Kevin Sherrington

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When Titus dedicated the great Colosseum, he didn't have to worry about reviews. Critics ended up as fodder for the next show. Athletes didn't cause problems, either. They came, they fought, they died on cue.

This is Jerry Jones' everlasting regret: He wasn't born 2,000 years ago, before sportswriters and smart aleck punters.

Instead of reveling in the spectacular debut of JerryWorld, a venue he hoped would be recognized as the most magnificent since Titus' day, he's hearing coast-to-coast catcalls for building a billion-dollar stadium and allowing it to become target practice for a backup punter.

While the NFL's competition committee and the commissioner meet to consider how it should be hung – Godzillatron, not the Cowboys' owner – Jerry adopted his traditional stance in the face of criticism:

Intractability.

On the club's flagship radio station, KRLD-FM (105.3), he remained defiant, refusing to raise the videoboard, especially if it's going to cost him millions. As usual in matters right or wrong, he veered wildly into the absurd.

He suggested that punters have to deal with all sorts of obstacles presented by Mother Nature, so what's a 160-by-53-foot gizmo looming like a dirigible nine stories over the field?

In fact, Jerry implied, the real problem here isn't structural, it's malicious intent.

To wit: Jerry believes that the Tennessee Titans' A.J. Trapasso actually meant to hit the Godzillatron.

If it's any consolation, I think he did, too.

The surprise is that Jerry didn't see any of this coming. Despite all the tests his people ran, he knew it was possible that a punter could hit the video screen. He just didn't think they would.

He should have been sitting next to me at a junior college basketball game 30 years ago. In warm-ups, a player dunked and the backboard came down around his ears. Next thing you know, players from both teams are down at the other end, hanging like moss from the rim, recklessly, gleefully attempting to duplicate the feat.

Jerry apparently didn't figure on athletes behaving so rudely. It was as if he'd invited the Titans over to the mansion for dinner and Trapasso had climbed up the china cabinet and onto the chandeliers.

Hey, Jeff Fisher: Can't you control your kid?

Of course, Jerry misses the point. You could see how he might. For all its opulence, its lavish suites and magnificent arches and $8 beers, JerryWorld essentially remains a place where men play football.

And anything that hinders them in performing their appointed tasks is a flaw, plain and simple.

Punters are pretty good at their jobs. They can hang a ball for more than four seconds. They can angle for corners. They can exert backspin like a Tiger Woods 9-iron. The great Sam Baugh, maybe the best ever, entertained college kids by punting through a gate on the opposite side of the field.

But as they worry about getting a kick away with sufficient hang time and at the right angle before an onrushing opponent swallows them up, punters shouldn't have to worry whether they might accidentally bounce one off the video equipment, thus forcing everyone to do it all over again. Their own teammates might string them up.

The fact that the NFL signed off on the dubious design beforehand is beside the point. Once it's demonstrated to be an obstacle, it should be rectified.

Unfortunately, Jerry doesn't see his duties quite so simply. He built a world-class palace, and he's not about to let some punk punter show him up.

"I'm not saying the ball won't hit sometimes up there," he told the radio station, "but it should be fine."

Yeah, sure. Maybe he could get TxDOT to post a "Low clearance" sign, too. That would really class up the joint.