Jerry Jones sits back in his throne-chair—half executive leather, half ancient sarcophagus—and folds his hands like he’s about to announce the cure for losing.
JERRY (big Texas showman drawl): “Well now… lemme tell y’all somethin’ important. Somethin’ ah learned one afternoon that changed mah whole philosophy. Ah outsmarted failure. Or… ah outwalked it. Or ah hid it behind somethin’. Either way, ah beat it.”
He smiles. A powerful smile. A smile that belongs on a billboard for a product that doesn’t exist.
“See, ah was havin’ one of those days. One of them ‘things ain’t goin’ mah way’ kinda days. Reporters askin’ questions… players lookin’ confused… salary cap doin’ whatever the hell it wants…”
He waves it off like he’s swatting away regulations.
“So ah said to mahself: ‘Jer-rah… failure only counts if ya acknowledge it.’ And ah don’t acknowledge nothin’ unless it’s glossy, televised, or writes itself off on the taxes.”
He leans in, glowing under the Halfbak3d creamsicle light.
“Now folks think when somethin’ goes wrong, you’re supposed to fix it. Wrong. That’s loser thinkin’. Champions? Champions distract it. Champions relocate it. Champions look failure square in the eye… then move the scoreboard so the angle makes ‘em look taller.”
He nods, proud of the metaphor he just invented.
“So what ah did that day was simple. Ah took failure… metaphorically… spiritually… maybe physically, ah can’t recall… And ah set it down behind mah filing cabinet.”
He motions with both hands, like he literally put failure in time-out.
“Ah said, ‘You stay there. Daddy’s busy.’”
Another big grin. Showman grin. Oil-barrel-and-a-bald-eagle grin.
“And wouldn’t ya know it… the minute ah stopped recognizin’ failure? It stopped existin’.”
He points upward, as if expecting applause from ghosts.
“You see, y’all keep tryin’ to solve failure. That’s where you go wrong. Ah didn’t solve it. Ah outlasted it. Ah confused it. Ah overwhelmed it with personality and impeccable cufflinks.”
He stands now, pacing, swagger in every brittle bone.
“Failure ain’t an event. It’s a suggestion. And ah don’t take suggestions unless they’re handed to me on a silver platter by a man wearin’ a tie worth more than a Hyundai.”
He stops, lifts a dusty Lombardi trophy with reverence.
“And that, mah friends, is how ah beat failure that day. Or at least lost track of it. Either way— Victory’s victory.”
He places the trophy back, dust rising like incense.
“Now if any o’ y’all want to use that philosophy in your own lives, you go right ahead. Just remember— Failure can’t catch ya… if YOU forget where YOU left it.”
A wink. A nod. The glow of a man absolutely convinced he just changed the laws of physics.
“Alright now… ah’ve given y’all enough wisdom for one sittin’. Ah’ll see ya next week. Assumin’ ah don’t misplace that too.”
Fade out on Jerry beaming like he just won a Super Bowl he didn’t attend.
