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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Drugstore Cowboys Out Of Control

Ed Moore Newport News Daily Press

The Dallas Cowboys haven’t done a lot to improve their image lately.

You would think three Super Bowls in four years would cause a man to reflect on his good fortune rather than self-destruct, but Michael Irvin, the All-Pro wide receiver who serves most often as a spokesman for the team given other stars’ reticence, was indicted on two counts of drug possession on Monday, including a felony cocaine count.

If the Dallas Cowboys are America’s Team, then America is a striptease on acid. Jerry Jones and Rome’s debauched Caligula share estates.

Irvin and ex-teammate Alfredo Roberts were found by police in a motel room with two strippers and a lot of drugs. Irvin’s initial reaction to the bust, according to police, was, “Can I tell you who I am?”

Of course, he didn’t have to. Irvin is among the three most visible members of the most visible team in pro sports, the Dallas Drugstore Cowboys. Irvin likes the sound of his voice more than Larry King, but bet he shuts up this time.

The Cowboys, of course, do wish to remain invisible at times. A report in the Miami Herald newspaper last week included, in its series on AIDS and its infusion into pro sports, this tidbit about the Cowboys: The team has a secret enclave called the “White House,” a large home in a gated community, for which players throw $300 each into a pool to pay the rent. Each player then gets a key to have sex with women without their wives or girlfriends being the wiser. The story went on to describe other public acts of group sex involving a legion of Cowboys, a legion of groupies, and a legion of bars with blind bouncers. Irvin must have either lost his key to the “White House” or refused to pony up the 300 bucks.

Another Super Bowl participant, Pittsburgh’s Bam Morris, was also linked to drugs. What a waste of fame. One foot on a pedestal, the other in the grave.

Money without common sense is money squandered. Money without morals is life-defying. But it isn’t money and fame fans begrudge today’s superstars. It’s the deplorable choice about what to do with them. Most fans can separate the American Dream from the American Tragedy, even if many athletes can’t.

After the big houses and fast cars, we would virtually all choose a little appreciation for all that natural talent bestowed. Maybe some dollars to charity, maybe some time given to the public in the best interests of the community. A little help for the college. A lot of help for the old high school.

Instead, we get drugs and orgies.

Our culture equates money with power and fame with immortality. So maybe the culture itself helps push irresponsible behavior. Or maybe love of money really is a root of evil. But whoever is to blame, selfish acts of destruction rather than giving acts of charity to hurting communities leave fans jaded and angry.

Before big money came, athletes were ordinary citizens between seasons. They sold cars. They sold shoes. They sold insurance. Now too many of them, to put it delicately, screw around. Or snort and smoke for temporary highs that always turn into permanent lows.

Sometimes the leaders can be as ingratiating as public figures as the Cowboy Junkies themselves. Barry Switzer and Jones make fools of themselves. Their Super Bowl celebration looked like a drunken frat party, a lot of foolish bragging going around.

And now these Cowboys look just like Switzer’s old Oklahoma teams, where every day was a party and no one ever turned out the lights.