The other day I'm reading a story about the Dallas Cowboys, an article discussing the potential impact of Terrell Owens on the offense this season. As I read, I started day-dreaming. I saw Owens catching long bombs from Bledsoe's rifle-arm, I saw Owens bracketed by a cornerback and a safety as Jason Witten roamed free while a hapless linebacker tried to cover him. I looked on the other side of the offense and saw Terry Glenn lined up with one-on-one coverage. Glenn was grinning, he is the Roadrunner to the defensive back's Wile E. Coyote, and we all know how that turns out. That's when I realized an ugly truth; I was now on the Terrell Owens bandwagon.
Three months after the initial signing of the troubled one, I have gone over to the dark-side. Anakin Skywalker lasted longer than I did.
Once, not so long ago, I had the moral certainty that Terrell Owens was the anti-Christ. Of course, it all started with the "star incident", and was reinforced by the Sharpie incident, the forced trade to Philadelphia and the multitude of other idiotic undertakings by Owens. I cackled in glee as Terrell sat in his driveway doing sit-ups, adding to the certainty of my world view and providing me with a ring-side seat to the destruction of the Eagles. Oh what a joy to behold.
My elation reached a crescendo when Drew Rosenhaus stepped to the microphone in Owens' driveway and made a complete mockery of everything that was right in the world. These guys were total imbeciles, and my contempt for them was only matched by my satisfaction in watching Donovan McNabb and Andy Reid going down into the sewer with them.
Then Jerry Jones got involved.
For sure, I resisted the whole idea of Owens in Dallas as long as I could. I railed against Owens and his past transgressions; I warned everybody that we would be his next victim. Right up until I watched the press conference, I was sure this wasn't going to happen. I was sure that it was an elaborate set-up and I had just been Punk'd by Ashton Kutcher. No such luck.
Now, it's all over. My conversion is complete. I should make a movie entitled Dr. Owens or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Like most other things in life the process was gradual, then sudden. I've sold my soul to be a winner again. My addiction to the Dallas Cowboys is too much for my moral character. We must win again and it must be soon. If it takes Terrell Owens to accomplish it, so be it.
I've gotten over all those things that held me back from joining the Owens Express. Be a good teammate? - that was for after-school specials. Respect the game and the people who play it? - who made me the arbiter of all that was good? Now that Terrell Owens is a Cowboy, all that moral superiority I had has been washed away. Thank you Terrell Owens, I can now justify so many other things in my life and not feel bad. Running over a little kid at an Easter egg hunt? - well, that's just giving it your all. I feel better now.
I've gotten rid of all that righteous indignation; my moral compass is no longer fixed. Nothing is sacred and right-and-wrong is just a shade of gray. I think I'm the perfect candidate for a position in the Drew Rosenhaus agency.
You can bet that on Sundays this fall, when Owens is scoring those touchdowns, I'll be cheering like a madman. And when that day comes and Owens totally destroys the Dallas Cowboys, I'll be the first to say, "I told you so". After all, now that I've adopted the Tao of Owens, I can say and do anything I want. I may even sign a contract for $10 million if I can get Rosenhaus to be my agent.