my beloved armpits, however. Nor is it Pasadena. It is the foul stench of mediocrity and underachievement emanating from your team-that-isn't. All of the mega-ginormous HD jumbotrons in the world will not turn Romo into a quarterback who cares more about winning than bagging celebrity skanks. They will not give you an owner who can check his ego long enough to let his football-knowledgeable hires make football decisions, much less refrain from hiring every free agent thug and locker room cancer on the market just because they have "upside".
I admire you, fan of the Brokeback. Never in the history of sport has there been a more tedious group of myopians who, when presented with reality, unfailingly begin vomiting up long dead achievements as some sort of validation for their present-day failure to matter. At all. To anybody. Anybody except the few of you still chanting "America's Team" over and over as you stare into the mirror and comb your mullets. Here's to your tenacity.....and your stupidity.
See you on Sunday.