Charades Anyone?

Stop the presses. I'm not buying what the Cowboys, mainly Parcells, are selling.

I've certainly bought the snake oil on occasion in the past, but not this time. Let it be known Big Bill gets way too many hall passes in these parts, because like his players, everyone is afraid to shove the Bully back.

Seriously Bill, what was the real issue with Larry Allen? We, the inferior and gullible fan base, are supposed to accept and endorse your role as both judge and jury? Ob-freaking-jection, Your Honor. We're just supposed to pass off he (Allen) goes from best off-season ever to incapable of crossing a finish line in the allotted, mandatory time frame?

I'm sorry, but like a crafty fish, I'm not biting.

Like the masses, I like a good conspiracy theory. Who doesn't? I always listen intently as authors craft their stories, and then I draw my own conclusions. This time, I'm starting my own.

Let me set the table. Without question, Larry Allen is a Hall of Fame (HOF) offensive lineman in waiting. Baring disaster of epidemic proportions, his huge bust is being chiseled in some dark, Canton basement. Larry Allen is a huge, strong man. Do you think someone benching 700+ pounds exerts a little leverage? On the playing field, yes, but apparently not with The Tuna. He has no push whatsoever. Along with being overly large, Allen also suffers from being overly sensitive.

He's been known to pout and mope when things don't go his way.

I vividly remember sitting in Texas Stadium, taking in the 2003 home contest against the Eagles, and watching Jerry make his way from "suite digs" to sideline. All in effort to persuade (with a subtle contract reminder) Big Larry to get back on the field of play. This may have been the dictionary definition, complete with pictures, of the highly-effective good cop vs. bad cop role played by Jones and Parcells. Jerry consoles and Big Bill jeers. Nothing like trying to coax a 335 lb baby from his crib.

So, here's how I see last Friday playing out.

Sometime, post kick-off press conference, Parcells attempts to lay a little forward-thinking groundwork with LA about the days, and season, looming ahead. Somewhere in the course of Big Bill talking and LA listening (as he never talks), Parcells surfaces the remote possibility of Allen moving to Right Tackle should the need arise. To which Big Larry, in a politically correct manner, says "FU, I'm not doing that." Hence, we have a "conditioning" problem.

See, Big Bill won't embarrass the future HOF'er with insubordination rhetoric, but by golly, he won't let the "system bucker" go unchecked. "Are you questioning me?" Run, and then run some more. In front of your Mom. And for good measure, toss around that over-sized balloon we call a medicine ball.

Far-fetched? Off base? Call me crazy, but something isn't quite right in the Land of Rowdy. The pieces don't fit. The logical solution would be to pin down, and ask, the participants, but that's not going to happen. As noted above, Big Larry's not into talking; not even with a little coaxing from a Luby's buffet. Parcells? Not on your life. He just feeds you his intended "spin," and we all run with the Tuna-fied Gospel.

Back to the conspiracy theory and what prompted Allen's initial push-back response. I offer up both pride and apprehension being the main contributors. The adopted code of silence solidifies the bond he and left side anchor Flozell Adams possess. No one (with the exception of Pete Mitchell; aka Maverick) wants to leave his wingman. As the Ice Man and Hollywood quickly found out, bad things happen when familiarity is vacated. So, comfort is an issue.

So is pride. Let me take you back two years in the San Antonio Dome. In a Charles Haley-like rendition of "helmet planting," who can forget LA post-holing his hat after continually being beat by inferior talent? It cut deep, and thus, required some Father Jerry character rebuilding. An art the Owner has mastered when it comes to ol' #73.

I think it's safe to assume Larry probably envisions the likes of Julius Peppers, Jevon Kearse and Michael Strahan using him as a turnstile on their way to depositing some "jing" in Drew Bledsoe's (bread) basket. He still has nightmares (even though it was justified by a "bad wheel") of Ricky Jackson ringing up a pro bowl day on a dire January, 1995, day in Candlestick. No thanks Coach, I'll stay right where I'm at.

So, when these two, future, HOF'ers stop their playground antics and subsequent whizzing matches, we're left with weight and endurance conveyances. You know what would really be as refreshing as the Oxnard air? The truth. The plain and simple truth. No spin-doctoring. But, like Colonel Jessup, Big Bill thinks we're too stupid, and incapable of handling the truth.

For what it's worth, regardless of the real reasons behind posing with the medicine ball, LA should remain at Left Guard. The book on Bledsoe says send the house over Center as he routinely succumbs to pressure up the middle. Thus, fortify the interior perimeter with Allen and Rivera. Insert either Gurode or Johnson, and bar the door. The dramatics and grandstanding of Parcells' dominance is nauseating. I wonder what the League thinks about his unilateral, consult no one, assessments of player conditioning and health. I might be remiss, but I don't believe I've ever seen the initials M.D. accompanying the Dictator title. Then again, maybe the League doesn't really care as they're well aware of the truth masquerading itself as a "conditioning" charade.

It's time for everyone to just fess up.

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