There are probably a dozen scenes in the eight episodes of America’s Team: The Gambler and His Cowboy that I could pluck out with a random pause and say, “Aha, this is it! This situation is the perfect encapsulation of the Dallas Cowboys during the reign of Jerry Jones.”
You can probably pick out a dozen more for yourself. We can compare notes, should you be so inclined to join me in this masochism. The Netflix vehicle, directed by the brothers Chapman and Maclain Way of Untold acclaim (also of Kurt Russell nephew fame), is a docuseries profiling Jones’ Cowboys, which the entity promoted with a clip of Jones proclaiming “the Dallas Cowboys is a soap opera 365 days a year.” The editorial stranglehold on this project was tight, which is the only way it would ever exist. There is accessibility and vulnerability—up to the point it fits the story.
As such, every plot point is presented like a chapter in a religious text. The project achieved at least one objective for me: evoking a nostalgic connection to a time in place both in my (I firmly believe, but who knows) actual memories, and in the memories where I have some recollection and use cultural artifacts to fill in the gaps.
Now that I’ve seen all eight episodes, I keep returning to certain moments. In Episode 4, our focal point is Emmitt Smith’s contract holdout entering the 1993 season, just months after the franchise had won its first Super Bowl in 15 years. The narrative, as constructed by the series is this: Smith, after his third season in the league and with a year left on his contract, wanted security and a raise. The reigning NFL rushing champion, he reportedly was seeking a four-year deal worth $17 million; Jones was standing firm, at $9 million over four years.
Following two losses to start the season, Jones and Smith met in the middle at $13 million, an amount that still made Smith the highest-paid running back in the league. A celebratory press conference was held, generating smiles that betrayed awkward conversations. Jones’ summary of the events produced a form of a familiar refrain: “Contract negotiations involve ambiguity… but I have very high tolerance for ambiguity. Because I can go longer than most and not have the answer.” Smith’s response seemed… less than ambiguous:
“I felt totally disrespected.”
These are snappy, stylistic edits of quotes taken from much longer interviews. They are also, seemingly, pure distillations of exactly how each party felt. Jones delivers various versions of this, once in response to answering his own question of “why don’t I hire a general manager? … You subject yourself to so much criticism, you need a buffer. I don’t like it like that. I like the pain.”
Jones, 82, speaks about his father and the lessons he learned from him, which I believe Jerry succinctly describes as “you got to add a little sizzle to it.” The series importantly mentions the source of Jerry’s love being for the showman, the promotional element of business: his father’s grocery store. This is covered extensively in an episode of the Founders podcast, which draws heavily from Jim Dent’s 1995 book King of the Cowboys. The Jones family lived above the store—“I would go to sleep and hear those sounds of commerce,” Jones whimsically recalled—but the place was more than just somewhere to buy bread and meat. Pat Jones hired entertainers to play live shows with songs and jingles for products, and had radio shows during these events in conjunction with ongoing sales at the business. These sorts of P.T. Barnum-esque promotions at grocery stores were a cultural innovation in the 1950s. Nearly every description of Pat in The Gambler in some way references his love for the show, as if there is no point in business without it.
Now, consider the general manager’s comments at last week’s premiere of his new streaming monument. He was not directly speaking about Micah Parsons and his contact holdout. Rather, he was describing his worldview writ large.
“If we’re not being looked at, I’ll do my part to get us looked at. It’s wonderful to have great players, but there’s something more there. There’s sizzle. Controversy is good stuff.”
This part can’t be more clear: Jones lays bare that he approaches all of these potential contention points with an eye to the crowd. And that he does it in a manner to carry out some familial obligation to a Way Of Doing Things, just as we all do. The Jones family custom is to put a little flair on it. Personally, I love it. This was a core piece of the character of the teams the docuseries profiled so extravagantly at their pinnacle (and subsequently, a core piece of my identity as a human being).
Sizzle it up! Remember, though, there is that other element of the Jones familial arc that Jerry just told us he can’t do without: pain! That desire for “pain,” as Jerry puts it—or stress, or ambiguity—is essential to his identity. It becomes evident while consuming this show that Jones retains that love for punishment, again, because he saw his father struggle so mightily and fail so many times. In this tired (in every sense) psychoanalysis of a character Jerry puts on, he can’t believe he has made it, and he has to continue to scratch the itch of chaos.
I’m sure Jerry has been asked this ad nauseum, was asked for this series, and doesn’t have a canned answer because he doesn’t need one. But I don’t believe he ever is forced to categorically reject the notion that the need for sizzle might not be compatible with sustained success. Or that a desire to experience a specific perversion of hardship rather than that possibly could muddy the motives and decision-making of a person.
Whether it was Smith in ’93 or Parsons today or any number of other needless fiascos, this is the dynamic. Football players would like to be paid, albeit with poor bargaining power and from a compromised position; Jones would like to have some sizzle and maybe some pain because that’s what gets him going. None of this is revelatory, but it does feel gross. Even if you don’t want to feel badly for a wealthy athlete, we can all agree it’s bullshit.
The tie that binds The Gambler is the alternating narration of Jones and Jimmy Johnson, culminating with the former bestowing upon the latter induction into the Cowboys Ring Of Honor. This clearly meant something to Johnson and his loved ones, so no matter how many times I watch it, it brings me joy. We bury the football in the final episode, and all parties get to offer perspective on perspective. Their reconciliation wasn’t a topic I had much interest in, but it is encouraging to see icons talk through the ups and down of their bond with friendlier hindsight.
Against the backdrop of the present day, it doesn’t do anything but upset me. Jones is again getting his sizzle and pain, while Parsons gets his disrespect. What if the sizzle came from success and the pain came from trying to maintain it?
One thing about sizzle is that it can burn you. (I’m certain Jerry has also stumbled into this phrase at some point.) Jones talks ad nauseum in The Gambler of all of his losses and risks, but being on the wrong end of a natural gas transaction is not the same as trading Micah Parsons. Disrespect hits people differently. Maybe this negotiation resolves itself amicably in the end, but at some point Jones will run into the perfect storm, blowing this play up.
Then the sizzle will lead to a pain so strong even Jerry Jones might not be able to bear it.
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Jake Kemp
Jake Kemp
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Jake Kemp covers the Cowboys and Mavericks for StrongSide. He is a lifelong Dallas sports fan who previously worked for…