“I am the way into the city of woe, I am the way into eternal pain, I am the way to go among the lost.” —Dante Alighieri, Inferno, 1321
“People either love us or hate us, but the most important thing is to be relevant.” —Jerry Jones, from his helicopter, 2016
About a quarter-mile walk from AT&T Stadium, the Arlington spaceship that the Dallas Cowboys call home, the man I’d been looking for stood in a parking lot hidden beneath shoulder pads, a glittering luchador mask, leather cowboy boots, and jingling spurs. He was born Miguel, but on Sundays hardly anyone calls him that. I got blank stares when I dropped his government name as I sought him out at the pregame tailgate. Things changed for the better when I referenced his online handle, “Supercowboy.” That’s when heads started bobbing and pointer fingers signaled past a grill and a few coolers, to the masked man himself, resplendent in silver and blue uniform—save for a camo “Salute to Service” Dallas jersey.
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