Dak Prescott's Lament (For Duane Thomas)

“If the Super Bowl is the ultimate game, how come there is another one next year?” 

― Duane Thomas, former Dallas Cowboys running back, who took a vow of silence in 1971-'72 after calling General Manager Tex Schramm "sick, demented and dishonest," with much media uproar, then helped his team to win its first Super Bowl, and was promptly traded to the San Diego Chargers for basically nothing, and was out of football shortly thereafter. The statement above is what he said, softly, after the end of his silent vow in the locker room after Dallas beat the Miami Dolphins 24-3 in 1972. P.S. President Richard Nixon drew up a play for the Dolphins, a simplistic inside slant, which also got a lot of media attention that year. When the Dolphins actually ran it, the Doomsday Defense blew it up. Hunter S. Thompson wrote about this extensively, although he failed to make it to the actual game, apparently, for reasons fans of "The Duke" can easily guess.

I have two knees

and both are still intact

Jerry Jones will fire me unless

I fail to act

Getting tackled is inconvenient

it hurts with every impact

But I'm from Mississippi

and brothers still live in fear

Maybe I'll move on to another team

after my rookie contract year expires

Things is getting way too weird

to be anywhere around here

Yet there is a hero in me

all everyone can see

so after the bye week

I will consider and address

this fateful portico of the national complex

because only Dak Prescott knows

what Dak Prescott will do next
~

This poem is not the property

 of the National Football League

 and can be re-broadcast

 at any time in the form of a share.

 You don't need my express written permission,

 and I seriously doubt if anyone

 is going to turn it into a video

 to play with your friends

 at home,

 in prison,

 at the bar,

 or otherwise.

However,

if you do watch football

more than three hours

each week,

consult your physician

for fatigue,

anxiety,

suicidal thoughts,

or,

mysterious voices

in your heads

to buy a Ford truck,

drink excessively,

or to head-butt

your soon-to-be,

X-wife.

Please think

responsibly,

God bless

the NFL,

Amen,

women, too,

sorry,

because the lights are going off
since the party is over
since you can't even
tell it like it is,
and the Gipper is dead,
and Gifford lost his head,
and O.J. Simpson
keeps selling books
for every little thing
he says

~

And when I shook awake

from my Jerry Jones dream,
sucked out of his "glory hole,"

I heard a thousand screams,

of hanged men, 

in burning Mississippi. 

They were ghosts 

standing in a row 

at the forty-five yard line 

and they were calling to me, 

whispering, how long? How long? 

But then the whistle blew 

and into Roman warfare I flew 

wearing beautiful uniforms, 

one team grey, 

and another, 

battle-dressed in blue

Douglas McDaniel was a lifetime Dallas Cowboys fan since 1969. No more. Jerry Jones is simply evil more than good, and now I thank my brother, Scott, for making that call a long, long time ago.

P.P.S. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

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