I think it’s safe to say that one of the worst moves the Cowboys made this year involved the defensive end position.  No, not the signing of Greg Hardy.  It was appeasing Jeremy Mincey’s training camp holdout with a $500k raise and paying him $2M for a whopping total of 19 tackles and zero sacks…

This week, the media seemed to conveniently forget that lack of production and consider Mincey a relevant and creditworthy source to rip on Greg Hardy, jumping all over quotes from a radio interview where he hints at tension in the locker room stemming from Hardy’s presence.

“I hate [that] it happened. You talk about a team that was so close knit and tight, and all of a sudden it was just different,” Mincey said.

Aww poor Jeremy.  Is that really why the team sucked this year?  Because everyone wasn’t BFFs like last year?  Tough shit bro.  You’re being paid to win, not to make new friends.

Jerry Jones brought in Charles Haley back in the day, and he was a much worse teammate than Greg Hardy.  Did the rest of the Cowboys (including Jason Garrett) respond by bitching about ‘tension in the locker room’?  Fuck no.  They synergized with that talent and won three Super Bowls.

That’s why The Playmaker wanted Hardy extended while he was still cheap back in October.  That’s why nobody important actually gave a shit when Hardy slapped a clipboard away from our dumbass special teams coach who ruined our season.  Passion for winning and pass rush ability trump locker room chemistry when you’re trying to win Super Bowls like Jerry…

Don’t believe me?  Let’s look at some excerpts on Charles Haley from the G.O.A.T. of NFL literature, Boys Will Be Boys…

He’d wrap his hand around his penis, turn toward a Joe Montana or John Taylor, and bellow, “You know you wanna suck this!” or “you only wish you had this, baby!”  Charles used to beat off in meetings while talking graphically about players’ wives,” says Michael Silver, who covered the 49ers for the Santa Rosa Press Democrat.  “It got to the point of ejaculation.”

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Haley yanked the needle from his arm, punched a hole in the wall, took a swing at coach George Seifert, and began screaming at quarterback Steve Young, who had played poorly.  “I could have fucking won that game in my sleep!” he yelled.  “You’re a motherfucking pussy faggot quarterback!  A motherfucking pussy faggot with no balls!”

Haley’s resentment toward his teammate festered throughout the season until, near year’s end, he cut a hole in the roof of Harris’s $50,000 BMW 733i convertible, stood on the top of the car, pulled down his pants, and urinated onto the steering wheel and floor.

Immediately after the game Haley stormed into the locker room, tears streaming down his cheeks.  He fumed aloud, “We’re never gonna win with this fucking rookie!”  When Jones entered, Haley picked up his helmet by the face mask and whizzed it ten feet through the air, past the owner, and through a wall.  THUD!  “You need to sign that motherfucker now!” he screamed.  The silence was deafening.  “I thought that thing was gonna kill me,” says Jones.  A bawling Haley proceeded to approach Jones, lean into his ear, and whisper, “Sign Emmitt!  I don’t care how you do it.  Cut me.  Take the money out of my check.  Just sign Emmitt!”  It was a new type of crazy for Haley, who – in a career chock-full of nutty moments – had never before whipped a helmet at the man signing his paychecks.

With the scent of alcohol wafting from his pores, Charles Haley rode his Harley-Davidson through the front door and into the eatery’s lobby.  Just days earlier Haley had thrown a world-class tantrum in the Valley Ranch training room after someone had tossed his dominoes into the garbage.  That was nothing compared with an incident from the previous training camp, when Haley approached the Pathfinder belonging to rookie linebacker Anthony McClanahan, grabbed its underbelly, and single-handedly flipped the vehicle upside down.