Golden Football Magazine
February 27, 2018


"I enjoy my Christian ideals. I believe there's something greater than what we're here for. From what I understand, every pass up there is a touchdown. They don’t have any defensive backs up there."

Cowboys QB Roger Staubach, a devout Catholic

Tiger Den

From the Golden Archives

1947 Cotton Bowl - the most frustrating game in LSU history - expanded and updated in hopes of finding a publisher for a book on LSU Bowl Games.

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Saints Saga

Profile: Jim Finks - IV

Bobby Hebert returned from a yearlong holdout and helped the Saints make the playoffs two years in a row before Finks's term as GM tragically ended.

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Seminole Sidelines

1964: First AP Ranking - I

Coach Bill Peterson decided to emphasize the passing game more. The result was FSU's best season to that point.

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Super Bowl VIII

The '73 Dolphins weren't undefeated, but they were still favored to win their second straight Super Bowl.


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Profile: Bill Walsh - X

Despite numerous changes in the roster, the 1985 and '86 49ers couldn't win a playoff game.

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How Well Do You Know the Rules?
Penalty on punt when returner fumbles into opposing EZ
Year when NFL rules were enacted
It's All Over
Boys Will Be Boys: The Glory Days and Party Nights of the Dallas Cowboys Dynasty,
Jeff Pearlman (2008)
Michael Irvin knew he was screwed. There, dangling in his right hand, was a pair of silver scissors, bits of shredded brown skin coating the tips. There, clutching his own throat, was Everett McIver, a 6-foot, 5-inch, 318-pound hulk of a man, blood oozing from the 2-inch gash in his neck. There, standing to the side, were teammates Erik Williams, Leon Lett, and Kevin Smith, slack-jawed at what they had just seen.
It was finally over. Everything was over. The Super Bowls. The Pro Bowls. The endorsements. The adulation. The dynasty. Damn - the dynasty.

L: Michael Irvin; R: Everett McIver
The greatest wide receiver in the history of the Dallas Cowboys - a man who had won three Super Bowls; who had appeared in five Pro Bowls; whose dazzling play and sparkling personality had earned him a devoted legion of followers - knew he would be going to prison for a long time. Two years if he was lucky. Twenty years, maximum.
Was this the first time Irvin had exercised mind-numbing judgment? Hardly. Throughout his life, the man known as The Playmaker had made a hobby of breaking the rules. As a freshman at the University of Miami fourteen years earlier, Irvin had popped a senior lineman in the head after he had stepped in front of him in a cafeteria line. In 1991, Irvin allegedly shattered the dental plate and split the lower lip of a referee whose call he disagreed with in a charity basketball game. Twice, in 1990 and '95, Irvin had been sued by women who insisted he had fathered their children out of wedlock. In May 1993, Irvin was confronted by police after launching into a tirade when a convenience store clerk refused to sell his eight-year-old brother, Derrick, a bottle of wine. ...
Most famously, there was the incident in a Dallas hotel room on March 4, 1996 - one day before Irvin's thirtieth birthday - when police found the Plamaker and former teammate Alfredo Roberts with two strippers, 10.3 grams of cocaine, more than an ounce of marijuana, and assorted drug paraphernalia and sex toys. Irvin - who greeted one of the on-scene officers with, "Hey, can I tell you who I am?" - later pleaded no contest to a felony drug charge and received a five-game suspension, eight hundred hours of community service, and four years' probation.
But stabbing McIver in the neck, well, this was different. ...
Was he loyal to his football team? Undeniably.
Throughout the Cowboy reign of the 1990s, which started with a laughable 1-15 season in 1989 and resulted in three Super Bowl victories in four years, no one served as a better teammate - as a better role model - than Michael Irvin. He was first to the practice field in the morning, the last to leave at night. He wore weighted pads atop his shoulders to build muscle and refused to depart the complex before catching fifty straight passes without a drop. Twleve years after the fact, an undrafted free agent QB named Scott Semptimphelter still recalls Irvin begging him to throw slants following practice on a 100-degree day in 1995. "In the middle of the workout Mike literally threw up on himself as he ran a route," says Semptimphelter. "Most guys would put their hands on their knees, say screw this, and call it a day. Not Michael. He got back to the spot, ran another route, and caught the ball." ...
And yet, there Michael Irvin stood on July 29, 1998, staring down at a new low. The scissors. The skin. The blood. The gagging teammate. That morning a Dallas-based barber named Vinny had made the two-and-a-half-hour drive to ... Wichita Falls, Texas, where the team held its training camp. He set up a chair inside a first-floor room in the Cowboys's dormitory, broke out the scissors and buzzers, and chopped away, one refrigerator-sized head after another.
After a defense back named Charlie Williams finished receiving his cut, McIver jumped into the chair. It was his turn. ...
In 1993 the San Diego Chargers signed McIver as a rookie free agent. He was cut several months later, signed by Dallas, and placed on the practice squad. From August through December, McIver was a Cowboy rookie scrub, forced to sing his fight song and pick up sandwiches from the local deli and call teammates "sir" and "mister ...
Yet after a rough start, McIver's career picked up. He joined the New York Jets in 1994 and later spent two productive years in Miami ... With the Cowboys struggling behind an aging, oft-injured offensive line, team owner Jerry Jones tossed a five-year, $9.5 million contract McIver's way. The lineman had left Dallas as a joke and five years later was now returning as a potential cornerstone. ... Jones said ... "We're thrilled to have him here."
Michael Irvin, however, wasn't thrilled. As far as he was concerned Everett McIver was simply the same nobody from earlier days. ...
In 1997 the once-mighty Cowboys had experienced one of their worst seasons, finishing 6-10 and missing the playoffs for the first time in seven years. ... the Cowboys ... had spiraled out of control off of it. Drinking. Drugs. Strippers. Prostitutes. Orgies. ...
For a hypercompetitor like Irvin, the losing was too much. The man who was all about devotion to the game had turned bitter. He was well aware that these Cowboys were not his Cowboys. So when Irvin walked into that room and saw McIver in the barber's chair, something inside snapped.
"Seniority!" Irvin barked.
McIver didn't budge.
"Seniority!" Irvin screamed again. "Seniority! Seniority! Punk, get the fuck out of my chair!"
"Man," said McIver, "I'm almost done. Just gimme another few minutes."
Was Everett McIver talking to Irvin? Was he really talking to Irvin? Like ... that?
"Vinny, get this motherfucker out of the chair," Irvin ordered the barber. "Tell his sorry ass to wait his fuckin' turn. Either I get a cut right now, or nobody does."
Standing nearby was Erik Williams, McIver's fellow lineman. "Yo, E," he said to McIver, "don't you dare get our of that chair. You're no fuckin' rookie! He can't tell you what to do!"
Sensing trouble, the barber backed away from McIver's head. McIver stood and shoved Irvin in the chest. Irvin shoved back. McIver shoved even harder, then grabbed Irvin and tossed him toward a wall. ... Lett, the enormous defensive lineman, tried separating the combatants. It was no use. ...
In a final blow to harmony, McIver cocked his right fist and popped Irvin in the mouth. "I just lost it," said Irvin. "I mean, my head, I lost it." Irvin grabbed a pair of scissors, whipped back his right arm, and slashed McIver across the neck. ... McIver let loose a horrified scream.
"Blood immediately shoots all over the room," says Smith. "And we're all thinking the same thing - 'Oh, shit.'"
For a moment - as brief as a sneeze - there was silence. Had Michael Irvin ... stabbed a man ... in the neck? ...
Then - mayhem. The Cowboys' medical staffers stormed the room, past a dumbstruck Irvin, and immediately attended to McIver. As their bloodied teammate was whisked away, none of the lingering Cowboys knew the extent of the damage. Was McIver in critical condition? Would he live?
Either way, every single man in the room had to have understood that this was more than just a fight. The storied Dallas Cowboys of the 1990s - the organization of pride and honor and success; the organization whose players would never dare hurt one another; the organization that dominated professional football - was dead and buried.
How in the world had it come to this?