Roy Williams: A Cautionary Fail.

The phrase “I sure miss Detroit” isn’t uttered often.  I’ve seen Robocop. Crime is out of completely out of control, the police force is despondent and worn, and is seemingly on the verge of striking altogether. On top of all that, the Lions have been a total sideshow for like the past 200 years.  However, there seems to be a light looming at the end of the tunnel.  Robocop Murphy is doing a bang-up job ridding the streets of Red Foreman and other scum of the like, and Ndamukong Suh is eating quarterbacks on the field.  Serious, he is literally feasting on these people in front of everyone.  From what I can tell, it is completely league sanctioned.  Remarkable!

Indeed, the clouds are breaking over the perceptively less-gloomy metropolis, but don’t tell that to Roy Williams.  Ever since he scrambled out of town for greener pastures and a un-screw-up-able situation in Dallas, his existence has become a dazzling spectacle of impotence and buffoonery.  In fact, one could directly attribute the much of the recent consternation suffered by the Cowboys’ dynasty to him. 

In 2008, Jerry Jones was looking to compliment his ever-coy superstar Terrell Owens.  He figured the best way to get his team over the hump, and maybe lure T.O. out of his shell just a little, would be to trade for an impactful weapon. Ultimately, they traded for the 6’3, 215 lb. Williams.  It should be noted that he made the Pro Bowl and led the conference in receiving yards just one season prior, so Dallas thought they were getting something of a sure thing….for four draft picks….in the middle of the season.  If those circumstances weren’t baffling enough, they restructured for him a six-year contract worth 53$ milly (almost half of it guaranteed, yo).  In response, he gave them 198 yards and single touchdown on 19 catches in seven games.  In the subsequent draft, the Cowboys didn’t have a pick until #69, wherein they drafted an enormous television which, in all fairness, is the biggest star on the team.

After yet another ho-hum year, in which he was overshadowed by hairless cat Miles Austin, the Cowboys drafted Dez Bryant, who was quickly heralded and touted as definitely not Roy Williams.  Bryant would soon prove to the unraveling of Williams, both as a man and a teammate.  In an unprecedented move, Dez Bryant refused to carry Williams’ shoulder pads, as is custom at some— no, pretty much all training camps.  Its part of the time-tested tradition of hazing, or punishing someone for being younger than you.  Understated torture has been a staple of sports longer than homosexual undertones.  You’re going to have to carry some pads, period.  And then, best case scenario, you maybe get your head shaved and your gym bag pissed on. So be it, welcome to the team.  But not Bryant, no sir.  He straight told Williams, to his pathetic face, that he would not carry his pads.  He then gargled some Gatorade, and skipped away.  Quite jauntily, I’m guessing.

After having his very being tarnished, he slugged through (spoiler) another shabby season, and wasn’t even worthy of carrying Dez Bryants’ jock at that point.  However, he did have one thing going for him.  He was going steady with Brooke Daniels, the former prettiest lady in all the lone star state.  In fact, the unknowingly brazen lover was head-over-heels for her, and he wanted to lock her down for life with a little long-term contract of his own.  In an overwhelming act of sweeping, maudlin romanticism, Williams bent down on one knee, took the ring out of his pocket, put it in an envelope and crammed it into his mailbox.  Just in case that alone didn’t seal the deal, he enclosed of VHS tape to ask for her hand.  Nothing says “devotion” like using two antiquated forms of communication, especially when you’re sitting on 26$ guaranteed.

Now jilted, disrespected, ineffectual and enervated; Roy Williams must long for the cold, humdrum simplicity of Detroit.  Why would a man who gets paid such incomprehensible money to perform poorly at his job sue his ex for a paltry 75k?  Well, he’s desperate to win.  Some stretches of our lives can only be described unmitigated shitstorms where we just can’t buy a break.  It’s daunting trying to turn the tides on bum luck, but things will never change for someone who can’t pull their head out of their ass long enough to propose like an evolved human being.