The Dallas Cowboys: America’s Team, Mediocrity’s King

I grew up with the Dallas Cowboys. Some of my best memories were sitting next to my dad, watching Aikman, Irvin, and Emmitt dominate the field. Those were the glory days—the ‘90s—a time when the Cowboys owned the NFL. Back then, it was electric. You could feel the pride in being a Cowboys fan. We were on top, and there was no reason to think it would ever change.

But it did.

Here we are, nearly three decades later, still holding onto that identity. The Cowboys are still "America's Team," still drawing record crowds, still topping merch sales, and still holding the hearts of millions. The problem is, those same millions are getting burned, season after season. What was once a dynasty has become a perennial disappointment.

Let’s face it, being a Dallas Cowboy isn’t what it used to be. Now, it feels like players sign that contract, take a deep breath, and hit the snooze button. They made it. What else is there to prove? They’re playing for *the* team—the one with the star on the helmet and the legacy of greatness. And that, right there, is the problem. I don’t know these players personally, but I’ve seen human nature enough to know what’s going on. Once you get comfortable, once you feel like you’ve “made it,” what’s left to push for? The Cowboys carry that royalty with them. The Super Bowl parades from decades past never really ended. They just keep rolling along with each new season, with each new player.

There’s no real hunger left. At least, not the kind that wins championships. Why should there be? The stadium is packed, year after year, and they’ll sell out again, whether they win 12 games or 4. Merchandise flies off the shelves. TV ratings are through the roof. In the eyes of the Cowboys’ organization, they’re still on top. Why bother digging deep, battling the darkness, when the fans love you no matter what?

I used to fall for it every year. August rolls around, and there’s that glimmer of hope—*this could be the year*. The roster looks great, the analysts are buzzing, and you start to believe. But I’ve learned the hard way. Year after year, the same cycle plays out. Optimism fades into frustration, and the season ends with more excuses. I can’t do it anymore.

I stopped rooting for the Cowboys a while ago, and honestly, it was a relief. There’s a kind of embarrassment that comes with getting burned so many times and still holding onto hope. It's painful, like hanging on to a toxic relationship because you remember the good times. But those days—the ‘90s—the glory—they’re long gone. And I don’t see them coming back any time soon.

The Cowboys don’t need to win. They’ve already “made it,” and that’s enough for them. Until more fans start feeling the way I do, nothing will change. The fans are loyal, and for good reason—*identity, pride, nostalgia*. I get it. But I’ve been trapped in that cycle too many times, and I’ve finally pulled myself out of it.

These days, I put my energy into things I can control, things that give me a sense of accomplishment and meaning. I don’t attach my emotions to a team that’s content to just exist, basking in the glory of days gone by. It was great while it lasted, but I’ve moved on.

So, congrats to the Cowboys. They hit the lottery, and they’re living the dream. But for me—and maybe for others who have had enough—it’s time to let go. Let some other team prove something. Because the Cowboys? They’ve already convinced themselves they’re champs, no matter how the season plays out.