There is just something about the Cowboys which I find hilarious. Maybe it’s just the fact that they’re shite, maybe it’s their jug eared gimp of a quarterback, maybe it’s the fact that they are the FAIL Whale of the NFL. Whatever it is, I get a giddy joy when this lot fall on their asses. But in the run up to our Divisional Playoff game against them, some of my cockiness was beginning to wane. The Cowgirls had finally won a playoff game and suddenly the whole NFL news network was harping on about one QB (Favre) passing the torch onto the new boy wonder who’d got the monkey off his back (how many times did you hear that in the build-up to the game?).
We were at home but we’d been written off. The Cowmoobs were “America’s Team” with a new shiny stadium, and all they had to do was beat the lowly Vikes who were meant to have lost momentum after a bye, to take over the world. But there was something everyone who wasn’t a Viking seemed to forget, they had to play us in Zygihood, the Metrodome, the most hostile environment in the NFL, with the greatest fans in the world.
From the kick-off, we destroyed them. They didn’t score one touchdown, we scored 4. 3 from Sidney Rice, one from the Shank, all absolute peaches, everyone had me giggling like a schoolgirl, and I was dancing around the room when we went for it on 4th down to run up the score. They moaned like bitches but the fact was that we were just so much better and they could do nothing to stop us. Ray Edwards had a career game, JA and the rest of the D-Line got in on the act too, in fact the whole team really stood up and kicked ass.
From epic nervousness brought about by delusional journalists, I was in heaven, we played like champions and it confirmed what I already believed, we were the best team in the NFL and could go all the way.
Hey, it’s a shame we didn’t, it’s a damn shame that our season ended the way it did, but at least we whooped them Cowboys, and they left the office with their pants on the ground.