Best-selling author and liberal Jew from New York Jeff Pearlman has a new book on the 1990s Cowboys that comes out today (Buy it here). Now, you probably already know that this book has already given us the profound gift that is Charles Haley masturbating in front of teammates. A little meet and skeet, if you will. Ah, but that is merely one of the many juicy tidbits that litter Pearlman’s book, which reads like a virtual “Hammer Of The Gods” for football.

For instance, there’s the fact that Michael Irvin, in addition to being a cokehead, a philanderer, and a selfish prick, is also an… how does one put this? Oh yes… AN ATTEMPTED FUCKING MURDERER. See now, I had remembered long ago that Irvin had gotten into a fight with teammate Everett McIver, but I had forgotten about this tidbit of information:

Irvin grabbed a pair of scissors, whipped back his right arm, and slashed McIver across the neck… inches from the carotid artery.

What was McIver’s transgression? He wouldn’t get out of the team’s barbershop chair when Irvin showed up for a haircut. When Irvin showed up and saw McIver getting his hair cut, he screamed: “Seniority! Seniority! Seniority! Punk, get the fuck out of my chair!” When McIver refused, the two got into a fistfight, which then led to Irvin STABBING HIM IN THE NECK WITH SCISSORS. Irvin then paid McIver off for six figures, charges were never filed, and the team tried to bury the story (They were not very successful in this regard).

So, yeah, there’s a Hall of Famer for you. Pearlman has a knack for getting great stories from everyone surrounding the team. The book is packed top to bottom with tales of players fucking, fighting, or doing drugs. And that’s the hallmark of any classic book, as far as I’m concerned. I know that’s all I ever want to read about.

As Pearlman tells the tale of the team, from Jimmy Johnson’s hiring all the way through to the end of the Switzer era, it became clear to me that a team like this simply doesn’t exist anymore. It can’t. As the NFL has become a corporate monolith, and as the Internet has taken over the way NFL news is both created and digested, the idea that a football team can get away with everything depicted in Pearlman’s book is now laughable.

Those 1990’s Cowboys represented the end of an era, an era that had no salary cap, an era where players (and coaches) could party all the time and still win multiple titles. There’s a tone of wistfulness here, the idea that this was the end of true old time football, and that the NFL has lost a bit of its soul in the ensuing years as it has grown bigger and bigger.

Just as real rock stars don’t walk the earth anymore, NFL players are now packaged and micromanaged to the point where they aren’t allowed to be the gloriously flawed people that fans, against all rationality, grow to love. In some ways, that’s tragic. In other ways, Michael Irvin STABBED A FUCKING GUY IN THE NECK WITH SCISSORS. So I suppose you take the good with the bad.

Some more fascinating tidbits:

-Charles Haley once cut a hole in the roof of Tim Harris’ BMW and pissed onto the steering wheel. This story made me happy, because as a Vikings fan I fucking hated Tim Harris.

-Once in a team meeting, Haley came back from the bathroom, pulled down his shorts, wiped his ass, and threw his poopy toilet paper at 49ers linebacker coach John Marshall.

-During another team meeting, Haley whispered to teammate Scott Case, “Scott, turn around, I gotta show you something… Scott, dammit, turn around! You need to see this!” When Case turned around, according to Pearlman, he “saw Haley’s erect penis stretched across the desk.”

-The Cowboys often held position meetings at strip clubs.

-Michael Irvin financed a Cowboys charity basketball team called the Hoopsters that had its own private plane, which was mostly used to hold airborne orgies, with Irvin dictating who should be fucking who. “There was nothing Mike couldn’t think of,” said his assistant. “He had quite the imagination.”

-Irvin also charged huge personal appearance fees for the Hoopsters to show up at events. In one case, he charged the Little Dribblers of Fairfield Texas $5,600 to appear, then RAISED the fee, then failed to show up and refused to refund the original money after the organizer balked at paying the increased charge. Irvin also slugged a volunteer ref during one of the team’s games.

-The Cowboys gave specific instructions to American Airlines to only hire beautiful attendants for their charter flights, and kept a book with photos and measurements of the best-looking stewardesses.

-One Christmas, Emmitt Smith gave teammates copies of his own autobiography as a gift.

-When he was very young, Barry Switzer’s mother committed suicide in front of him. Even worse, she did it just after Switzer had bravely (and quite eloquently) confronted her about her alcoholism. And if you can’t feel for Switzer after reading the whole story, I don’t really want to know you.

-Nate Newton once hid a Snickers bar in his uniform, which then flew out during a game. Afterwards, cornerback Larry Brown was heard to remark, “Did a damn candy bar just fly from Nate’s body, or am I imagining things?”

-Jerry Jones routinely cheated on his wife with a Texas Stadium Corp employee named Susan Skaggs, often using the team plane to do so. (What is it with the Cowboys and fucking in the sky?) Jones’ pilot said, “We could feel the airplane moving and shaking. It didn’t move and shake that long.” WOO HOO!!! YOU AIN’T EVER HAD LOVIN’ LIKE THE OL’ DOUBLE-J! Excuse me for moment. I now have motion sickness.

-Switzer fucked the wife of player personnel head Larry Lacewell. And Lacewell wasn’t even mad about it.

And now some money quotes:
Haley to Steve Young in the locker room after a 49ers loss: “I could have fucking won that game in my sleep! You’re a motherfucking pussy faggot quarterback! A motherfucking pussy faggot quarterback with no balls!” You know, I used to say the EXACT same things about that guy!

James Washington on Jim Everett: “Yeah, I would smash Jim Everett when I wasn’t supposed to, but I thought the bitch was a punk.”

Washington: “A lot of were addicted to it… to the pussy.” Well, who can blame anyone for pussyholism?

Irvin, to teammates in the locker room: “How can I allow only one woman to have a body this good? This is the body you will aspire to have. This is the body you will aspire to achieve. You will not achieve it, but this is what you will strive to achieve.” Notice he made no similar boasts about his brain.

Anonymous player: “Mike got more Cowboys laid than touchdown catches.”

Anthony Montoya, Irvin’s assistant: “The one thing I felt guilty about is helping Mike lie so many times to Sandy (Irvin’s wife). He cheated on her nonstop.”

Columnist Mike Freeman on Emmitt Smith: “He had a huge ego that made him sort of a dick.”

Emmitt Smith to cornerback Clayton Holmes, after Holmes asked Smith to sign an autograph for his mom, with his mom standing right nearby: “Man, I ain’t signing shit!”

Anonymous player: “Mike didn’t have a drug problem. Mike had a pussy problem.”

Jerry Jones: “I could step out and hire Barry Switzer as coach of the Dallas Cowboys tomorrow and he’d do a better job than Jimmy (Johnson). Hell, I could probably get Lou Holtz over here.”

“I had one of those anal probes, but I’m a little more clearheaded now… Did you say you wanted me to coach the Cowboys?…” Switzer to Jones, after being offered the Cowboys job right after having a colonoscopy. Jones never bothered to interview Switzer before offering him the job.

Switzer, at his first meeting with the team: “Where the hell is Charles Haley? I’m mad at you! I heard you flicked your dick at everybody, and you didn’t do it to me? What am I, chopped liver?”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll take you to heaven,” Jones to a female friend of a reporter. He also asked the woman if she had any panties on under her skirt.

And all that barely begins to scratch the surface of what Pearlman was able to dig up. So I implore you to buy “Boys Will Be Boys” with all due haste. That way, we can all make inside jokes about Charles Haley’s Frankencock TOGETHER, as a family.