The NFL has completed its hostile takeover of the American entertainment industry, but mindful of its place atop the time-wasters pyramid it still sent memos out to its 32 teams reminding them that with great power comes great mone—err, responsibility. And with that responsibility, the league office reminded the teams, comes the demand to create memorable events that can transcend the McAfee-level commentariat.
The Dallas Cowboys and Philadelphia Eagles attempted to tackle their brief on Thursday night in the NFL's season opener. Two teams with a well-developed and longstanding animus toward each other, one team locked in decades of tragicomic owner-driven disrepair and the other basking in Super Bowl-winning smugness, meeting before a fan base that had been whipped into a frenzy by weeks of buildup that lacked only the garnish of Taylor Swift wedding updates. Which, by the way, should come along tonight, when the Chiefs and Chargers play each other in one of those classic Friday Night Football matchups, in Brazil.
And damned if they didn’t give us a disjointed but highlight-filled show for, well, as long as they could bother and as weather permitted. We will dispense with the game’s hokey, overbearing, and self-satisfied intro, because like all the others through time, it turbo-sucked. You can find it on the internet if you're into hatewatches.
When the game started, the teams reintroduced us to football's truest byproduct: the catastrophic injury. That happened on the opening kickoff when Eagles linebacker-turned-fullback and special teamer Ben VanSumeren exploded his leg. Shortly after that, the teams introduced a leavening element of slapstick when Eagles defensive tackle Jalen Carter stole a move from Inter Miami's master of unsanitary protest Luis Suarez, and got himself ejected for spitting on Cowboys quarterback Dak Prescott, in response to Prescott apparently spitting at him. Nothing changes the mood in any event quite like jumping from a grim scene on a medical cart to a righteous exchange of spittle-volleys, and in Philadelphian terms going from "That poor boy" to "That idiot!" Sympathy isn't nearly as enjoyable a way to enjoy an evening as enraged invective, and the Eagles clearly sensed this. No interesting football had happened yet, but the teams were already giving the people what they want.
That completed, the two teams proceeded to collude on a completely defense-free first half, marching up and down the field with almost breathtaking brass; it was as if both teams were playing the Carolina Panthers simultaneously. The Cowboys scored on each of their first four possessions, the last two finished by their most reliable offensive player, placekicker Brandon Aubrey. The Eagles, showing their own pedigree as well as Dallas's depleted defense, scored touchdowns on their first three tries, including two by quarterback Jalen Hurts, who was apparently showing off for Michael Jordan, who was in attendance seemingly in an attempt to match the Swiftian power audience quotient.
The game remained close despite Cowboys receiver CeeDee Lamb's attempt to spice it up by continually dropping passes, but then came the final stroke in what had been a wacky evening's fun. After the Eagles got a Jake Elliott field goal at the start of the third quarter to make it 24-20, the Cowboys marched back the other way, only to have their drive stunted by former Eagles running back and current Dallas backup Miles Sanders losing a fumble at the Philly 11-yard line. The crowd could only enjoy that for a moment before a thunderstorm hove into view, causing the officials to suspend the game for an hour and inflict NBC's football cognoscenti upon the nation for essentially an hourlong filibuster/vamp. The alternative involved the possibility of Saquon Barkley getting struck by lightning, which would doubtless have fit the remit in terms of spectacle but would also have been a bit of a bummer, as smoldering performers tend to be.
Either way, the hourlong wait convinced both teams to meet in the hallway beneath the stands and conclude that this wasn't worth getting all spun up about so far after midnight, especially in a town that needs gambling consortiums to run the buses. The Eagles agreed to win the game, the Cowboys for their part took the cover and the under, and while some football was played after the weather delay, neither team scored another point or offered a huge fantasy bonanza, save maybe Hurts and Dallas running back Javonte Williams. And so everyone went home semi-satisfied, or at the very least went home. On the first night of the NFL season, these two teams had done their part for Football America, and they remembered to leave the audience a little hungry. A cringeworthy pregame show, a gruesome injury, a saliva-off and an ejection that may lead to further discipline and national shame, some shots of Jerry Jones looking faintly embalmed in his suite, a festival of both offense and nature at their most pyrotechnic and pissy—as starts to a season go, it was admittedly pretty solid for two hours. But the lesson was clear: Waste your best stuff early, and you'll have nothing left when it matters. Thankfully, Taylor Swift is still in São Paulo stretching in her warmups.
