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At least for a few days, the Dallas Cowboys' Thanksgiving Day squeaker over the Miami Dolphins allows them to rest comfortably alone in first place in the NFC East. This figurative pool-side retreat, replete with an umbrella-equipped tropical beverage, might even last a week if the New York Giants can't muster enough of a pass rush to discomfort Drew Brees.
The Cowboys, though, have generated this unlikely thrust toward the top of the division without an impressive victory. You might ask, as I did many times late on Thanksgiving Day between a chomp on a turkey leg and a spoonful of creamed onions, how they were enmeshed in a life and death struggle at home against the Dolphins. The Fish had resurrected their season by winning three in a row after an 0-7 start. There is no question the Dolphins have been talented enough to stay close in many games. Certainly they are one great example of a team that could have excelled if a gifted quarterback had been employed. But this was Thanksgiving…a national game which doesn't allow for a lack of focus. The Cowboys were playing a team that was not their equal, yet they were forced to scurry down field in the waning moments to kick a field goal at the final gun…unimpressive.
For some reason, the Cowboy defense seems less impactful than I expected. For a few plays, they're impenetrable. Then, suddenly, Matt Moore is shredding the secondary, piloting his pedestrian offense on a touchdown march. I suppose Moore could be improving, but more likely the Cowboys are at fault.
Additionally, and perhaps more significantly, the Cowboys have a problem in the passing game…and for a change it's not Tony Romo. It appears electrifying receiver Dez Bryant is performing in his own internal video game, running routes he seems to be creating on his way downfield. His circuitous patterns, and the injury to Miles Austin, have compelled Romo to seek out Laurent Robinson, a receiver nobody knew before a few weeks ago. This is hardly a recipe for a deep run through the playoffs.
For now, though, they're in first place, a remarkable turnaround in a season so recently poised to disintegrate.
Glenn Vallach has been a football fan for most of his lifetime, but never played organized pigskin unless you consider the thousands of youth hours running slant routes on city streets with a friend serving as Joe Willie. Don Maynard was his idol, an adulation he took seriously, complete with a number 13 stitched to his sweatshirt. In later years, he modernized his admiration and included Wayne Chrebet. Receivers—always receivers. He remains a New York Jet fan through so much disappointment and embarrassment over the years. Coach Rex Ryan has rekindled a dormant fire, but sometimes he feels as if he doesn't understand the likely end result of all his efforts. It has been 42 years, after all.
