Airing it out

He may be. Dent has always been known in the sports business as a good writer and reporter. But during the last few years, he has jumped from here to there, using up goodwill and work options. As a favor, retired Cowboys great Randy White in 1994 had Dent write his speech for his induction into the Football Hall of Fame. He knew Dent could still write--and needed the work.

By then, Dent didn't have many people willing to do him favors. "I lost some friends in the last three or four years," he acknowledges. "I am still going through the process of recovering those friendships."

He still drinks, but not like he did during those three or four bad years. He went nine months without a paycheck and was borrowing money from friends and his dad. He was driving that big boat car after years in a Volvo 940. He won't have good credit again for a long time. When he couldn't find steady work, Dent spent a lot of time drinking and gambling.

Last October, he got divorced, signed the contract to write the book, and went to Gamblers Anonymous. It wasn't a minute too soon.

For three or four years, Dent was capable of a mean drunk. I grew to dislike him a lot, before finally feeling compassion for someone I realized was having a damn hard time.

Today, Dent looks like he always did, only better. Happy and often smiling, he seems to have metamorphosed back into a genuinely kind man. "My life got so low I decided I'd straighten everything out at once," Dent says. "I was out of options."

Dent speaks freely about this period of hateful, irresponsible behavior and hard luck. He knows full well Jerry may throw all of that right at him. "Fine," says Dent, patting his much-trimmer chest. Jones can slap a Nike swoosh right across his butt for all Dent seems to care.

The last time Dent ever spoke to Jones was during an accidental meeting at Memphis, a North Dallas nightspot, about three weeks ago.

Dent turned around to see Jerry and an attractive young companion next to him at the bar.

"Jerry was plowed," he says. "But if you say that I said Jerry was plowed, then you have to say that I had a few too."

Dent had a few too.
Jones turned to Dent. "Jimmy, is the damn book done?" Jones asked.
"The damn book is done," Dent replied.

Jerry lifted his hands heavenward like an Arkansas tent revivalist, eyeballs toward the Lord.

"What the fuck," said the owner of the NFL's most sainted franchise. Then Jerry Jones turned to his companion: "Darlin', do you want to dance?