Color me worried.
Tomorrow is a big day in the Dallas Cowboys season; it also happens to be the first. Normally, I have a hard time getting too worked up for the beginning of the year because the NFL season is long. As should be mind-numbingly obvious with this team, the success of a franchise more about how they finish rather than how they start. Tomorrow is different. Tomorrow is the season.
The Cowboys are supposed to better on defense. The Cowboys are supposed to have an improved running game. The Cowboys are supposed to be mentally tougher this time around. I am not thinking about winning and losing. I am worried about what will happen after the game. How will the Cowboys handle the success or failure that tomorrow brings? For the past six seasons or so, this team has been what it still is; good enough to disappoint us in December and January. This year is supposed to be different.
Tomorrow I expect the defense to be improved. I expect Morris Claiborne to be picked on. I expect Sean Lee to look dominant against the run, specifically. I expect Tony Romo to be as good as he has always been. I expect DeMarco Murray to look impressive catching passes out of the backfield. I expect Murray to have nowhere to run. I expect Tony to get the ball out quickly against the Giants’ superior pass rush. I expect DeMarcus Ware to get at least one sack. I expect Brandon Carr to have at least one pass break-up.
I expect Eli to throw for 250-300 yards. I expect for the Giants to score at least 17 points. I expect for the pass rush to be all over Tony Romo. I expect Victor Cruz to abuse Orlando Scandrick, forcing Rob Ryan to go into a zone scheme after halftime. I expect the Giants’ offensive line to look equally terrible to Dallas’. I expect Hakeem Nicks to catch at least one touchdown.
The Cowboys season rides on tomorrow night. The final score will be important, but more specifically, the maturity of this team will be revealed in the locker room after the game. You can talk all you want about respecting the champions, trying to mimic their successes and “whoopin’ their asses.” It is time to get it done.
No time for pot-shots. No excuses. No trash-talk.
Color me worried.
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