Woes of a 21st Century Cowboys Fan

Written on 11/25/2013 at 2:04 EST

Do you know how difficult it is being an East Coast 21st Century Dallas Cowboys fan? It's awful. My fanhood forces me to defend one of the singularly most undefendable organizations in professional sports without even the luxury of a steady playoff march to keep my argumentative reserves sustained.

When I meet a fellow sports lover, my introduction shares the same fear and vulnerability typically characterized by an initial Narcotics Anonymous attendee's first group address: "Uh, hi, my name is Brendan, and, um, I am--God, I never thought my addiction would lead me here-- a Dallas Cowboys fan." The shit is terrible. As the words come out, anyone within earshot either gives you a sympathetic look befit for Dave Pelzer or a socially exiling stare of revulsion and distrust.

Over the years I've learned how to efficiently lull the latter group into a sense of acceptance by explaining that I'm a respected Tier 2 Cowboys fandom member. Shit, your NFL teams don't come with fan tiers? Let me explain.

Cowboys Tier 1 is an exalted ground. Membership is limited to native Texans who worship at the feet of Landry, Staubach and can readily spit Permian Panthers football knowledge at the drop of a hat. 1-ers live and breath Cowboy Texan swagger and can be picked out of a crowed sports bar by their yee-haws and often crude commentaries on President Barack Obama. I once came across a 1-er who told me after several beers that if I ever came to Texas for a game I could sleep on his couch, drink his beer, and eat his food as long as I avoided kicking his dog or sleeping with his woman. These people are special.

Tier 2's membership is based not on birth location but on Cowboy passion and intellect level. To be a 2-er, you better be able to debate the strength of Tyron Smith's outside reach block and craft a sound and immediate defense of Dez Bryant/Tony Romo at any inebriation level. 2-ers are what makes the Cowboys America's Team as they feel a particular kinship to the Star despite no apparent geographical ties. As I am from Bridgeport, Connecticut(the greatest city on earth; fuck what cha heard), I am a 2-er.

Tier 3's membership gives the two preceding tiers and the Cowboys as a whole a bad name. These people are wahoos with little to no geographical connection and a knowledge level characterized by arguments to bring back Roy Williams as safety because the dude hit like freakin' hard, man.

If Cowboy Nation was America, 1-ers would be natural born, welcoming, good natured citizens illogically boasting about Cowboy exceptionalism (with little recent statistical support) but still endearing none the less. 2-ers would be immigrants who came to the nation sold on gold paved avenues and Lombardi trophy street lamps boasting a work ethic and an unmatched desire for fandom acceptance. 3-ers would be Borat.

The worst part is that I didn't even have a hand in my Cowboys support decision. My brother, six years older, brain washed me the instant I came out of the womb. Jacko can remember 4 Super Bowls, I can remember Quincy Carter, a bobbled field goal snap, a Jared Allen murdering spree, and an intercepted swing pass by a guy who grew up twenty minutes away from me.
On top of all of this, my local teams (the New York football Giants/Jets) have seen a combined three superbowls, five conference championship games, and a star reciever literally shoot himself out of the league. This shit has got fucking traumatic.

My sports life is shit. The Cowboys probably will win tonight just to grab my love a bit longer only to lose when it truly matters closer to the postseason. But I'm still standing here screaming fuck the Giants world.