Being a card carrying member of Generation X it is the 90's Super Bowls that stand out to me rather than the ones of my Dad's 70's when it comes to the Cowboys. As a little boy in the 80's I knew they were decent, I knew Tom Landry was a God and I knew McDonald's would have a sweet team photo with the purchase of a Happy Meal. I also knew that they weren't title contenders and so I toiled between 1986 and 1989 living with the embarrassment that the glory days were over and "my team" wasn't very good. 3-13 in 88 and Landry was fired followed by 1-15 in 89 represented rock bottom. These lean years suffering alongside my dad set up how magnificent we'd both feel on that January day in 1992 when they went into Candlestick Park and won the NFC Championship game. I couldn't believe it. My team was actually going to the Super Bowl. I'll never forget my father ripping a Dallas Cowboys blanket he had tacked to a wall in his house and wrapping it around him. We ran outside and jumped up and down and hooped and hollered with that blanket. The Cowboys were great again.
Of course, they would go on to slaughter Buffalo 52-19 in Pasadena. They had an insurmountable lead at the half time. I was 18 years old and it was my senior year high school and my team was going to win the title. I vividly remember standing on my sofa in my grandma's house singing Heal The World with weirdo Michael Jackson. I was high on something no drug could provide. When the game was over that night I can remember thinking that nobody was in a bad mood in Texas at that time. Nobody would lie or steal or hurt anybody. Only good feelings must have prevailed. That was of course naive but it's how I felt. As great as it was the apex of that time was actually being with my dad the week before when we won in San Francisco. That wild banshee celebration in his front yard is what I revere the most from that time.