Boys Will Be Boys (10 page)

Though he continued to publicly support Aikman, in private Johnson had little good to say about a player who, he was quite certain, would spend his career lathered in mediocrity. Johnson went so far as to call Aikman “a loser” to a handful of reporters—a scathing label for
a professional athlete. When the insult reached Aikman, he was crestfallen. “Troy was stung by Jimmy’s actions and words,” says Awalt. “As a result, he wasn’t able to trust him.”

In his five years at Miami, Johnson’s starting quarterbacks were Walsh, Bernie Kosar, and Vinny Testaverde—intelligent players who could improvise with the flow of a game. Aikman did not work in such a way. He needed a play called, he needed a primary target, and he needed to know that, after eight steps and a hard cut to the right, the receiver would be in the exact spot. When all went as planned, Aikman could be brilliant. When routes were blown or the line collapsed, Aikman could be Turk Schonert.

“Jimmy wanted Troy and me to call our own plays to see how comfortable we were with the system and to let the coaches know what we liked and didn’t like,” says Walsh. “I thrived under it and Troy struggled. He said, ‘Y’all just call the plays. I’ll execute it—but I don’t wanna think about what to call.’ I was always the more cerebral quarterback, and thrived in that system of picking plays and designing ideas.”

Had the option been available, Johnson would have gladly traded Aikman and handed Walsh the keys to the Cowboys. But as the No. 1 pick of the new administration, Aikman was the handsome, rich face of the franchise. No. 8 AIKMAN jerseys filled Texas Stadium. No. 3 WALSH jerseys did not. Fans were already concerned that Jones and Johnson were out of their league. To deal Aikman would confirm it. “Jimmy just needed to leave Troy alone and get the fuck out of the way,” says Mark Stepnoski, the team’s center. “The more he messed with his mind, the worse it was for us. We all knew Troy had a bright future. Why didn’t Jimmy?”

One week after the Giants loss, the dilemma was settled. Dallas sent Walsh to New Orleans for No. 1 and No. 3 picks in 1991 and a No. 2 in 1992. The trade allowed Johnson to save face—he could say, “We always knew Troy was our quarterback” and seem to mean it. But the truth remains: Johnson wanted Walsh to be his guy, and it simply didn’t happen. Couldn’t happen.

With his rival off to the Bayou, Aikman was at last
the
starting quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys.

Now all he had to do was win.

Watching the Cowboys of 1990 was akin to sitting through a sixteen-week
Days of Our Lives
marathon—
while drunk.
There were brief highs followed by indomitable lows. There were breakout performances followed by unpredictable setbacks. The team won its opener, then lost three straight. It pulled out a nail-biter over Tampa Bay in Week 5 and got crushed by the hapless Phoenix Cardinals the following Sunday.

Thanks to the play of veteran safeties James Washington and Ray Horton and the emergence of third-year linebacker Ken Norton, Jr., the defense was no longer a Tiffany’s box for opposing offensive coordinators to unwrap and open. Through the first ten games of 1990, only two opponents exceeded 28 points. The Cowboys’ defenders were faster, younger, and significantly more determined than in recent years. “I wanted to make sure every one of my teammates hit the other players so hard their skulls would fall from their bodies,” says Washington. “That’s the attitude I brought.”

The offense was a different story. Despite the arrival of Emmitt Smith, the Cowboys could not score. At first, the blame fell on the inconsistent Aikman, who could dazzle one week, then throw three interceptions the next. Finally, fed-up members of the team went to Johnson with complaints about a coach who, according to dozens of players, was single-handedly responsible for Dallas’s feebleness.

David Shula had to go.

“The man,” says Ray Alexander, a Cowboy receiver, “was a true butt-head.”

Put simply, Shula was not a viable NFL offensive coordinator. He was a nice guy who, at age thirty-one, was well suited to tutor Division I-AA tight ends or, better yet, sell insurance or manage a steak house.

But there was that thing; that…
name.

Within the National Football League, the surname “Shula” evokes the same awe that accompanies “Kennedy” in American politics or “Pulitzer” in the media. Don Shula, after all, was not merely David’s father, but a legendary figure who, over the course of a thirty-three-year career with the Baltimore Colts and Miami Dolphins, would win an unprecedented 347 games and appear in half a dozen Super Bowls.

As a boy David roamed practices as the unofficial ballboy and, come Sunday, charted games from the stands. What he liked most was running routes with Dolphin receivers Paul Warfield and Howard Twilley, then picking their brains on technique. Twilley taught him the subtleties of pattern running. “Howard was slow,” Shula later said, “but he knew exactly how he did things.”

The same went for the analytical Shula, who starred for four years as a wide receiver at Dartmouth before spending the 1981 season as a kick returner with the Baltimore Colts. The following year Shula was enrolled in the University of Baltimore Law School when Wally English, the Dolphins’ receivers coach, left with two regular-season games remaining to accept the head coaching job at Tulane. Dad needed a fill-in. “I was going to return [to school] the second week in January,” David said. “But then we got into the playoffs, and we won the first game, and we won the second game, and then we went to the Super Bowl. Then my father asked me to stay on for the next season.”

Within six years, twenty-nine-year-old David Shula’s title had become “assistant head coach.” But with nepotism came ridicule. Around the league Shula was deemed a lightweight. “I never thought my last name hurt me,” he says. “But the age thing was tough.”

In the early months of 1989, Jimmy Johnson visited Don Shula, seeking permission to hire Dave Wannstedt as his defensive coordinator. Wannstedt was Johnson’s longtime friend and assistant coach, and had only recently been hired by the Dolphins. Don Shula was willing to let him go—with a catch. If Johnson wanted Wannstedt, he would also have to take David Shula as offensive coordinator. It was high time the boy made it on his own.

“Everyone knew what the deal was,” says Stepnoski. “Why else would we hire that guy?”

In Miami, David Shula had been blessed with the Pro Bowl talents of quarterback Dan Marino and his two fleet wide receivers, Mark Clayton and Mark Duper. In Dallas, he had two rookie quarterbacks, no legitimate halfback, and one wide receiver, Michael Irvin (who would suffer a season-ending knee injury after six games). In his first year on the job, Shula was hog-tied. He would have loved to air it out, à la Marino’s majestic bombs, but felt constrained by mediocre talent.

Consequently, Shula’s schemes were simplistic, relying on a minute number of low-risk formations and calls. The players, led by Aikman, hated them. “Nobody bought into what he was doing,” says receiver Kelvin Edwards. “Because he was so young, he wanted everyone to know that his way was the only way. He was trying to present himself as ‘The Man.’ He was ‘The Man,’ all right. He was the man who caused us to lose so many games.”

Was Shula the sole reason Dallas went 1–15 in 1989? No. But one year later his rigidity led to problems. The tension began during training camp, when Shula urged the team to consider cutting Irvin. At his best, the self-annointed “Playmaker” was an explosive performer who used his 6-foot-2, 205-pound frame and uncommon strength to outmuscle defensive backs. But from Shula’s vantage point, Irvin was all hype, little substance. He was slow, obnoxious, unreliable, and hobbled by the knee injury.

According to several team officials, Johnson thought long and hard about following Shula’s advice and ridding the Cowboys of Irvin. Yes, his love for and devotion to the receiver was powerful. But was Irvin a legitimate player anymore? Would he be able to separate from cornerbacks? Could he hold up? Could he…?

In the end loyalty won out. Irvin was a Miami Hurricane. The offensive coordinator was not.

Truth be told, few actually believed Shula to be a bad guy. Fellow assistants liked his mild-mannered demeanor. But he officially lost any of the players’ remaining respect in the days leading up to a Week 3
clash at Washington, when instead of devoting practice time to attacking the Redskin defense, he designed a plan he considered to be revolutionary.

“We were gonna surprise the Redskins by huddling up on the sideline, calling the play, and sprinting to the line of scrimmage and running the play,” says Rob Awalt, the tight end. “First of all, you feel like a goober; like, ‘This is how a bad high school coach might do things.’ But then, to make it worse, we’d run a goddamned fullback dive. It’s bad enough when your team stinks. But when your offensive coordinator can’t get out of his own way, it’s brutal.”

Shula’s greatest misjudgment was failing to recognize the weapon he possessed in Smith. In the Week 5 win over Tampa Bay, Smith gained 121 yards on 23 carries. The following Sunday, in the setback at Phoenix, he touched the ball 12 times. Smith rebounded with 16 carries in another win over the Bucs, but then averaged 11 handles in losses to the Eagles, Jets, and 49ers (in the aftermath of the San Francisco defeat Smith blasted the game plan as “useless”). Even Aikman, who loved throwing the ball 40 times, wondered aloud why the rookie back was being ignored.

Any hope of a Shula-Smith bond died in the aftermath of the Cardinals game, when Shula told the media that a missed block by the rookie had cost the Cowboys. Informed of Shula’s comments, Smith addressed the media. “Lemme ask y’all this,” he said. “How many carries did I have today?”

Twelve.

“And how many yards did I average?” Smith asked.

Four.

“Well,” he said, choler mounting with each word, “if a man is averaging four yards a carry, maybe they should give him the ball more often.”

Finally, after the Week 10 loss to San Francisco dropped the Cowboys to 3–7, Smith approached Joe Brodsky, the grizzled running backs coach, and pleaded his case. “I’m still hearing the same things I’ve
heard all year: ‘We need to gain a hundred yards on the ground,’” he said. “You told us that before we played San Francisco. Then you gave the running backs fifteen carries.”

Brodsky agreed 100 percent. Shula was lame and unimaginative, and, if the season were to be salvaged, he had to change his ways. Brodsky insisted the undersized kid from Florida was ready for a greater load. At last, in Week 11, Shula listened.

In a breathtaking 24–21 triumph over the Rams in California, Shula let loose as Dallas exploited the league’s twenty-sixth-ranked defense. Aikman put up his first 300-yard passing game of the season, and Smith generated 171 yards in total offense. Michael Irvin, finally healthy after a nightmarish year, caught a pair of touchdowns. During the game, many in the press box noticed a striking sight—Johnson and Aikman chatting. “Because of all the conversation going on [about Aikman’s discontent], I thought it would be beneficial for me and Troy to talk,” Johnson said. “We needed to stay on the same page. We probably should have been doing it before.”

Maybe it was Aikman’s anger. Maybe it was Shula’s enlightenment. Maybe it was the recognition that, in Smith, the Cowboys had something special. Maybe it was Irvin’s return to health. Maybe it was simply the natural progression of a young football team. Whatever the case, Dallas followed up the Rams victory with wins over Washington, New Orleans, and Phoenix. The NFL’s laughingstocks were 7–7 and in the thick of the NFC playoff race.

For the first time in years, the Cowboys actually had a postseason picture to consider: Win at Philadelphia and Atlanta in the final two weeks of the season, and they were in. “Nobody,” says Johnson, “would have ever believed it.”

On December 18, two days after the team stomped Phoenix, 41–10, Johnson had dinner with Wannstedt and offensive line coach Tony Wise. Over burgers and beers at Bennigan’s, he made a bold proclamation to two men who had been with Johnson since his days coaching at the University of Pittsburgh. “I told you at [Oklahoma
State] that we’d win a national championship together one day, and we did,” he said. “Well, I’m telling you now that we’ll win a Super Bowl.”

Leading up to the December 23 matchup at Philadelphia, the city of Dallas was alive with optimism. The water-cooler conversations were all pigskin. GO COWBOYS! signs dangled from building windows. Dallas had played six home games in a row with attendances in excess of 60,000. It was almost as if Tony Dorsett and Roger Staubach were back in uniform, rejuvenating a city in dire need of a jolt. Finally, the public was embracing Jones and Johnson. Bring on the Eagles, dammit. Bring ’em on…

In Philadelphia, nobody was shaking. Having beaten the Cowboys six straight times, the Eagles walked with a can’t-touch-this swagger. The Cowboys were up-and-coming, but Philadelphia—loaded with menacing defensive stars like Reggie White, Jerome Brown, and Andre Waters—had arrived. “Everybody in this league knows the road to toughness runs right through Philadelphia,” said Eagles running back Keith Byars. “Everybody.”

Just five snaps into the game, Philadelphia defensive end Clyde Simmons stormed past left tackle Mark Tuinei and drilled Aikman, wrapping him in a bear hug before driving him into the turf. Aikman’s right shoulder popped from the socket. He was done for the year—the sixth quarterback knocked out of a game by the Eagles that season.

Onto the field jogged Brandon Hugh “Babe” Laufenberg, aka The Reason Perhaps Dallas Shouldn’t Have Traded Steve Walsh. A former sixth-round draft pick out of Indiana University, Laufenberg had spent the last seven years bouncing from Washington to San Diego to Washington to New Orleans to Kansas City to Washington to San Diego and, finally, to Dallas.

What was he like as a quarterback?

“Babe was a great guy,” says Fred McNair, a rookie quarterback who was cut by Dallas in training camp. “Wonderful personality.”

In three-plus quarters of play, Laufenberg threw 36 passes, 13 of
which were completed and 4 of which were intercepted. It was one of the ugliest displays in Cowboys history. Philadelphia won, 17–3.