Boys Will Be Boys (25 page)

Dolphins win, 16–14. Texas Stadium, alive with snowy pleasure seconds earlier, falls silent.

“If you’re a professional, [the rule] is something you’re supposed to know,” said an agitated Kevin Smith. “I know the rule. Ten other guys out there knew the rule. We get paid a lot of money. Leon is supposed to know the rule.”

Lett bolted into the locker room and straight to the trainer’s quarters. He refused to come out—not for teammates, not for friends, certainly not for the media. Stripped down to his thermal underwear, he cradled his head in his hands and sobbed. It was one thing to botch a meaningless play at the end of the Super Bowl. It was another to blow an entire game.

“I never held that against Leon,” says Johnson. “I was shocked, but that was our fault. Leon hadn’t worked on special teams all season, and because of the snow and his height we put Leon on field goal block team. If anything, I felt bad for him.”

In a rare moment of empathy, Johnson approached Lett and engulfed him in a hug. “Don’t get down over this,” he said. “It’s just one game. We need you.”

Lett was shocked. The same coach who had cut Curvin Richards and John Roper; who had chewed out Robert Jones on the airplane; who had exercised unparalleled ruthlessness…was human.

It was a kindness the player would never forget.

F
OR MANY TEAMS
, a nightmarish loss like the one to Miami changes everything. Confidence wanes. Doubts creep in. The shadows of conference rivals—in this case, the New York Giants—loom even larger. Through Week 13 the 7–4 Cowboys actually trailed 8–3 New York in the NFC East standings. Could the franchise preordained by
Sports Illustrated
as “the team of the ’90s” fail to capture its own division? Could a team led by Troy Aikman, Emmitt Smith, and Michael Irvin fall to the anonymous, uninspiring Giants?

Maybe.

To their credit, the Cowboys rebounded from the Miami debacle to win their next four contests. They clinched a playoff birth, but entered the final week of the regular season tied with New York for first place in the NFC East.

Their last game was a visit to the Meadowlands with not only a division title on the line, but a first-round bye and home-field advantage throughout the playoffs.

Leading up to the clash, Jones signed Aikman to an eight-year,
$50 million contract. It was the most lucrative deal in NFL history, and while few could argue with the quarterback’s worthiness, the news served as a slap in the face to Smith. How was it, he and other African-American players wondered, that Aikman barely had to sweat for a new deal while Smith bled a kidney? “Arguably, Troy Aikman is considered…maybe
the
star of the NFL,” raved a giddy Jones. “Certainly, the Dallas Cowboys have had our success and have our future based upon the way Troy Aikman is as a player and as an individual.” The giddiness was a a stark contrast to the pained expression Jones wore upon re-signing his star halfback (with an invisible gun pointed to his head) following the 0–2 start.

This just wasn’t right—and Smith was about to prove it.

Entering the showdown with New York, Smith had regained his status as one of the league’s top running backs. With 1,318 yards, he led Rams rookie Jerome Bettis by a mere 35 yards in the race for the league rushing title. Yet despite the numbers, there was an increasing sense that Smith was more image than substance. He wanted to be a star—a huge star. He craved endorsements and fame and a showbiz résumé, and if that meant ripping off his helmet so the camera could catch his glowing portrait, so be it.

“Emmitt,” says Kenny Gant, “was different. Just different.”

Teammates were torn. Some loved Smith for his toughness. Others resented him for his selfishness and arrogance. He often refused to sign autographs. He would walk past fellow Cowboys without saying a word. When players opened their Christmas gift from Smith the following season, they were less than shocked to uncover a copy of
his own
autobiography. Aikman gave golf clubs, Irvin gave bubbly, Smith gave…
The Emmitt Zone
? “Emmitt would score a touchdown from the two-yard line, keep the football, and sell it at his souvenir shop back home in Pensacola,” says Dale Hansen, the Cowboys radio announcer. “I thought that was both odd and selfish.” Cornerback Clayton Holmes never forgot an incident that took place during the Super Bowl XXVII after-party, when he approached Smith about signing an autograph for his
mother, Claudia. “Man, I ain’t signing shit!” Smith barked. “If I sign that, I have to to sign for everybody else in here.” Holmes’s mother was standing nearby, mortified and embarrassed. “Emmitt has those moments,” says Holmes. “And you just think, ‘Why be like that? Why?’”

Now, on January 2, 1994, Smith and the Cowboys were trying to win in the most hostile of environments. Save for Philadelphia, no American city had tougher fans than New York—especially when it came to the Cowboys. With the mere mention of Aikman or Irvin or Smith from the public address announcer, Giants Stadium turned into an avalance of boos and hisses. On this day, the hostility was louder and more passionate than usual. “Man,” says Kevin Smith, “those fans just detested us.”

Nonetheless, Dallas jumped out to a 13–0 halftime lead, gaining 238 yards on 41 plays while limiting the Giants to 15 offensive snaps (and silencing the masses). As they walked off the field for intermission, Dallas’s players could be heard laughing. It was a beautiful 41-degree day in northern New Jersey, with the sun shinning and a soft northeastern breeze, and the Texans were living it up. Meanwhile, in the Giants’ locker room linebacker Lawrence Taylor, who was playing the final regular-season game of his spectacular thirteen-year career, was incredulous. He stood up and, with tears streaming down his cheeks, delivered a message of empowerment. “This is it!” he said. “The last game, and these guys are giving you no respect! Let’s go out there and be the bullies! Let’s smash their mouths in! This ain’t Dallas! This is New-fuckin’-York!”

Perhaps it was Taylor’s words. Perhaps it was the crowd. Perhaps it was good old pride. Whatever the case, New York charged the field and played magnificently. Giants fullback Jarrod Bunch scored on a 1-yard touchdown run to cut the lead to 13–7 early in the third quarter, and a pair of David Treadwell field goals—the second coming with ten seconds remaining in regulation—turned a potential blowout into an evolving classic.

For Dallas, the worst blow had been delivered well before
Treadwell’s kicks. On his nineteenth carry late in the second quarter, Emmitt Smith broke free on a 46-yard run when he was slammed by Greg Jackson, New York’s hard-hitting fifth-year safety. As he fell Smith protected the ball with the left side of his body and landed on his right. He literally felt his right arm detach from his shoulder, and the pain reverberated through his body. (For those who have never experienced such an injury, close your eyes and imagine your arm being ripped in half, set aflame, and placed in a wood chipper.)

Smith walked to the sidelines grasping his shoulder and grimacing in anguish. The immediate fear was that Smith was done and Derrick Lassic would have to carry the team into the playoffs.

Two snaps after departing, however, Smith walked back onto the field. He had already exceeded 100 yards, and he wanted more. “I was faster than Emmitt and I was quicker than Emmitt,” says Lassic. “But you’re talking about a man who refused to be stopped. That was his greatest strength—he would not be denied.”

Come halftime, Smith entered the training room, popped a couple of Vicodins, and had the shoulder X-rayed. He was diagnosed with a grade-two separation, a dislocation severe enough for most players to take an afternoon off. “The trainers asked me what we could do,” says Buck Buchanan, the team’s longtime equipment manager. “So I grabbed a redundant pad, which looks like a big donut, and attached it under his shoulder pad but above the shoulder. I did it with string, so it wasn’t especially sturdy. I just hoped it could reduce the pain.”

Though Smith ran for 168 yards, each hit felt like a hot coal to the flesh. When Treadwell’s kick forced overtime, Smith sighed deeply. Would this game
ever
end? “Emmitt knew we needed him,” says Johnson. “And he wasn’t about to pass up the challenge.”

In one of the most courageous displays in NFL history, Smith dominated the overtime, carrying 5 times for 16 yards, catching 3 passes for 24 yards, and setting up Eddie Murray’s game-winning kick for a 16–13 victory. Throughout the period Smith calmed himself by repeatedly muttering,
“It’s nothing but pain—just block out the
pain.”
But it wasn’t just pain. Cowboy linemen still recall Smith’s horrifying screams from the bottom of piles as he absorbed shots that would have landed others in the ER. Afterward columnist Skip Bayless, who published his own Cowboys newsletter,
The Insider,
would accuse Smith of faking the severity of the injury—a ludicrous claim considering Smith had literally bitten through his mouthpiece. Following the game John Madden, the CBS announcer and former Oakland Raider coach, visited Smith in the training room. The Cowboy star had just won his third straight NFL rushing title with 1,486 yards and—despite the anguish—was beaming with pride. “My entire career I’ve never come down to the locker room,” Madden said. “I came down today to shake your hand. I’ve never seen a better performance than that.”

Smith spent the next fifteen hours at Baylor University Medical Center, connected to an IV and pumped full of pain medication. It was the most uncomfortable night of his life.

And one of the happiest.

The Cowboys were back in the playoffs, yet Jerry Jones was far from euphoric.

Three days before the Giants game, Johnson was asked by ESPN whether he would be interested in becoming the head coach of the expansion Jacksonville Jaguars, who were to begin play in 1994. Considering the fact that the Cowboys were fighting for the division title; that Johnson was only midway through a ten-year contract; that Johnson had routinely preached loyalty and togetherness, the wise answer—the only answer—should have been “No.”

Instead, Johnson said he was “intrigued.”

Later, when pressed by Ed Werder of the
Dallas Morning News,
Johnson elaborated. Sort of. “I was asked about Jacksonville and what I said instead of the standard line was that anytime you have a job, you’re willing to listen to other opportunities.”

Jones was indignant. Sure, he and Johnson had had their difficulties. But hadn’t he provided Johnson with everything he’d wanted? Money, players, the Super Bowl. To Jones, Johnson’s words were treasonous. In a New Year’s Eve telephone interview from a hotel room in New York, Jones—about to head out for a bash at the famed 21 Club—brushed aside Johnson’s comments, noting to a reporter, “It’s up to me. I have no intention of making a coaching change. To have this as an issue is a joke.”

But it wasn’t a joke. The Cowboy coach had already met twice with Jacksonville owner Wayne Weaver, and while the initial topic of conversation was Johnson’s endorsement of Norv Turner to lead the Jaguars, talk soon turned to Johnson himself taking the job.

“Jimmy’s giving speeches to his players about how everyone’s in this together and the value of teamwork, then [Jaguars owner] Wayne Weaver calls to get a recommendation for Norv and Jimmy sells himself,” says Mike Fisher, the veteran Cowboy beat writer for the
Fort Worth Star-Telegram.
“Jimmy fucked Jerry, he fucked Norv. While he’s telling his team, ‘One for all, all for one,’ he’s lifting his skirt toward the Jaguars.”

For his part, Jones was sick and tired of his so-called best friend. Johnson warned his players not to change with success…
but what about him?
When was the last time Johnson had given credit to anyone but himself? Jones was especially upset by the way Johnson browbeat his coaching staff—a collection of twelve good men who worked long hours for moderate salaries. He’d heard reports that, with the regular season winding down, Johnson had strolled into a coaching meeting, looked over his assistants, and barked, “You fuckers get it together or not a one of you will be around next year.”

Who was this man? And why was he such a jerk? And, most important, why didn’t he afford Jones the respect he deserved? For that matter, any respect at all?

“I bought the team and took all the risks,” Jones said. “And then I came in here and gave Jimmy all the security in the world. I personally
guaranteed him a ten-year contract. If he had never coached another game, if he got hit by a truck and got disabled, or if he never won another football game, he was still going to make six or seven million dollars. The reason for the ten-year contract was I wanted more of a proprietary feeling. I don’t want to make the decisions in a vacuum that make me basically the sole keeper of the shop for the future around here. I want somebody else also standing right there, thinking about the future of the team. I didn’t want somebody around here helping me make decisions who just had a short-term attitude. I didn’t want a lame-duck coach.”

Now, it seemed, he had one.

After an invaluable bye week that helped (soon-to-be-named) league MVP Emmitt Smith heal his shoulder and Jimmy Johnson and Jerry Jones cool their heels, the Cowboys learned their first playoff opponent, on January 16 at Texas Stadium, would be the Green Bay Packers.

Coming off a wild-card win over Detroit, the 10–7 Packers hardly inspired fear in the hearts of Dallas’s players. In the week leading up to the game Dale Hellestrae, the Cowboys’ long snapper (and offensive lineman), spent portions of his practices trying to snap footballs into moving cars. A bunch of offensive linemen dressed a candy machine in Cowboys garb and placed it in front of Erik Williams’s locker. “You see,” Haley told the media, “you kick Erik in the ass and candy falls out.”

To few people’s surprise, it was a nightmarish afternoon for the Packers. The Cowboys’ 27–17 victory was relatively effortless. With a still-hobbled Smith held to 60 yards on 13 carries, Aikman took over, completing 28 of 37 passes for 302 yards and 3 touchdowns. Early in the game he zoomed in on tight end Jay Novacek, an expert at locating holes in the defense. As his quarterback continued to settle for dunks and dinks, Irvin walked toward the Packers sideline and demanded coach Mike Holmgren cover Novacek more intently. “That was typical Michael,” laughs Novacek. “He wasn’t saying it so they’d really cover
me tighter. He was saying it out of respect—‘No matter what you do, Jay will get open.’ I was on the field laughing my head off.”

He had good reason to—the Packers were out of their league.

Three days before the Cowboys and 49ers were to meet yet again in the NFC Championship Game, Johnson and his girlfriend, Rhonda, were driving to Campisi’s restaurant. The radio dial was turned to WBAP, where
Morning News
columnist Randy Galloway was hosting his
Sports at Six
show with special guest Dan Reeves, coach of the New York Giants. For several minutes, Galloway and Reeves debated the upcoming Cowboys-49ers clash, comparing the histories and roster makeups of the two franchises. Finally, Johnson had heard enough. He called the show, itching to lay down the law for all listeners. “We are going to beat their rear ends,” Johnson said. “We will win [the ball game]. And you can print that in three-inch headlines.

“In my opinion—and I am a biased person—I think we’re going to go out Sunday and that crowd is going to be going absolutely wild. I think we’re going to have a very, very tight game for about three quarters. Then before it’s over I think we’re going to wear them out. We’re going to beat their rear ends, and then we’re going to the Super Bowl. That’s my personal opinion.”