Poetry in Motion: The 2011 Cowboys

After my less than optimistic prediction for the 2012 Cowboys season, boyman and I entered into a little wager. The terms of the bet are pretty simple:

• If the Cowboys finish with 6 wins or fewer in 2012, boyman's signature has to consist of nothing but the phrase "Jason Garrett should not be coaching the Dallas Cowboys" for the duration of the following off season.
  
• If the Cowboys finish with 9 or more wins, or if they make the playoffs, then I will write a minimum ten stanza poem commemorating the greatness of Jason Garrett.
  
• Otherwise, if the Cowboys finish with 7 or 8 wins it's a wash.

A couple of things occurred to me, though:

1. There's no reason that only boyman should be able to get in on this action. Instead, to accept this same bet, simply respond to this post with the phrase "The Cowboys will win 9 or more games in 2012." In the event that the Cowboys do win nine or more games, I will add an extra stanza to my Jason Garrett poem for every person who accepts the bet. BUT! If you take the bet and the Cowboys finish with six wins or less, then, like boyman, you have to have a signature consisting of nothing but the phrase "Jason Garrett should not be coaching the Dallas Cowboys" for the duration of the offseason.
   
   
2. Why should boyman or anyone for that matter take this bet without a glimpse at what they're hoping to win? For all boyman knows, my poem would just be a remixed version of "The Cat in the Hat" ("The Head in Red" perhaps?) So I thought it would be only fair that I give boyman and anyone else contemplating the bet something of a sample. For you whiners, it's a BTB exclusive. Without further ado...

Poetry in Motion: The 2011 Cowboys
By CowboyInExile

Some thought our Cowboys would be great,
Some thought they’d fail out of the gate,
They ended up at eight-and-eight,
In purgatory still.

So now’s the time we all look back,
See what was good or out-of-whack,
And say who’s great and who’s a hack,
Until we’ve had our fill.

‘Twas Garrett’s first year in the lead,
Though Jerry’d long since sown that seed,
And hoped he’d give them what they need,
The jury is still out.

Rob Ryan soon would join the cause,
And brought a D that gave us pause,
A fiery, blitzing, Santa Clause,
Who’ll scheme and scream and shout.

We drafted Tyron Smith at nine,
In hopes that he could hold the line,
His rookie year was more than fine,
The left side’s his to own.

And Sean Lee manned the middle for us,
Made the fans rejoice in chorus,
Moves just like he is Chuck Norris,
Warrior to the bone.

Dan Bailey brought a fresh approach,
But time outs can, one’s mind, encroach,
Especially when they’re from your coach,
You’re put on hometown ice.

And Romo stood up to the hate,
And those who’d claim to know his fate,
Had one of his best years to date,
And that was mighty nice.

But hey, who wouldn’t be all smiles?
To throw to Laurent, Dez, and Miles?
Receiving yards will come in piles,
With such targets to hit.

Along with those gained on the ground,
With Murray, a new star we’ve found,
And Jones and Tanner still around,
To show that they have grit.

And Witten stood tall, proud and true,
With Marty B and Phillips too,
To get a block, and catch a few,
And fill a tight end set,

But meanwhile Yuglies waxed and waned,
With blitzes that were not contained,
And sacks that left the faithful pained,
Which we’d like to forget.

Of course there was DeMarcus Ware,
Who still went on his yearly tear,
But Spencer, Brooking, were just there,
No big help to the D,

While Ratliff tried to bear the brunt,
And though the D-Line tried to stunt,
There was no pressure from the front,
And quarterbacks went free.

Plus Scandrick, Jenkins, faces red,
Our secondary, left for dead,
And hurdlers over Newman’s head,
That gave us all such pains.

And Elam, Sensi, unconcerned
With proving those new deals were earned,
Our safeties always getting burned,
And giving up big gains

Our Dallas squad put up some stats,
But choked with Giants, Jets, and Pats,
And newly potent jungle cats,
Such troubles in the fourth.

Yet still it seemed they had the fight,
And once their fortunes seemed so bright,
With seven wins, playoffs in sight,
And needles pointed north.

Then down the stretch, they stumbled hard,
And couldn’t get that final yard,
Or keep their QB under guard,
To make it to the dance,

And still despite December woes,
And missteps not fit for the pros,
With one game left to fix those lows,
Our Boys still had a chance

Then one day in the Meadowland,
The Cowboys made their final stand,
They faltered, headed home, and planned,
To fight another day.

And though their season’s now for naught,
A Superbowl to soon be fought,
We’ll watch, but deep down, share this thought:
“The draft’s two months away.”