June 11, 2013; Irving, TX, USA; Dallas Cowboys head coach Jason Garrett during minicamp at Dallas Cowboys Headquarters. Mandatory Credit: Matthew Emmons-USA TODAY Sports

I know when I’m dreaming. I’m in my bedroom. It is dark. I flip the light switch profusely. Nothing happens. I walk to my nightstand covered with books I’ve read over and over. When I try to read the lines, the words belong to another language.

I am dreaming now.

The walls in my bedroom break into pieces and collapse. The floor shakes. My body feels weightless, and I start to float in the air. When I look down at my feet, I no longer see the hardwood floors of my bedroom. My feet stand above cold, beige, tiled floors. I recognize this floor: they belong to my high school.

When I look up I see a man at a desk. He appears thin, and in need of a meal. He had a long, large nose and baggy skin. The gray fedora hat he wore blocked his eyes. As I approach him, he does not look up from his desk. Instead, he is leaning down, writing diligently in a notepad.

“That’s funny!” I said to myself. “I have the same green pen and paper at my desk.”

When I take a seat in front of him, he begins to communicate to me. Though, I don’t know the language he speaks, I understand the meaning clearly. He is advising, and giving me details. He speaks quickly. I start to worry I can’t keep all the information in my head, so I ask him to put his pen down for a moment. But he continues to recommend. I worry some more.

And then it happens again. The floor shakes. The walls around us collapse. After I blink once, I open my eyes to endless blue. I am standing above water. All around me is endless ocean. My feet begin to sink. I panic.

I run towards a small fishing boat not too far away. The old man is on the boat, again, hunched over writing.

“Help me,” I plead to him while coming over the boat. I take a seat and continue: “I’ve done everything I could for the team. I’m not sure what else I can do! I am… well… I don’t know. You must help me! I know… I know who you are. You’re Coach Tom Landry.”

“And?” Coach Landry replied calmly, still writing.

“You must help me! I want you to help!”

The Coach giggles.

“You want help, like you want to win. You go back to your players and staff, and ask them to want to win. You have them fill their balloons with this ‘want’ of winning. You ask for an extra pep in their step. You ask for swagger, exuberance, and calculated confidence. But on the first day of the week, you lose over and over. The balloon you create is easily pricked by a pin. And then by design, you go home to your family for a good meal and drink. Your players do the same — they can’t fill this want, so they spill over other wants until satisfaction is felt.”

“I don’t understand,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Jason, I didn’t want to win, I needed to win. Anybody can want to win. Not everyone needs a win.”

The waves around us slap the sides of the boat; it wobbles. I feel like we would tip over at any moment.

“What’s happening Coach?”

“Visitors,” answered Coach Landry, barely moving his lips.

When I look over the boat, I see sharks. Circling the small boat, they swim in groups. And then slam! The tip of their noses, one after another, strike the boat.

“Do something Coach! Stop writing for once and look up! Do something!”

But Coach Landry continues writing. He appears calm, as if this attack was an experience he had before. And then finally, the waves calm. So did the shark crashes. I can breathe again.

“How can you stay so… so, calm after that? Doesn’t that bother you the slightest?”

“Yes, it does, actually. But you’ve got to keep up the work. Either you work, or someone else will for you. Besides, the sharks will always be there. In fact, they’ll be back. Well, others like them anyways.”

In the distance, I hear voices. Voices of men, women, and children. The voices grow louder, and drown the voice inside my head. I cannot comprehend what they are saying, though, I know I don’t like it much.

“Shut up!” I screamed, looking in the far distance at nothing but ocean. “Shut up, all of you. Just shut up! Who are they Coach? Tell them to stop! Who are they?”

“You already know the answer to that, Jason.”

I can’t stand the old man any longer. I really want to yank the pen from his anemic body and throw him over for the sharks to feed. At this moment, I resolve to hate him.

“Give me a direct answer for once! And… and I’ve asked you already! Help me! But all you do is write and write. You crazy old man! Help me!”

Once again, the Coach sits writing. When I look down at the notepad, it is blank. But he continues scribbling. I ignore him for a bit and calm down.

And finally, the Coach speaks: “Jason, I lost more than I won.”

“That’s not true,” I said laughing. I add: “You’re Coach Landry. You’re the winner.”

“Well, a lost always outweighed a win. I’ve lost more than I won. I understood this. I accepted this, just as I accepted this: the better team does lose. Anything can happen on the field. Be ready, always. You must respect the game and its elements. When you can respect the seconds in the game, the direction the wind blows, your opponent, players and staff, you’ll be able to place yourself for success. Even if you aren’t the better team.”

“I don’t understand Coach. I have so much to ask. I have so much… so much I want to know.”

June 11, 2013; Irving, TX, USA; Dallas Cowboys head coach Jason Garrett talks during a press conference after minicamp at Dallas Cowboys Headquarters. Mandatory Credit: Matthew Emmons-USA TODAY Sports

And then boom! Another boom! The sharks were back. This time, in greater numbers. This attack was different: With every strike of their nose, the ship shrank.

“Coach!” I yelled, fearing for his life.

The boat grows smaller and smaller with every collision. In a moment, we could be in the water with the sharks. I did not scream, or panic. I sit there, waiting. I watch the Coach write.

Strike. Boom. Boom. Slam. Slam. The boat had one strike left until we fell over. Then Coach Landry, without looking up, whispers:

“Just keep writing, Jason.”

I never see his face. I blink. When I open my eyes, I see the ceiling of my bedroom. It is dark. My feet touch the cold hardwood floors as I make my way to the light switch. I flicker it, and the lights turn on.

I rush down the hall and pass the bathroom, where I would normally wash my face and do a good shave. I dart down the stairs, grab my jacket and car keys. The air outside is cold. The sky has an orange glow. The light from the sun barely kisses the grass. My neighborhood is empty. I jump into my car and rush down the streets.

I can’t wait to get to my desk. There is work to do.

May 21, 2013; Irving, TX, USA; Dallas Cowboys quarterback Tony Romo (9) during organized team activities at Dallas Cowboys Headquarters. Mandatory Credit: Matthew Emmons-USA TODAY Sports

I don’t want Tony Romo to have another 4,000 yard season. Never, ever again. He shouldn’t want to either.

The Dallas Cowboys cannot succeed with Tony Romo’s arm alone. I think that is obvious by now. And it’s not that I think Romo’s right arm can’t do it, — because the arm is able — he just needs a little help from friends.

Speaking of friends, Jerry Jones, Stephen Jones, and Jason Garrett should protect their 33-year-old investment. Asking him to throw bombs (with little changes to the front line and backfield) isn’t the way to go.

Underneath all the criticism and negative murmurs, Romo has thrown up impressive numbers — a trend that he has held up for seven seasons now. Tony Romo doesn’t need to prove or confirm his numbers any longer. He needs to confirm himself as a winner.

The NFL has a done a disservice to the league. Quarterbacks are piling on yards with ease. I don’t like this. I don’t think defenses appreciate this either. Nor do I think this is respectful to quarterbacks of yesterday, who played in a different era with different rules and standards.

But this is what happens when you tamper with the rules. Now it’s to the point where running backs aren’t as important. After all, there’s only one football to toss around. I get it.

This is what Dallas needs to get back to: A strong running game. I’m sure Romo is clamoring for one now that he has “Peyton Manning” kind of responsibility.

The way I see it: Follow the NFL passing trend and lose, or reverse to a traditional power running game and win. Pioneers are welcome. So are winners.

DeMarco Murray is a fine running back. The problem? There are more than 10 weeks in the regular season. Will he stay healthy for one full season? Don’t count on it. Don’t count on him until he actually does it. That’s a shame, because The Cowboys need him — badly.

Unfortunately, the forecast is calling for “Romo 4k” once again. Instead of electing to promote off-season needs, the Cowboys have chosen to go with luxury instead.

I wish I could sit back and write to you, “Don’t worry, be happy.”

But honestly, my tone these days is more like: Do worry, fasten seat belts. That’s because among one of those passes that gets Romo to 4,000, one of them could be the throw that breaks the back and ends a season.

We’ve seen it before.

Oct 28, 2012; Arlington, TX, USA; Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones prior to the game against the New York Giants at Cowboys Stadium. Mandatory Credit: Matthew Emmons-USA TODAY Sports

Teeter-totters. Remember them? I do. I loved them as a child.

Teeter-totters have a simple science to it: If the weight on one side is low, the other side will triumph. It doesn’t matter how hard the skinny kid tries — he or she will always be at the top of the teeter-totter.

This is how I see the Dallas Cowboys. Unbalanced. Skinny and thin in certain areas (RB, DT, OL, Sanity) and thick in others. (Say what you will, but there is Hall of Fame members on the roster.)

Perhaps this is the genius of Owner/General Manger Jerry Jones. He was so bad at building a balanced team with former head coaches Dave Campo and Chan Gailey, that he now refines his roster with talent on one side while neglecting the other.

This is the only way I can explain it. The 2013 NFL Draft, that is. This is the only way I can explain where the Cowboys are today with who they have now.

Jerry Jones, and his son, Stephen Jones, try to mask blemishes by giving the stars the world while seeking to band-aid the rest of the team. And at the end of the day, they get together with the coach and try to balance the seesaw, all the while thinking they have best the world with their cleverness.

As a child, when the teeter-totter was one-sided, you would get your friends to climb on, yes? And then magic. Equilibrium.

For Jerry, the result of his balance is “eight” on one side, and another “eight” on the other. 8-8. Yeah. The Cowboys’ record the past two years.

Balance.

Give me a high-five. I figured it out.

They actually think that they can mix stars with band-aids to formulate success; to form balance and structure. The only thing Jones succeeds in is bringing in the cheddar.

Let’s face it: Jerry Jones has chosen cheddar over wins. He let the balance tip to one end.

Cowboys Stadium? More like a hotel for enemies. Especially the New York Giants. They love it here. Eli Manning signed his name in the visitors sections.

And can somebody tell me what was wrong with the old stadium in the first place? I loved it! The history was there. Tradition too. The place had meaning.

You’re an awesome business man Mr. Jones. You have that. Tweet all day about that if you want. You’ve succeed at playing owner, but failed the duties of a general manager. Too bad you couldn’t balance the two.

Does it really take twenty years to see that the teeter-totter is off?