Tucson Opinion: Why I hate the Dallas Cowboys

I love football. I don’t know much about the game so sometimes I wonder why it is that I love it. Maybe it’s the awe I feel when someone catches a very, very long pass. That’s certainly part of the fascination. Or maybe it’s the magic I feel when they play in the snow. That’s always fun to watch.

But I think perhaps the biggest reason I love football has nothing to do with the game itself. I think it’s because, as with any sport, in football there’s not only someone to root for, but more importantly, there’s someone to root against. Which brings me to my next thought.

I hate the Dallas Cowboys. I’ve hated the Dallas Cowboys ever since I lived in Washington D.C., where everybody hated them. Didn’t matter why. But given the current environment, this statement now gives me pause. It is so strong and so negative that I thought I’d try to peel back the layers of my emotion and examine why it is that I hate the Cowboys so much.

Is it because, deep down, I hate Texas politics?

No. I always thought Texas leaned ultra-right until I heard Beto O’Rourke. Now I don’t know what to think.

Is it because, deep down, I hate Dallas and its seemingly haughty, larger- than-life attitude?

No. Los Angeles and New York have attitudes that are seemingly more haughty and larger-than-life, and I don’t hate them.

Is it because, deep down, I hate the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders (those hussies)?

No. Well, yes, I do hate them. But I think that may have something to do with high school.

Is it because, deep down, I hate the owner?

No. Everybody hates the owner. So what?

Is it because, deep down, I hate the players?

No. At the moment, I can’t name a single player on the team. But I’m sure when they’re on TV I’ll be able to point at one and say, “There, that’s the guy. That’s the guy I hate. Number 21.”

Well, shoot. I’ve run out of becauses and can’t seem to find a single, legitimate reason for me to hate the Dallas Cowboys. Too bad. I guess the only excuse I can offer is that a bunch of people I knew a long time ago hated them, and that was good enough for me.

Fortunately, in this case, that’s okay. My hatred of the team doesn’t hurt anybody — certainly not them.

But it’s different in everyday life. People do get hurt by hatred. It’s scary to hear statements like, “I hate blacks or whites or Muslims or Jews or Trumpians or anti-Trumpians or gays or straights” or whomever. To those who make such statements, I would gently invite you to peel back the layers of your emotion, and in the privacy of your own mind, examine why it is that you hate these people so much.

If, deep down, you cannot come up with factual, rational, objective reasons, then maybe you want to pause and reconsider.

Maybe you really don’t hate them, or at least not every individual within them. Wouldn’t that be a surprise. What would you do then? What you do with all that residual, misplaced hate?

Well, here’s an idea. There’s this football team called the Dallas Cowboys...