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Dallas reporters are having a field day.


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These stories get more and more humorous every day.

 

"A perfect summer romance: T.O. on T.O.

 

By Jim Reeves

Star-Telegram Staff Writer

Just what Bill Parcells needed this summer...a little light reading.

 

And I do mean light.

 

Settled in with T.O. at about 10:30 Thursday night and, three hours and two pots of coffee later, had knocked it out, all 242 pages of it. Believe me, that says far less about my speed-reading ability than it does the extent of my insomnia and the fact that Terrell Owens' autobiography has lots (and lots!) of short words in it.

 

Words like "I" and "me."

 

It's a love story, of course.

 

Boy (Owens) meets boy (T.O.) and falls in love. They live happily ever after while making everyone else around them miserable.

 

That's the part that should trouble Big Bill.

 

I found the book, ghostwritten with Jason Rosenhaus (brother of T.O.'s agent Drew), at my local Wal-Mart, which apparently jumped the release date by about five days. Not that the store was making a big deal of it. I was expecting a can't-miss-this display in the middle of the center aisle. Instead, it was hidden innocuously between editions of new diet books and re-releases of The Da Vinci Code.

 

I can assure you that T.O. is far less complicated and with an easy-to-figure-out plot: Owens is always right; everyone else is always wrong.

 

If you're expecting insight, new revelations of T.O.'s stormy relationship with Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb or other juicy tidbits, you'll be sadly disappointed. This is little more than a self-serving, completely one-sided whine about how the whole world is aligned against poor T.O.

 

Nothing that happened, from the breakdown of his relationship with McNabb, to his locker-room fight with Hugh Douglas, to his suspension by the Eagles, is ever his fault. And on the rare occasion when he does admit to some culpability, he trots out the Kenny Rogers excuse: Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong, but I wouldn't have done that if people hadn't made me upset.

 

Owens won't even accept responsibility for his infamous shot at McNabb after the Eagles' Super Bowl loss to New England, the one in which he told ESPN.com's Len Pasquarelli, "I wasn't the guy who got tired in the Super Bowl."

 

In his book, Owens expresses shock to media response to that line.

 

"The next day, the papers all said I took a shot at Donovan," he [or Rosenhaus] writes. "I didn't mention Donovan's name, but they all assumed I meant Donovan [imagine that]. I talked to Len for a while and said a lot of things to him. That one last sentence was all anybody noticed. I didn't go into that conversation thinking that I was going to say something negative about Donovan. I admit that it looks that way. I admit that at the time, I was angry with Donovan, but when Len asked me if I was talking about Donovan, I would not say I meant Donovan.

 

"...I did not say, 'Donovan got tired at the Super Bowl,' nor was it my intent to do so. To understand what I meant, you have to understand how I communicate. The best way to describe it is that I operate like a sponge. I soak up what's around me and when pressed, I let out what I took in."

 

The mentality of a sponge...now that may be as close to a grain of truth as you'll find anywhere in this book, which I doubt even T.O. has read cover to cover.

 

Or as Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Phil Sheridan noted Thursday, "How many books do you think Owens has read in the last three years? Is there any chance he's read as many [two] as he's had published?"

 

Sheridan and the rest of the Philadelphia media are righteously up in arms about the book, claiming it's another Owens grenade hurled at the Eagles and their fine city, which is a bit paranoid in and of itself, but somewhat understandable. Owens is described in Sheridan's column as a "no-class, no-clue team-wrecker," a "sociopath" and a "human toxic-waste spill." And those were the nice parts.

 

I didn't find the book quite so outrageous, merely tedious, repetitive and boring.

 

How many times can you read one guy saying, "Look, I'm great and you're not" before you start yawning and heading to the kitchen for another cup of coffee?

 

But Sheridan is right about one thing. There's enough revealed in here about Owens' character, or lack thereof, that should worry the Cowboys.

 

And, at the risk of spoiling the ending, it should also worry Cowboys fans that in the final chapter, as T.O. describes his signing with the Cowboys, very little is said about Parcells' involvement. Instead, as suspected, it's all Jerry Jones.

 

"As we sat across from each other on [Jones' private] jet, I watched this self-made multimillionaire tell me that this was one of the happiest days of his career....He explained to me that he had had his share of ups and downs in his life; there were times when he first started with the Cowboys that he was vilified, and he knew what it was like to be treated like Darth Vader."

 

He will, Owens vows, try to make the Cowboys look like geniuses for signing him by leading them to the Super Bowl in Miami next February. But what makes him really happy is that his contract is for only three years, giving him another opportunity to cash in on yet one more big free-agent contract.

 

Like I said, it's a love story.

 

When T.O. says he "loves me some me," he's not kidding.

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