Main Game Of Mid-America

Why is it that any team that has the monicker “America’s Team” must be hated by at least half of the sport-following populace?


Think of the last couple of teams to wear that sobriquet: the Yankees and the Cowboys. The Yankees got there on the strength of a fan base consisting of two-thirds of the inhabitants of the greater NYC metro area and a national subculture of largely obnoxious frontrunners. I have yet to see a Yankee fan miss a chance to declare his genetic superiority to the people around him in as many one-syllable words as he can cram into 30 seconds. Of course, non-Yankee fans return the favor by treating the Yankees and their fans with a warmth not seen since the French turned on their German occupiers following the liberation of Paris.

(Pity the hapless Cub fans in all this. They’re so out of their league. Give them tickets to a UFC match and they’d bring a teddy bear.)

The Cowboys started calling themselves “America’s Team” apropos of nothing and it caught on. The only recent case of chutzpah that comes close was when Kanye West starting calling himself “a singer.”

Like a lot of teams, the Cowboys were the team of a subset of America, that pungent mixture of truck owners with functional gun racks and truck owners with ornamental gun racks, but if that subset actually equaled America you’d best reserve your tickets for Michelle Bachmann’s inauguration.

There’s no question that both teams’ claims as America’s favorite stemmed from their owners. Jerry Jones is H. Ross Perot reinvented as a total egomaniac after being awarded George W. Bush’s brain on waivers, and George Steinbrenner made Donald Trump look like Wavy Gravy. He was shaped like a packing crate and handled sensitive negotiations like a longshoreman.

I have a friend whose favorite teams are the Cowboys and Yankees (and, yes, he went to college at The U). He is insufferable, but not primarily because his favorite teams are the Cowboys and Yankees and he went to college at The U. He’s insufferable because his checks bounce. When he pays with hard money all is forgiven.

The reason I’m screeding like this is that I’ve been thinking about the matchup between the all-time Cowboys and Chiefs.

The Cowboys should win. There’s no question that the Cowboys should win. They have four real live wide receivers, and their running backs are superb. Neither Roger Staubach nor Troy Aikman are QBs that could throw the fear of God into anyone, much less a stalwart Kansas City defense, but they’re game managers with weapons and a line.

But every non-linear cell in my body is fighting that idea that the Cowboys should win because these are the Cowboys, The Team Known As America’s Team, and with all my heart I want the TTKAAT to go down in flames.

Not this time, unfortunately.

It’s a quality thing. There is no way you can look at the Cowboys’ starting offensive line – Rayfield Wright (a HOFer), Larry Allen (a HOFer-to-be), Flozell Adams (a strong maybe), and John Niland and Ralph Neely (HOF oughta-bes) – and figure that the Chiefs’ defensive front, good as it is, has much of a chance.

Or maybe they do. Buck Buchanan is a HOFer, Jerry Mays is just a tick behind, and Art Still and Neil Smith are in the discussion. Curley Culp, Dan Saleamua, and Bill Maas can play some, too. And having three HOF linebackers filling the gaps doesn’t hurt. Only the Giants and Bears have that luxury.

Things don’t change when the situation flip-flops. The Chiefs’ line lacks HOFers now, but Will Shields is a lock, Willie Roaf is a probable, and if Brian Waters keeps going like he’s gone he’ll get there. That leaves Ed Budde and Jim Tyrer, and they’re the Chiefs’ versions of Neely and Niland, really strong oughta-bes. They go up against top-tier HOFers in Bob Lilly and Too Tall Jones, a mid-level guy in Randy White, and a near-miss in Jethro Pugh. Harvey Martin, Jim Jeffcoat, George Andrie, and Larry Cole rotate in.

The ‘Boys’ D-line is stronger than the Chiefs’ but the linebackers aren’t quite as good. Call it a wash. Same with the secondary.

So if the lines, linebackers and D-backs match up, the quality issues are in ... oh, yeah. The running backs and wide receivers.

The Chiefs roll out No. 65 all-time in all-purpose yards (Priest Holmes), No. 90 in rushing (Larry Johnson), and Nos. 178 and 172 all-time in receiving (Otis Taylor and Henry Marshall). The Cowboys counter with Nos. 1 and 8 all-time in rushing yards (Emmitt Smith and Tony Dorsett), No. 29 all-time in receptions (Michael Irvin), and No. 30 all-time in receiving TDs (Bob Hayes), with No. 5 in career receptions (Terrell Owens) on the bench, complaining about his playing time.

Even having the best tight end ever can’t make up for that.

I know I’m getting all conventional on you, and I apologize. There are many ways the Chiefs could win, but the Cowboys have more ways. If the kicking game pins the ‘Boys deep and the Chiefs’ D-line somehow slows down the Cowboys’ running game, the QBs simply go over the top to some of the best deep threats ever. If Johnny Robinson and the gang shut down the passing game, TD and Dancin’ E can run it forever.

Enough of the prelims. So how does the game go?

The ‘Boys get the ball at their 20 and run it out to midfield. The Chiefs get the ball at their 22 and run it out to the 27. The ‘Boys get the ball back at their 39 and run it down to the Chiefs’ 37, and miss a field goal. The Chiefs run it out to the 43 and kick it down to the 30. The ‘Boys push it out to the 44 and kick it down to the 23. And this goes on for a while until the ‘Boys finally move it down far enough for Rafael Septien to kick a field goal.

Late in the second quarter the Chiefs finally cross midfield and use a Priest Holmes screen and a Tony Gonzalez seam route to work the ball down to the 28, where the drive stalls but Jan Stenerud is true. Three-all.

At this point, the wheels fall off of the Chiefs’ war wagon. Eschewing the two-minute drill in favor of the home run, Aikman calls an audible, Bob Hayes slips behind Emmitt Thomas, and he outruns the pack to the end zone. The halftime gun sounds with the Cowboys ahead 10-3.

After the Chiefs go three-and-out to start the second half, the ‘Boys strike again. This time it’s Aikman to Witten for 15, to Irvin for 22 and finally to Drew Pearson in the corner of the end zone from 29. The extra point makes it 17-3.

The Chiefs answer with another nothing drive, and Dallas gets right back to it, mixing sweeps and square-outs until they get inside the 20. The drive stalls, and Septien boots a 29-yard field goal to stretch the lead to 20-3.

And that’s the ball game, for all intents and purposes.

The Chiefs pull Len Dawson in favor of Trent Green, who drops back to pass, assays the field, and says to himself, “Hey – I don’t have any wide receivers,” just before being buried under a mountain of Too Tall Jones and Jethro Pugh. He crumples like a wet paper towel and Randy White recovers the remains. The result is another field goal, and more playing time for Len Dawson.

Dawson eventually gets the dink-and-dunk game going enough to score a TD against a prevent defense, but in the end it’s Super Bowl I all over again. The Cowboys prevail 26-10.

The numbers are not all that great for either side: 163 yards rushing for the Cowboys against 82 for the Chiefs. 268 yards passing for the ‘Boys against 223 for the Chiefs. Emmitt gets 91, TD 61. Hayes catches three for 70, Irvin five for 71. Priest Holmes has a nice all-around day – 57 yards rushing, 89 yards receiving – but Larry Johnson does nothing, and the wideouts stink.

The Cowboys will have their judgment day, as God is my witness. But it ain’t today.

So as Jerry Jones dances on the star in the middle of Texas Stadium like the Thunderbirds version of Jerry Jones dancing on the star in the middle of Texas Stadium, repeat to yourself: It’s okay to hate the Cowboys. It’s okay to hate the Cowboys. It’s okay to hate the Cowboys.

It’s just really hard to deny them.

The Games Begin

Okay, here’s where we are in this particular bog. The whole idea of all-time teams for football teams is utterly pointless if the teams don’t eventually play each other down to a championship of sorts. It’s semi-pointless even if they do – sort of the Society For Putting Things On Top Of Other Things of American sport.

Determining who plays who can’t be done in terms of record … oh, wait. Yes, it can. That's exactly what I did. I ranked teams on the basis of their all-time win-loss record and then paired them off, worst with best, second-worst with second-best, and so on.

You shall argue that this is a relatively unscientific means of pairing off, and you are completely correct. But the scientific methods take too much time. They’re like playing the fictitious games without playing the fictitious games, and playing the fictitious games is the whole point. If forced to choose between arbitrary methods, always choose the more fun of the two.

So teams were ranked worst to first and paired off, creating the following matchups:

Top Bracket (years; winning percentage)

Chicago Bears (1920-2010; 57.9%)

Houston Texans 2002-2010; 38.2%)



Arizona Cardinals (1920-2010; 41.4%)

Miami Dolphins (1966-2010; 57.6%)



New Orleans Saints (1967-2010; 42.8%)

Detroit Lions (1930-2010; 45.6%)



Cleveland Browns (1946-2010; 54.9%)

Carolina Panthers (1995-2010; 46.5%)



New York Giants 1925-2010 636 524 33 0.548

Seattle Seahawks 1976-2010 262 286 0 0.478



Baltimore Ravens (1996-2010; 53.5%)

Tennessee Titans (1960-2010; 49.2%)



New England Patriots (1960-2010; 52.6%)

St. Louis Rams (1937-2010; 50.9%)



Jacksonville Jaguars (1995-2010; 52%)

Pittsburgh Steelers (1933-2010; 52%)


Bottom Bracket

Washington Redskins (1932-2010; 51.5%)
Kansas City Chiefs (1960-2010; 52%)



San Diego Chargers (1960-2010; 50.5%)

Denver Broncos (1960-2010; 52.2%)



Philadelphia Eagles (1933-2010; 48.5%)

Indianapolis Colts (1953-2010; 53.2%)



Buffalo Bills (1960-2010; 46.9%)

San Francisco 49ers (1946-2010; 54.8%)



New York Jets (1960-2010; 46%)

Oakland Raiders (1960-2010; 54.9%)



Cincinnati Bengals (1968-2010; 43.5%)

Minnesota Vikings (1961-2010; 55.1%)



Atlanta Falcons (1966-2010; 42.4%)

Green Bay Packers (1921-2010; 55.9%)



Tampa Bay Buccaneers (1976-2010; 39.9%)

Dallas Cowboys (1960-2010; 57.6%)



Games are played in my head, again because the scientific methods don’t get you any further than the non-scientific methods, and because I just lost my APBA card of Mack Yoho. You can make a case for the occasional upset, or not. If upsets are allowed they’ll be brought into any pseudo-scientific algorithm through some brand of fake randomness, so why not make them not random at all but subject to your whims? At least the marshmallow scent of faux science is removed.

The first round has plenty of interesting matchups, starting with the all-Native American Redskins-Chiefs tussle. Two teams 30 games over .500 for their history, two teams that found success via ball control, and two teams that drifted away over time from the things that made them great.

The Redskins trot out arguably the most transformational QB ever (Sammy Baugh), three HOF wideouts (Charley Taylor, Bobby Mitchell, and Art Monk, lined up as a tight end in this matchup), two HOF running backs (John Riggins and Cliff Battles), an HOF O-lineman, and two HOFers each in the linebacking corps (Huff and Hanburger) and the secondary (Green and Houston).

The Chiefs, meanwhile, offer no HOFers in the O-line, the O-backfield, or the wide-receiving corps, and a QB (Len Dawson) widely considered to be the Trent Dilfer of HOF QBs.

It’s not a high-scoring game as it unravels in my head, despite the offensive firepower on the ‘Skins side. Baugh, continually under pressure from a combination of an aggressive Chiefs’ defense and a porous offensive line, goes 17-for-33 for 245 with two picks, a score, and three sacks; Riggins runs for 68 and Battles goes for 37 with a fumble; and Taylor and Mitchell combine to catch 11 for 187 and a TD.

On the Chiefs’ side Dawson is 18-for-29 with a score, Holmes and Johnson get a TD apiece, and Jan Stenerud tacks on three FGs at the end of short drives. Jerrel Wilson averages 45-plus yards per punt and the Chiefs win 23-17.

Good game.

So why do the Chiefs win? Because non-HOFers win football games – in reality and fantasy. Steve Young and Jerry Rice can do their Steve Young and Jerry Rice thing all over the football field, but without Keith Fahnhorst and Earl Cooper and Bill Ring they’re nothing.

In the case of Chiefs vs. ‘Skins, the quality of the Chiefs' non-HOF players is better than the quality of the Redskins' non-HOFers. Budde, Tyrer, Roaf, Shields, and Rudnay could block anything. Two of the five will be HOFers, and at least one more ought to be. They'd make golden-raisin mincemeat out of Gene Brito et. al., and Priest Holmes and Larry Johnson are more than capable of running behind that.

The Hogs have less luck moving Neil Smith, Buck Buchanon, Curley Culp, and Art Still, with Bill Maas and Jared Allen in reserve and Bobby Bell, Willie Lanier, and Derrick Thomas backing the line, just like their name implies.

The pass rush rattles Baugh, not the most accurate passer even when given protection, and largely shuts down his long-bomb game. Baugh doesn’t lack for targets, but Tony Gonzalez is better than Art Monk and Charley Taylor vs. Otis Taylor is a wash, so the fact that Bobby Mitchell whips the snot out of anything KC can trot into the slot is sort of moot, especially since Deron Cherry and Emmitt Thomas are killers in coverage.

Darrell Green and Ken Houston would be doing the same if Dawson threw the ball down the field, but here’s the thing: Dawson doesn’t throw the ball down the field. The Chiefs attack the Redskins’ weaknesses. They run the ball, pass to the backs, play a field-position game, and turn it over to the defense to hold the day. The Chiefs have the punter, the kicker, the kick returner, the D, and the coach to make it happen, so it happens.

The Chiefs advance.