Inside The War Room! Dallas Cowboys

Leading up to the draft, we’ll be giving you exclusive inside access to the war rooms of various teams across the league. Today: the Dallas Cowboys.

Assistant: Well, I think the war room’s all set, Mr. Jones.

Jerry Jones: Where’s the fuckin’ easel?

Assistant: The what?

Jones: I need a fuckin’ easel! Have you never been in a meetin’, Jennifer? I need a big fuckin’ easel to write all my ideas down.

Assistant: Okay…

Jones: And I want three different kinds of Sharpies. I need a red Sharpie, because whenever I get a really fuckin’ big idea, I like writin’ it in red. That way, everyone pays attention to it. Then I need a green Sharpie for drawing pie charts. Then I want one of those markers that writes in shiny gold ink. It’s kinda like gold leaf, know what I mean?

Assistant: I think so.

Jones: Well, I want a shitload of those. Because I like goin’ through all my big fuckin’ ideas and then putting a gold star by the ones I REALLY like. Like if I say, “Hey, what if we trade up to get Calvin Johnson?” I wanna be able to star that little sumbitch. In fact, write that down right now.

Wade Phillips: Where do I sit?

Jones: Shut up, fatty! You only get to talk when I pull this chain! You understand me!

Wade: Yes, sir.

Jones: I didn’t pull the fucking chain. Dance, fat man! Dance!

(He dances.)

Jones: Ha ha! Look at that fat bounce all around! Jennifer, you can poke him with a stick if you want.

Assistant: No, thank you.

Jones: Suit yourself. Nothin’ finer than pokin’ a fat man! Now, I want place cards arranged around the table. And I want titles too! Remember my title?

Assistant: “The Boss Man”?

Jones: Goddamn fuckin’ right, I am. Son of a gun! Now, food. I want Einstein Bagels in the morning. Hey fatty, what do you want for lunch? You may speak!

(pulls chain)

Wade: Sandwiches.

Jones: Wow! Aren’t you an incredibly creative mind! I never woulda thoughta fuckin’ sandwiches on my own! Way to be outta the box! You stupid tub of lard. Let’s get some fried chicken, and other assorted Negro food.

Assistant: Sir, I don’t think that’s appropriate here.

Jones: (rolls eyes) Fine. We’ll have Thai.

Assistant: I meant the term "Negro", sir. Not the food choice.

Jones: Ah, don't be such a tightass, darlin'. We love our Negroes down here in Texas. Now, be sure to order extra Larb Gai. Somebody always eats that shit before I can get a helpin’!

Assistant: Okay.

Jones: Now, where’s the draft board?

Wade: Oh, we’re using an electronic draft board this year, using Javascript.

Jones: What?! Unacceptable. I want an old school draft board, with each player’s name and school written on a plaque that I can move up and down at my behest. It feels more God-like that way. It’s like Star Wars, where they play chess with those tiny monsters. In fact, I would like little action figures of all 500 draft prospects, so I can make ‘em fight! Make that happen!

Assistant: Yes, sir.

Jones: And I want the ESPN camera behind my right shoulder, so it looks like I’m presiding over the room, which I am.

Assistant: Yes, sir.

Jones: And I need a bottle of Lubriderm close by, so that Ed Werder doesn’t chafe my penis when he’s rubbing me down.

Assistant: Yes, sir.

Jones: Hey, fatty!

(pulls chain)

Wade: Sir?

Jones: Did you figure out the conference calling equipment like I told you?

Wade: I think so.

Jones: Then let’s call the ghost of Tex Schramm now and see if it works.

Wade: You can’t call ghosts, sir.

Jones: Just fuckin’ do it, Flubber!

(one hour later)

Tex: Hello?

Jones: Good! It fuckin’ works! Hey there, Tex!

Tex: Can we hurry this up? I got another meeting in ten.

Jones: You look here, you dead piece of shit! I spent an hour getting you on this phone. You aren’t going nowhere! I need you to help me compile my list of “Surprise Draft Picks”. You know, the ones no one sees comin’.

Tex: Ugh.

Jones: And where’s the mechanical bull? Jennifer, take this list down…

Assistant: Yes, sir.

Jones: We need a a mechanical bull, a LIVE bull, a 30’ foot Tostitos banner, a 1950’s style soda fountain, a pile of gold bricks that I can stand near at all times, a lifesize cutout for me for whenever I go take a shit, four mules, brownies AND blondies, ten crates of fresh cigars, a large cache of automatic weapons, Fiji water, a Bill Parcells lookalike I can shoot at, a mounted trophy of a moose’s head, notepads and pencils for everyone, a bearskin rug, artificial stalactites that I can have dropped on people at a moment’s notice, a compass, one of those oversized beach balls, and a fresh cheese and fruit plate no one will touch. Got all that?

Assistant: Yep.

Jones: Now that’s a draft room! Giddyfuckingup!