Tuesday, March 27, 2012

JERRY, THE COWBOYS, AND THE SALARY CAP

Two people sit in a white van across the street form the Cowboy's main office in Irving, Texas
.
"Augusta?  You're from Georgia, I'll bet.  I'm Rome. Crazy. I'm from Georgia too." They both smile.  She punches his arm.

"We're bugging Jerry, " says Rome.  "He's the owner of the Dallas Cowboys.  Just listen.  That's all we have to do."

"This is the first time I've been on a stakeout.  Are we going to be here all night?"

He clicks on the monitor,  turns up the radio.

"It's just us." says Rome. "We could do this from the office but they want pictures, people going in and out.  No telling who want all this, but that's what private eyes do.  Most of the time it gets real boring."

Augusta clutches Rome's arm, as the radio booms.  "Hello, this is Jerry.  Who's this?"

"Brentwood," I say.  "Been awhile.  Saw you in the news, salary cap, and your always good for a column.  So..."

"Brentwood Belair," says Jerry.  "Woody.  Sports writer extraordinaire.  Okay, want my side of this. You got it.  Look, they can't take $10 million.  So I over spent in 2010.  But there was no cap in 2010?"

Rome looks down at his arm.  "It's only the radio.  Relax.  Guess you are new at this."  He laughs.

She smiles, and moves back. "First day nerves, I guess."

The radio:  "Come on," says Jerry.  "Every contract goes through the League Office.  They could have stopped it right then. But, noooo, they wait 'til now, and jump all over me.  I'm trying to make the Cowboys the best I can.  There was no Cap then."

"So," says Augusta.  "What is he talking about anyway?  Cap?"

"All the owners have agreed to put a limit on player's salaries.  They want to keep their costs down, and provide team equality.  It's supposed to keep the richest owners from buying up all the good players."

She touches his arm.  "You're so smart."

"Salary cap for players is $120,600,000.  It's figured by the teams net profits. I listen to sports radio a lot."

Their spy cam monitor shows Jerry in his office, on a cell phone.  His face is red.  His neck bulges.

"If it was okay then it should be okay now. League Office should have said something.  They approved the contracts in 2010.  I didn't do anything wrong.  That's what you should write."

"See," says Rome.  "2010 there was no cap on salaries.  Seems the other teams got together and decided on their own to hold down salaries."

"Boy," says Augusta.  "You're good.  With you this won't be boring?" 

"Jerry," I say.  "Revenue Sharing, Competitive Balance and the Draft System are the reasons the Cowboys make so much money for you Jerry, come on." 

"Woody, its unfair to the players.  There shouldn't be any limits on their salary.  The League is a monopoly that controls players' salaries.  It's screwed up if you ask me."

"They're calling you a cheater, Jerry." I say.

"But cheating means I broke the rules.  I didn't." 

Rome taps Augusta on the leg.  "This guy has no idea how to build a good team.  If it wasn't`t for Jimmy Johnson, he would never have won a Super Bowl. I don't think he really knows a whole lot about football."

"I like smart guys," she says.  "Guys like you Romey."

"It makes no sense." says Jerry.  "What's the point of saying the year is uncapped if it's actually capped?

"Just let it go, Jerry." I say  "League doesn't like Front Loaded Contracts.  They work maybe half the time.  Players know that the team will probably keep them since their salary gets lower each year."

"I better get an extra draft pick next year for the hassle they're putting me through."

"Maybe the League just wants to punish you.  Do they like you, Jerry?  I don't know, do they."

"What are you saying, Woody?"

"Jerry, you might win the battle, but lose the war.  $10 million.  It's not money.  It's just loss in salary cap.  Jerry, its no more than a parking ticket to you."

"Woody, it's the principle of the thing.  I hate to get pushed around."

"This Woody's a character," says Rome.  "Seems like one tough dude, talking to Jerry like that.  Must be an old friend."

"Thanks Jerry.  Good Luck."  We hang up.

There is silence.  Jerry sits at his desk.  He flips his pen in the air.

"This is when it get's boring." says Rome. 

Augusta reaches over and takes his hand.  "It doesn't have to be."  She pulls him toward her.  He sits up, and smiles.  As their heads bump, Jerry pulls out another phone, and dials.

"Wait...Augusta...please."  Their lips are together, but his eyes are on the monitor.  "Look."  He points at the monitor.  "Augusta, come on."

"But Romey...I thought you didn't want to be bored...and..."

 "He's on a different cell phone.  Looks like a burner phone.  I know, we use them for secrecy."

"Denton?  It's Jerry.  How are we doing with the Team's value?  When we gave the League our net, we gave them...the right set of books?  You know.  Should I be concerned abut this $10 million dollar penalty."

"Jerry, you got nothing to worry about.  I got  you covered on this.  Think 40% low."

"I feel better.  Thanks Denton."  He sets the phone on the floor, glances through the glass door, smashes it with his heel, and puts the remains in the trash can under his desk.

Jerry sits back in his chair, hands behind his head, and smiles. 
---------------------------------
Help comes from:
cowboysblog.dallasnews.com/archives
bleacherreport.com/articles/1119212-jerry-jones
nationalfootballpost.com/Jerry-Jones
Google/Images, Wikipedia/Jerry Jones

No comments:

Post a Comment