Boys Will Be Boys by Jeff Pearlman Page A

Star-Telegram summed up the bleakness with his mid-season report card, giving the quarterbacks a B, the running backs and offensive linemen Ds, and the wide receivers Fs. Wrote Werder: “The Dallas Cowboys, a team with stars on its helmets but few on the field, have spent the first half of the National Football League season losing games, fans and self-respect.”
    Entering the Redskin contest, there were few reasons for optimism. The Aikman-less, Walker-less, Irvin-less Cowboys were now dependent on Paul Palmer, the halfback they had recently acquired from Detroit for what amounted to three Pepsis and a jar of B&G Pickles. A former first-round pick by the Chiefs out of Temple University, Palmer possessed two professional claims to fame. First, he was a monumental bust. Second, while playing for Kansas City he once threatened to fumble intentionally.
    Palmer, though, was the best the Cowboys had. And for one day, it was good enough. Dallas came out flat. The Redskins came out flatter. The Cowboys entered halftime leading 3–0, and Johnson stormed into the locker room and gave one of the most impassioned talks of his life. “We can pull this out!” he bellowed, beads of sweat tricklingfrom his forehead. “This is something we need to do, and the opportunity is right there!” The Cowboys stormed back onto the field and, well, stunk. Walsh completed 10 of 30 passes for 142 yards. But the Redskins—14 1 /2-point favorites—were even worse. They scored only 3 points in the second half, and Johnson and Co. had its first win, 13–3. The star was Palmer, who—while wearing a wristband listing his team’s plays—carried 18 times for 110 yards.
    “The stress of losing those first eight games was building,” says Walsh. “Nobody wants to be known as a chronic loser. We didn’t want to win—we needed to win.”
    Afterward, Johnson spoke of more triumphs to come, and Jones distributed hugs as if they were Peeps on Easter Sunday. Safety Bill Bates went so far as to sneak behind his coach, place his hand in his (perfectly coiffed) hair, and muss it into a poodle cut. It was a great moment. A brilliant moment.
    A fleeting moment.
    The 1989 Cowboys never won again. Not once. Palmer’s magic vanished, the defense was porous, and Aikman returned to take a hellish beating. He started the following Sunday against the Cardinals, threw for an NFL rookie record 379 yards, and was knocked cold for nearly five minutes before being helped off the field. “Troy earned all of our respect,” says Garry Cobb, the Dallas linebacker. “He got killed and refused to cry. I’ve been on the field when quarterbacks cry, and it ain’t pretty. Dan Marino was a crier—‘ Whose man was that! Where’s the blocking! Whah! ’ But Aikman—never. Aikman was a man.”
    “Troy gave all the linemen boots as a present at the end of the season,” adds offensive tackle Dave Widell. “With the job we did, we all should have given them back.”
    As the glow from victory number one faded, the Cowboys returned to their ornery, agitated ways. Johnson was spending seventeen-hour days in his office, suffocating beneath the dual weights of humiliation and strife. By now nearly all of the veterans had had it with their coach’s collegiate stylings. The players had assigned seats on flights and were required to wear suits and ties for all travel. “He even made us take thebus together to the stadium,” says Folsom, the tight end. “It seemed weird, walking onto the bus and seeing Ed Jones and Tom Rafferty sitting there like little kids going off to elementary school.”
    The two weeks following the Washington win evoked new lows in player-coach relations. There was a shouting match between Johnson and Everson Walls, when the coach spotted his veteran cornerback laughing it up with opposing players immediately after the Cardinals loss. There was a nightmarish practice the day before the Thanksgiving matchup with the Eagles, when Johnson had his team