Ready to Blow

Unfortunately, Dallas' offensive line has more holes than Keith Davis' wardrobe. Scarier, Bledsoe's backups--Tony Romo and Drew Henson--ooze all the potential of Siegfried and Roy. If training camp's first two weeks have proved anything, it's that if Bledsoe goes down, so do the Cowboys.

Off-field drama be damned, at least we can expect eye-popping numbers from Owens on the field. Or can we?

In 18 seasons as head coach, Parcells has produced only six 1,000-yard receivers. And it's no secret he covets the style and substance of the Super Bowl XL champion Pittsburgh Steelers, who threw the fewest passes in the league.

"We've got some good skill players," Parcells says, all but latching leg irons on the T.O. Show. "But if our speed doesn't open up our running game where we can control the ball and the clock, we're not gonna win."

Tick...tick...tick...

---

Though signing former Public Enemy No. 1 may seem as traitorous as putting Robin Ventura in charge of the Nolan Ryan Museum or hiring L.H. Oswald & Associates as Dallas' public relations firm, it's not often an NFL team can steal an elite player in exchange for only cash and credibility.

But of course, the Cowboys signed the most controversial, combustible player in franchise history not because of who Owens is but rather what Owens is.

"You've seen what he can do to teams," says Glenn, the main beneficiary of Owens drawing double-coverage. "He's so big and strong and fast. He can dominate defenses all by himself."

Just as he did while emulating Hall-of-Famer Jerry Rice by wearing No. 80 at Benjamin Russell High School in Alexander City, Alabama, and at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga, Owens has embarrassed NFL defenses with his devastating combo of ferocity and fluidity. The vision of him plucking passes, shrugging tacklers or outrunning pursuers often overrides the blink reflex.

"People say this or that about T.O.," Roy Williams says. "But nobody questions his skills on the football field."

At 6-foot-3 and 225 pounds of muscles, moves and implausibly long arms--admit it, you've envied his ripped 33-year-old physique and at least once thought to yourself "steroids?"--Owens was inexplicably the 11th receiver drafted in 1996. In 10 seasons with the 49ers and Eagles, he's amassed 700 catches, 10,000 yards and 101 touchdowns, fourth-most in NFL history. He goes deep. He goes over the middle. And yeah, from time to time he goes crazy.

Owens, who will almost certainly become the Cowboys' first Pro Bowl receiver since Michael Irvin in '95, holds the league's single-game record with 20 catches. More vividly, he forced you to fling your Funyuns at the TV during his man-amongst-'Boys, three-touchdown masterpiece of a Monday Night Football game at Texas Stadium in '04, and has, if you believed the controversial pre-game promo that November night, seen Nicolette Sheridan very naked.

Even Parcells, the crotchety coach who's been designing schemes longer than Owens has been breathing, seems genuinely excited to run plays for T.O. "Only a fool wouldn't try to take advantage of the skills of a player like that," Parcells says. "Now, if you're asking me if we're changing to the West Coast offense because of him, the answer is no. But I know he'll command a lot of defensive attention. And that's a great thing for us."

Despite possessing two autobiographies and zero rings, T.O. instantly commands respect at training camp. And, no, it has nothing to do with always being fashionably just-in-time for practice, or a fashion faux pas that finds him wearing Spandex tights (who is he, Lord of the Prance?), later accessorized with a blue "Owens 81" terrycloth skirt (who is he, Axl Rose?).

During the first practice of summer, fans serenade him with "T.O.!" as he catches a touchdown in a half-speed drill, then punch up the decibels when Owens wildly waves his arms, briefly turning from Cowboy to conductor. Like him or not, he's a special talent afforded special treatment.

You can see it in pass-catching drills when passing game coordinator Todd Haley chides young receivers J.R. Tolver ("C'mon J.R.!") and Miles Austin ("C'mon Miles!) then falls on his sword when Owens makes an identical drop ("Bad throw. My bad."). You can hear it when Owens sits out seven consecutive days of practice with a twinge in his left hammy and nobody as much as clears their throat. This is the same organization, remember, that once designated an "asthma field" for wimps and the same coach, remember, who indirectly-directly guilted Julius Jones into staying on the field with a broken shoulder in '04.

Owens has--small steps--made it to August without being suspended. He even threw a barbecue bash last weekend attended by teammates, staff and actress Sanaa Lathan. But, because of his injury, he's spent more time in Oxnard pedaling a stationary bike than catching footballs. And--a slap in the face to Dallas' medical staff--he's flying in three of his personal doctors and a hyperbaric chamber to accelerate his healing.

"I have to do what's best for me regardless of what anybody thinks," Owens tells the media after Monday's practice.

Other than a subtle, slump-shouldered sulk or two after a misconnection with Bledsoe, Owens had been so far, so good. When the team's charter landed at nearby Point Mugu Naval Air Station, Owens, who had clearance to arrive on his own, was on the runway waving like a giddy son anticipating the return of Daddy.