Flash & Filigree


As we suggested already, there is no more high profile position in NFL football than that of quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys, America’s team, as they often call themselves; though there are many, including these writers, who think the moniker is a stretch.

Just after we finished an earlier blog about the stylistic differences between the Achilles-like Tom Brady and the suburban dad, Hector-like Peyton Manning, we turned on the concluding minutes of a critical game between the Cowboys and the Washington Redskins, and one that was the most-watched and highest rated regular season prime time NFL game in history.  Washington has its young Adonis, Robert Griffin III out of Baylor, a star to follow; and Alfred Morris out of Florida Atlantic shows particular promise.

This game was critical because the winner would advance into the playoffs and a chance to play in the Superbowl:  the acme, along with the World Series, of American sport.

When we tuned in, Tony Romo, the rangy Dallas quarterback, had thrown a touchdown pass into the end zone, putting Dallas within five points of capturing the lead.  He then produced a somewhat uncommon two-point conversion, putting Dallas within a field goal of tying the game.

Washington tried to run the clock down, but didn’t, much.  Dallas got the ball back, and began to position themselves for a game-tying field goal, which is likely achievable within fifty yards of the goal post.  But then Tony Romo, who had time to throw the pass that would have extended the Cowboy’s season, threw an interception instead.

This calamity occurred under the baleful eye of owner Jerry Jones, who was wearing a black shirt as he watched the defeat from his box in Texas stadium, the most expensive sports complex in the world, and that temple to the Cowboys and Rangers in Arlington, Texas, a moneyed suburb between Dallas and Fort Worth.

Tony Romo.  What is he thinking now, with a long off-season to contemplate, with no Super Bowl game to contemplate?  Romo’s tragic flaw (which the Greeks argue all heroes possess) is his tendency to throw interceptions at crucial junctures, even though he can see over the heads of towering linemen, including the ones who are waving their hands.

And what about owner Jerry Jones, the Agamemnon figure, wearing a black shirt in his skybox?

Has he given the likeable, gifted, Tony Romo enough time?

Will Romo be there next year?

–Larry and Diana

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