The two worked out together over the summer at Sanders' Prosper spread, went fishing and even taped a TV ad for an auto insurance company. In Pacman, Sanders sees himself. "I have a love for this kid that is insatiable," he says.
Pacman isn't yet a Cow-Boy Scout, but his image is quickly getting patched up. At camp he is charismatic, fun-loving and punctual. After practices he addresses the media honestly, puts his arm around Jerry Jones and signs countless autographs, often tossing his bandanna into the crowd as a sweaty souvenir.
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Cowboys owner Jerry Jones is banking that Pacman will use his superior speed and athleticism to run from opponents and not the law.
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After a blemish-free training camp, Adam "Pacman" Jones received full reinstatement to the NFL on August 28.
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In a town that forgave Owens, Josh Hamilton and Roy Tarpley (more than once), Pacman is on the road to redemption. He will team up with Dallas Maverick Brandon Bass for a celebrity beach volleyball charity event September 13 in Coppell and has already handed out 1,500 backpacks loaded with school supplies to underprivileged Fort Worth students, despite arriving home at 4 a.m. from the Denver game.
"Anything for the kids," he told reporters at the event. "In my past I always gave to the community. I've been blessed a lot. Why not try to bless someone else?"
After sitting out last season, Pacman received Goddell's blessing for partial reinstatement on June 2. In the two months since their first meeting, he had avoided so much as a parking ticket before writing a letter to the commissioner which read, in part, "I feel like I've turned a corner and I can assure you I will not repeat my mistakes."
His reward—full reinstatement—came just hours before Dallas' final preseason game.
"This is another step in the process," Pacman said in a statement released by the team. "I am very grateful for this opportunity, and I understand my responsibilities to the Dallas Cowboys and the National Football League. Right now I just want to keep working hard so I can accomplish the goals that I have set for myself both on and off the field."
This chance, however, is his last.
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Two balls on each side secured by arms and elbows—his wrists and hands working like pinball bumpers—Pacman traps the next punt between his right thigh and torso.
"One more, baby!" he says. "One more."
Five.
As Texas Stadium's curtain is lowered, the Cowboys' 2008 bar is raised back to the stadium's debut height of some 37 years ago, when a team of teasers finally won a championship, thanks in part to their own petulant star named Duane Thomas.
Wouldn't it be symmetrical for the stadium's current tenant to produce a bookend championship? And fitting, in a distorted way, for Duane Thomas to score the first touchdown in Texas Stadium and Pacman the last.
"This seems like one big circus out here," Thomas says between camp practices. "Anything's possible."
When the stadium opened in '71 the walls were gray, the static scoreboard alerted fans to information with an annoying "doiiiing!," Tommy Loy routinely trumpeted the national anthem and fans accepted Thomas' peculiar antics—pouting, brooding, year-long boycott of the media—as collateral for glory. Four decades later, the walls are blue and adorned with stars, two large video screens are affixed to the roof, country music mega-stars regularly play halftime shows and fans are prepared to accept Pacman's checkered past as collateral for glory.
Brand loyalty for the Cowboys home and its occupants—evidenced by 25,000 showing up recently for an open practice—is at an all-time high. The last season at Texas Stadium should be one of the best.
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With three balls pinned to his side by his right arm, two more trapped down the opposite side by his left arm and an incident-free week of training camp under his belt, Pacman carefully runs forward under the final punt.
"Watch this," says Phillips, part of a group of hypnotized players, coaches and fans craning to see the feat's climax. "Son of a bitch is gonna catch 'em all!"
A combination of the bulky Michelin Man and the bouncy Nastia Liukin, Pacman crouches and somehow corrals the kick in his pseudo lap, suggesting that—at least for now—he's totally committed to pouring time and energy into football, instead of his previous off-field activities.
"Not a lot of people have seen six," Jerry Jones gloats of Pacman's exploit and, perhaps, the Cowboys' Super Bowl quest. "Might've seen five, but not six. That's a pretty special deal."
Six.
