A Day In The Offseason Life Of A Cowboys Fan

"Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head, found my way downstairs and drank a cup. And looking up, I noticed I was late. Found my coat and grabbed my hat, made the bus in seconds flat."

I arrive at work, spot the hot receptionist manning the desk in the entry hall, lean over and whisper in my most adulterous voice:

"How ‘bout them Cowboys."

Our receptionist doesn't speak English, but she is suitably impressed by my command of the English language. I make a mental note to drop by her desk on the way out.

I get on the elevator and press the button for the floor where my office is. Number Nine. While I strike poses with an imaginary sixth Lombardi trophy in the elevator's mirror, I whisper under my breath: "Tony Romo, baby, Tony Romo. Take that, Terry."

I get off on the ninth. A French colleague of mine sees me, rushes up to me and starts shaking my hand vigorously (The French have a thing about shaking each other's hands in the morning).

"Bonjour, ‘ow are you sis morning?"

"How ‘bout them Cowboys."

Awkward silence ensues. He lets go of my hand and I walk on with a smug grin on my face. I unlock my office, my secretary hears me and peers around the door.

"You look like a piece of [site decorum] this morning."

I take that as a compliment.

"How ‘bout them Cowboys."

"Been blogging about American Football all night again, have you?"

I smile and begin my workday by logging on to BTB and catching up on the threads of last night.

When I finally open my e-mail account, I find 20 new emails waiting for me. I immediately check the Cowboys roster ... 18 ... Buehler, good ... 19 ... Austin, niiiice ... 20 ... Alan Ball!!! Good Lord, this day is off to a bad start already. I immediately shout at my secretary to forward me my travel details for next week. Anxious seconds pass. Her mail pops us ... let's see ... 21 ... Sean Lee! Yes! Karma is restored, I can now begin to work.

Later, the phone rings. I have caller ID, but it's my ex-wife so I pretend I don't know who's on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Listen," she has this habit of always starting a sentence with ‘Listen' when she's about to tell me what to do, "Listen, have you figured out yet what you're going to get our son for his birthday?"

"He wants a Barber jersey."

"What color is the jersey?"

"Blue and Silver."

"Well that's boring. Can't you get him a jersey in black? Or red?"

"No."

"Well, ok. So what's on the jersey?"

"A blue star."

"What? That's it? Can't you get him something with a Lion, a Tiger, or an Eagle or something?"

I hang up.

When I leave work in the evening, the receptionist is gone, but there's a fat security guard manning the desk. He reminds me of Andy Reid. I raise my hand in a mock salute, showing all five fingers.

"5 rings, dude."

The guy, he's Polish or Hungarian or something, looks at me in complete and utter befuddlement, just like Andy Reid when the play-clock is down to less than two minutes.

I walk down a flight of stairs to the garage and get into my A5 company car. I briefly wonder whether I'll have enough kilometers on the dial by year's end to get a new car. The next one would obviously have to be an A6. Darn, probably not before 2012.

When I'm home that evening, someone rings the bell to my apartment. I answer the door, only to find two young dudes in black suits and crew cuts waiting on my doorstep with eager smiles. They talk to me in German with a heavy American accent:

"Guten Tag, wir würden gerne mit Ihnen über das Book Of Mormon sprechen, wo es herkommt, und was es für Sie bedeutet (Hello, we would like to talk to you about the Book Of Mormon, where it came from and what it means for you)."

"Fear the Star."

"Pardon me?"

"Fear the Star."

"Um, yes. Well, we'd like to talk about the relationship we now have with our Heavenly Father and the blessings that are a part of our daily life."

"Fear the Star."

"Um. Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Fear The Star."

I turn on the TV. Nothing's on. So I cruise the channels. Up and down. Up and down. On channel 67 I find Astro-TV, a dial in show where a very shady looking lady is offering to tell my fortune for 0.50 Euros per minute. Sounds like a deal to me, so I call.

"Hello, you've reached Astro TV,  what's your name?"

"Jason Garrett."

"And do you have a question that you want answered, Jason?"

"Yes. I need to hire some new employees. Whom should I get?"

"Well, Jason, do you already have some names in mind? The stars can better help me answer that question if I can get a vibe off the names."

"Did you just say 'stars'?"

"Yes."

"Fear the star."

"What?"

"Fear the star."

"Nevermind. The names of your prospective employees, Jason?"

"Cullen Jenkins, Wallace Gilberry, Nnamdi Asomugha, Brodney Pool, Michael Huff, Abram Elam, Jonathan Joseph, Eric Weddle."

"Well, Jason, that's a lot of names, but I'm getting a particularly good vibe about Weddle, Huff and especially Jenkins,  the stars seem to like him a lot."

Down 1.50 Euros, I decide to call it a day.

"Fear the star."

And hang up. Cullen Jenkins, huh? Niiiice.