Sports As Salvation: The Richard Jensen Story

For anyone out there who has struggled or is struggling with an addiction or some other compulsive, self-destructive behavior, there IS hope, no matter how deep the hole may have been dug. In fact, for most sports fans it is where it has always been; remarkably close to home, so to speak.

In the sports themselves.

Anyone who has ever played a competitive team sport will remember the lessons learned through things like belief, preparation, effort, perserverance and teamwork. Sports teach discipline and commitment. They build work ethics and character. They are such perfect metaphors for Life, in fact, that they even show us how to deal with the inevitable failures and disappointments we all will encounter on our journeys. Perhaps the most important message they convey is that failing is nothing to be ashamed of; everyone's done it.

It's what you do after failing that will make or break you.

The National Footsie-Ball League?

Let the reader beware: in my extended absence from this forum I have become so like a grouchy old man that I am now nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. This piece will therefore be chock-full of crochety, traditional, hidebound looks to the glorious past (when men were men and women were there for the men)...I kid, ladies. I kid.

But only a little.

I'm not sure when exactly it happened, this age thing...but suddenly one recent day I looked in the mirror and saw a person I didn't much recognize. Instead of me staring back there was this guy more than a little curmudgeonly. Some pseudo-AARP more than a little set in his ways, and that more than a little too soon.

I'm not happy about it, but such is life. Ever the opportunist, I intend to synergize what's left of my youthful enthusiasm and open-mindedness with my newly emerging, ever growing cynicism and irascibility. I don't know about any of you readers, but I'm more than a little afraid of what might come of this unlikely pairing -- but damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead, as my generation used to say...

Last warning: DANGER - NARROW-MINDS AHEAD. PROCEED WITH TACTFUL CAUTION. Let no readers who brave this entire piece later claim I did not give sufficient notice. While there may never be much of a rational explanation for these particular peeves of mine, as outlined below -- at least I can admit that much.

It's an exceedingly small victory, but I'll take them where I can get 'em.

Without further ado, here's what has my knickers in a knot. Roughly two-and-a-half weeks ago the NFL held it's annual spring meeting in Dana Point CA. While this particular gathering is less about actual business than it is about creating the preseason groundswell of excitement scant weeks before each season's draft and beyond, there are a couple of pretty significant items on the agenda every year. One of them is the meeting of the league's Rules Committee, which as it's name implies legislates all new rules or addendums to existing rules.

These are the guys who decide when and where the popcorn will fly. That is, they write the rule book; take that a step further and they more than anything else shape the game into not only what it is now but also what it will become. They do this by changing the rules, which subsequently changes the way the game is played.

Change is inevitable; it is, ironically, an unalterable fact of life. No matter who you are or what you do, you will face changes. Furthermore, each time you do, every time you adapt to your fluid circumstances...changes you. There is a saying that it is not the destination in Life but the journey that matters. We all experience that to some degree. Here endeth the cribbed version of Basic Life Philosophy 101, and my point is this: change is a necessary function of life. As such, I accept it because I must -- not necessarily because I want to. At times, when the pressure of mounting change and other factors becomes too heavy, I do what everybody does at some point. I look for an escape -- a brief respite from my daily reality.

That's where sports come in.

One of the many reasons so many sports have always been a big part of my life is that they exist outside of the mundane. From merely watching the Super Bowl to playing in the Saturday afternoon pickup hoops at my local rec center, my favorite sports have almost nothing in common with my 'regular' routine. When major upheavals have threatened to crack the bedrock of my entire values and belief system, sports have remained constant -- a familiar lighthouse beacon glimpsed through the raging storm. And it has always been thus.

Until now, that is.

On March 25th, with the announcement of it's four new 'safety rules' that go into effect in 2009, the NFL Rules Committee reminded me that not even sports is safe from change. And from where I'm standing it's not even good change. Nor has it just begun. The NFLRC has actually been making some fairly radical changes to the very structure of the game for some years now -- but they've done so in small increments which have probably flown under more than just my radar for this long. Their latest overprotective attempts to remake the game got my attention at last; while I know I could not have done aught but watch no matter when I realized what was happening, in this case the comprehension is much better late than not at all. Finally seeing what the owners plan to do to this game I love, what they will do in their own sweet time without any opposition, has helped me sharpen my memories of the game the way it should be played.

The way it once was played.

For those who have just moved out of their Tibetan cave back to the bright lights of the big city and may not have heard, the four new rules, along with one addition to an existing rule, are as follows:

* The initial force of a blindside block cannot be delivered by a helmet, forearm or shoulder to an opponents neck. (big toes, ring fingers and funny bones, however, can actually be used to beat on an opponents helmet like it was a set of drums...)

* Initial contact to the head of a 'defenseless' receiver will be unsportsmanlike, and also 15 yards. (at present it is unclear whether defenseless refers to someone like TO and his off-field antics, OR a pass-catcher whose body position leaves him vulnerable on a given play...)

* On kickoffs, no blocking wedge of more than two players (!?!) will be allowed. (3 or more will be considered within the rules but only if the additional 'wedgies' tap their two teammates on the shoulder and properly cut-in beforehand...)

* Also on kickoffs, no kicking team can have more than five players bunched together pursuing an onside kick. (Either it scares the ball way too much or the NFL is concerned about increased loitering amongst its players...)

* Lastly, any defender knocked to the ground may not lunge into the QB from that low position: in short order this will be known simply as The Brady Rule.(Again, it is presently unclear whether such players must sit in 'time-out' until the play ends, thinking about what they had done, or if it will be legal for them to crab-walk their scurrilous way off the field...)

Apparently -- judging by their 'safety' measures -- NFL owners believe that football would be an Even Better Sport without all that hitting and contact between players. Once that's gone this game will be perfect. Well, at the very least their profit margins will be perfect; without contact there's virtually no chance of injuries to their star players...meaning they fill ALL the seats, ALL the time. Brilliant!

Little did I realize over fourteen years as a football player that I was in effect reinforcing a very bad and wrong habit every single time I hit an opponent during a play. It's no wonder in my case sports built no character -- when you're playing the wrong way, how could it be otherwise?

Give me a break. Figuratively or literally, I don't care. Any break will do -- the more violent the better. Has this game, the most exciting, the best sport there is, really come to this? They were a little ahead of my time, but I remember reading about players with names like Night Train Lane and the Mad Stork. Players who thrived on units named the Doomsday Defense, or the Purple People Eaters, or the Fearsome Foursome. Players who used to LIVE for Sundays in the fall when they could line up and literally knock the snot and anything else that was loose clean out of the guy across the line of scrimmage from them.

Possibly more than anything else that violence, that controlled warfare and aggression, hooked me line and sinker as both a player and a fan who idolized those talented enough to do what I would have given anything to be able to do -- which was play on Sundays. I was instantly smitten and have never looked back or thought twice about it. Quite frankly, I should have no reason to. No reason outside a bunch of bean-counting rich brats and their incessant tinkering anyway. The sport is nearly perfect in every way; even the uniforms -- with the possible exception of hockey the most extensive in all of sport -- seem, I dunno, natural. I kid you not, if I could go to work wearing a helmet with a bitchin', menacing facemask obscuring part or all of my face...you bet I would. In a hot second. You put that sucker on and you're ready for anything, which not coincidentally [paging all NFL owners] could and sometimes did happen on a gridiron.

It's a crazy, unpredictable game, and sometimes people get hurt. On a few (thankfully rare) occasions people have even died. That's the way it is. It's part of the mythology of the game, and goes a long way toward explaining it's spellbinding hold on millions of us out there who are as addicted to it as drug addicts are to methamphetamine. Why would anyone in their right mind want to dick with that? I'm not 100% sure, but I can make an educated GUE$$ -

It seems nothing is sacred, unless it be the Almighty Dollar. Call me old and addled; a worn out dog who can't be taught new tricks -- but that's the message I'm hearing with every new, supposedly 'safe' change to this game.

How about you? What do you think of this kinder, gentler NFL? Most importantly, do you believe these rules are in place to protect the players, or those who have a substantial investment in them?

For me, the answers to those questions are as obvious as a yellow, popcorn-filled hankie thrown onto the field.

A Grimm Fairy Tale

Yesterday the Pro Football Hall of Fame announced it's class of 2009 inductees. It is a strong class that includes such luminaries as Bruce Smith, Derrick Thomas and Bob Hayes, among others. What this group does not have, however, is a player who spent either all or a fairly significant part of his playing career in D.C. Outside of Smith, no one in this new class so much as played one single snap for the Burgundy and Gold.

Once again, no Hogs made the final list.

Once again, Joey T., Gary Clark and Ken Harvey were deemed unworthy.

For one more year, at least, Mssrs. Grimm, Jacoby, Lachey, May, Theismann, Clark and Harvey are on the outside looking in. For one more year each of these worthy candidates must wait a little longer in hopes of making it into the NFL'a most exclusive fraternity. For one more year these former Redskins must look in their mirrors and ask the question, "was it all enough? Did I do enough?"

Nevermind their combined fourteen Super Bowl rings. Put aside their 21 overall Pro Bowl selections. Throw out their ten total 1st Team All-Pro nominations. Completely discount their eighty cumulative seasons of playing the most physically arduous sport at very high levels in the toughest league there is.

Take away all those accolades, throw them all out the window...and each one of those men deserves a place amongst their legendary peers anyway. Period. No ifs, ands or buts.

In a perfect world, anyway.

I'm not blind; as loyal as I am to all current and former Redskins players, alive or dead, I still realize that some of those names are more deserving of a bust than others. In all honesty, a couple of them should consider themselves fortunate to have even made a HOF ballot, much less make the Hall itself. And two in particular, former linemates Grimm and Jacoby, should by all rights, by anyone's criteria, have already been voted in.

That those two original Hogs are deserving is not the question.

Whether they ever receive their due is.

Sadly, if they haven't by now they most likely will not. Every year they are left out, every year more players become eligible, lessens their chances that much more. The farther we get from their glory days on the field, the less great they seem to the voters they must depend on. In a world full of injustices and unnecessary hardships this sits way, way down on the list of That Which Should Not Be...but it is a travesty nonetheless.

Grimm, drafted in the 3rd round in 1981, played center at Pitt, but in his rookie training camp was moved to left guard, where he immediately became a powerful fixture. He, along with Jacoby and fellow linemates May, George Starke and Jeff Bostic, became known as The Hogs, and rapidly cemented their reputation as one of if not the finest offensive line in the entire NFL. In a career that spanned 11 years and 140 games, Big Russ started five NFC Championship Games, four Super Bowls (winning 3), appeared in 4 consecutive Pro Bowls, and was named 1st team All-Pro four times. A punishing blocker, he was named to the all-80's team as one of the best players of that decade. Most important, perhaps, he came to be known as the Redskins' answer to the Cowboys and Randy White; in his prime he more than held his own against our hated rivals vaunted defense, led by their most intimidating player.

Jacoby wasn't even drafted -- by any team -- coming out of Louisville the same year, 1981. He was signed to a free agent contract by the Redskins and in no time at all had become their starting left tackle. He would hold that position for the next 13 years and 170 games, during which time he started 19 playoff games, tied for 21st all-time. He too was named to four consecutive Pro Bowls, and named 1st team All-Pro four straight seasons. As with Grimm, he was named to the NFL's all-80's team, and was named one of the 70 Greatest Redskins after retiring. He was one of the lynch pins of a dominating line that paved the way for a series of 'Skins running backs, from John Riggins to Timmy Smith through Kelvin Bryant to Earnest Byner, one of the key components of the virtually unstoppable ground game that symbolized the Gibbs' Super Bowl-winning juggernauts of that era.

Both of these men had long, excellent careers. Both garnered the highest individual and team honors a player can receive. Both men's stats and bodies of work compare quite well with all but a few of their brethren who already sit in the Hall. Both have poured several lifetimes worth of blood, sweat and tears into the effort that should have more than earned them their place in that august assembly.

Yet both are still waiting -- in all likelihood a little less hopeful with each passing year and subsequent HOF snub.

What, pray tell, is the freaking problem?

I'm just a passionate observer, as outside this process as I could possibly be, so I can only speculate here...but my best educated guess goes something like this.

In the modern era (post 1946) 34 offensive linemen have been inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame. That's roughly one every other year. In contrast, 23 QB's and 25 RB's (half- or full) have gone in in the same period. Consider that there's only one of the former starting for any given team, and at most two of the latter, compared with five O-linemen on each team...and you begin to grasp just how weighted the ballots are with regards to the unglamorous trenches of the gridirion. There's never been an official document concerning this, but you can bet your bottom dollar in the back rooms and power dealings of the NFL the prevailing opinion goes more or less like this: all those pilgrims to the Holy See in Ohio each and every year are not there to see and hear about some half-remembered blocker for the glitterati like Brown, Simpson, Sanders, et al -- therefore why go crazy selecting no-names and cluttering up the hallowed Hall with 'em?

Or to put it another way: how many offensive -- or defensive, for that matter -- linemen have won the Heisman Trophy in the last 40 years as opposed to how many QB's, RB's or WR's? There you go.

Long before football supplanted baseball as the biggest and most-watched sport in all of America the league placed a much higher premium on the entertainment value of its product, i.e. it's high-profile, exciting stars, than it did on the unsung working-stiff brutes who labored on their behalf. Touchdowns sell tickets; cross-blocks, traps and pulling guards...not so much.

Even so, the fact that to date not one single Hog -- not a single member of one of the most overpowering units in the history of the game -- has made it to Canton is more than just wrong. It's a fundamentally flawed approach to not only how the game is truly played but also how the league and the fans choose to remember those who played it better than the rest. These are the Hogs we're talking about here. Gibbs version of Coryell's one-back, power running game complemented in deadly fashion by a vertical passing attack that was a threat to swallow up to an entire field in one single play, at any time in any game, revolutionized the NFL. His offense became the prototype for a lot of teams attacks, and the single biggest cause of that entire strategic shift, far and away the largest part of the imitation that was the sincerest form of flattery for Gibbs' prolific offenses, was his offensive line.

The Hogs changed the game in the trenches every bit as radically and fundamentally as the Purple People Eaters of Carl Eller, Jim Marshall, Allen Page and Gary Larsen did with defensive lines, and the Steel Curtain of Mean Joe Greene, LC Greenwood, Dwight White and Ernie Holmes did after that. Plays like 70 Chip and 50 Gut became a part of every team's repertoire, though no one else ran them as flawlessly and implacably as did the 'Skins -- specifically, the Hogs.

I don't care who your team is or what kind of fan you are, if you're honest with yourself and know the game even a little you know that's a stone cold fact.

How is it that not one of that dynamic, domineering unit is immortalized in the Hall? Not one.

Here's how. Pro football's HOF balloting process has become a ridiculous joke, a tragic, maudlin charicature of it's original, intended self. More and more these days the selection process resembles one of those cheesy high school proms we all remember where the king and queen were chosen for reasons that had nothing to do with the criteria that should have mattered, and everything to do with shallow vanity and inordinately puffed-up egos out of all proportion to the circumstances. While I might have fantasized about being named king of one of my proms back then, today I thank my lucky stars I didn't have to sell my soul or whatever equivalent it would have taken to pull that off. Unlike some I knew, at least my integrity graduated with me, whole and intact.

The Board of Selectors of the NFL HOF have become no better than the worst of those superficial, image-conscious cliques from our juvenile, less principled pasts. With the sole exception of the Pro Football Writer's of America delegate, who serves a two year term per appointment, the rest of the 44-person group sit in open-ended seats. In plain English, once he or she is made a member of the Board there are very few ways that individual can ever lose that membership.

That bears repeating: once appointed to the board a member can expect to remain a voting part of the selection process until such time as said member no longer wants to, or death...whichever happens to come first.

I honestly couldn't tell you what the rationale for this lifetime of privilege was, but I can tell you what it really is: a very small, extremely snobby good ole boys club. As with all such fraternities, by and large the membership thinks very highly of it's supposed expertise -- which by the way exists only in their collective self-esteem -- so much so that they are as hidebound, as dogmatic, as idealogically inflexible as a bible-thumping Southern Baptist octogenarian, a lifelong card-carrying member of the Moral Majority who just knows that everyone who disagrees with him is going straight to hell because for damn sure he ain't. What's more, many of these loosely described "experts" often go out of their way to wage propoganda campaigns against certain players they don't like, trying as hard as they can for as long as they can to keep certain players out of the Hall forever.

Case in point: Paul Zimmerman's virulent, irrational maneuvering to keep Art Monk -- one of the most deserving HOF'ers I've ever seen, Redskin or no -- out of Canton no matter what (a policy that for far too many years worked better than it ever should have).

More often than not their antipathy can be traced back to some long-ago personality clash or perceived snub by the player in question, and has little or nothing to do with any honest assessment of that players' skills and/or career achievements. Color me incredulous but isn't that kind of malicious, petty b.s. the absolute last thing that people who decide who to bestow pro football's highest honor on should indulge in?

Is it too much to ask of these powers-that-be that they are at least able to put personal feelings aside, if not on a regular basis THEN AT LEAST WHEN IT COMES TIME TO SUBMIT THEIR BALLOTS?

Wouldn't those inducted feel even better about their admission if those who decided they were worthy of it based their decision solely on each player's play rather than his way? Shouldn't HOF-caliber players be picked because their skill speaks for their greatness, not for their great, endlessly self-promoting speaking skill? (see Irvin, Michael J) Since when are the best of the best, the greatest of the greats, passed or failed on the say-so of this arbitrarily assembled group of people who for the most part are as pedestrian and mediocre as those they sit in judgment of are singularly, uniquely gifted?

What in the heck is wrong with that picture?

And at what point does this absurdly lopsided farce cease to be reality and revert back to it's rightful Fractured Fairy Tale existence? I for one would like to know.

So, I'm guessing, would guys like Joe Jacoby and Big Russ Grimm -

Final Thoughts 2008

Well, two days after what started as a minor opinion piece but soon became something much different (not to mention bigger), I've mustered the finalists for the moments that were the '08 Redskins. I would like to thank those of my fellow Redskins message board members/fans who generously gave their time and opinions in commenting on the subject, without which I would still be hopelessly stuck in neutral.

At least more so than usual.

Considering the final standings and the current state of the squad, which I touched on earlier, coupled with the contrast in the start vs. the finish, this season was one of extreme highs and lows. Their stunning and unexpected early success was mirrored by their subsequent, dreaded second half stuggles. The stretch run's growing futility and dwindling hope was relieved only by short, infrequent periods of so-so. Not bad, mind you -- just not the sort of things likely to be remembered, with the power to fire you up years after the fact.

Watching all this who among us was not carried through the entire gamut of emotions? As such no one, two or even three single moments will be equal to the task of summarizing their latest campaign. I've boiled down what for me are the ten lasting, defining images of this season, and why I chose them. As you no doubt can imagine, some are good, while others are -- ah, let's just get to it.

In chronological order, they are as follows:

1) Jason Campbell sidestepping an onrushing Saints lineman, then uncorking a beautiful bomb to a streaking Santana Moss for the winning TD in week 2. A comeback win against a quality team, one that showed us this was our guy behind center and on the sidelines. Bittersweet, poignant tribute by 'Tana as he stood in the endzone, head down, arm outstretched, saluting his fallen brother ST...followed shortly thereafter by ARE caught up in the moment, playing leapfrog like a schoolkid. The classic feel-good play.

2) Chris Horton's pick against Dallas, week 4. Just the thing to quell the old nagging doubts that somehow the 'Skins would find a way to lose the game, as they'd done so many times since the glory days. One heck of a way for the rookie to introduce himself not only to us, but the league itself.

3) Pete Kendall fumbling against the Rams, week 6. In a game that was the first time things just didn't feel right, that play stood out above all; cruel Fate at her capricious worst. There we were, comfortably en route to the expected win, when WHAM! -- hey, check it out! l call this play "incredible, crushing fluke." Whaddya think? Uh.......

4) Clinton Portis fumbling against the Browns, week 7. Quintessential post-dynasty Redskins: never a dull moment. Having slowly, inexorably choked nearly the last breath out of a team that they should, the long-awaited foregone conclusion was in our sights...then our workhorse RB picks that play to lay the rock on the ground. Boom. New life for them, newly bitten fingernails for all of Redskins Nation. A not so subtle indication that this season would be nip and tuck all the way.

5) Santana Moss' punt return TD against the Lions, week 8. The specials teams big play excitement we were starving for. Coming on the heels of his earlier long TD pass, it teased us with the potential for offensive fireworks that were always right around the corner, but never really materialized. One constant remained in this game, however; the outcome was in doubt until the very end.

6) Rock Cartwright's attempt to down a punt against the Steelers, week 9. Big game, and a Monday Night showcase to boot. Everything going right to that point, leading 6-0, a good but not great vibe. When he inexplicably caused a ball that was already at rest to follow him into the endzone, a chance to pin 'em deep and take the game over completely was gone. As was the vibe, then the lead, and ultimately any chance of winning.

CORRECTIONS: #6 above is listed as the wrong game. The play actually occurred during the Cowboys game in week 11. Thanks to hail2skins of ExtremeSkins for the tip.

7) Same game: Down 16-6 and outplayed most of the game, the 'Skins were about to make a show of it after all, when JC gets picked by a DB, who then fumbles, but recovers the ball to kill the drive and rip away any momentum we thought we had. Still a quarter and a half to play, but Game Over. A reminder that this edition of the Burgundy and Gold, like so many others, seemed to be either cursed or snake-bitten. Or both.

8) A four play series against the Seahawks, week 12. Late in the 4th, nursing a 3-pt lead, Zorn turned to old reliable CP, who responded with consecutive runs of 9, 11 and 2o yards. In a heartbeat they were in Seattle territory and things looked good. On the very next play Ladell Betts fumbled while spelling Portis. One carry almost turned out to be one too many. Fortunately they won anyway, but those four plays also symbolize the theme for '08 -- two steps forward, one step back.

9) DeAngelo Hall's fumble recovery against the Ravens, week 14. A new concept: a big-name acquisition who actually produces the goods. His second turnover since he arrived led to a quick TD and we were back in business. Now if the defense could...just...hold 'em....sigh. Perfect illustration of how this year the 'Skins were never quite going to get over the hill. So close, and yet so goddamn far.

10) The final play was the final play at home against the Eagles, week 16. A superb defensive effort seemed as if it might go for naught when Donovan McNabb drove Philly from their own 9 all the way down the field in the last 3 + minutes of regulation. With seconds left he found Reggie Brown at the goal-line for a 17 yard completion. Problem was, the endzone was 18 yards away. Fred Smoot and Laron Landry combined on the hit that kept the receiver from crossing the plane by mere inches, and time expired before another play could be run. As a lifelong fan I was all too familiar with how I felt right then; euphoric, amazed, and exhausted by the drama.

There they are, folks. My year in review. About half are good, the other half are not, and a couple are actually a little bit of both. Two themes run throughout: great expectations (which in some cases were better than met; they were exceeded) and helpless frustration. Looking at the list as objectively as I can -- which is to say not much at all -- I truly believe that we saw more of the former than we have in a good long while, even taking into account the second Gibbs regime.

That's encouraging to me. It means we might be on the right track again, with an eye for the future plural instead of the future next season only. I could certainly wish for more proud, inspired highlights from any particular season of Redskins football, but it's all good. There's always next year.

And if that fails, there's always the year after that. Hail.

The Waiting -

As I sat down to write my first entry of 2009 and my first piece in this space in over three weeks, I reached for my moment of Zen: that single shining moment that more than any other encapsulated the Washington Redskins 2008 season.

A few scant moments later I began to realize there wasn't one.

I suppose that's somewhat to be expected; I am nothing if not introspective and self-analytical, in truth counter-productively so... but my mind's eye always seems unable or perhaps unwilling to truly dissect those things about which I have always been passionate. I am grateful for that. As Nietzsche himself said in his treatise Human, all too Human, "people who comprehend a thing to its very depths rarely stay faithful to it forever. For they have brought its depths into the light of day: and in the depths there is always much that is unpleasant to see." In lay terms, familiarity breeds contempt.

I've gone over this very thing in this space before, so I won't rehash it now. Suffice it to say that I'm reasonably sure I won't someday unexpectedly gain some heretofore unheard of understanding of my beloved 'Skins, thereby stripping them of their mythical status in my mind forever.

Reasonably. But I digress -

As I was saying, when I sat down and attempted to pick out that single moment in time which summed up this season, that single instance which more than anything else typified the 'o8 Redskins...I drew a blank. Nothing came to mind.

And you know what? The more I thought about it, the more it made perfect sense.

It's simple, really. Winners and champions are often described in the briefest terms possible, with words like masterful, dominant, unsurpassed, destined, and lesser adjectives like heart, character, poise, and composure thrown in for a little flavoring. Their seasons can be boiled down in much the same way: watershed moments, do-or-die plays that were going to either make 'em or break 'em. I've long believed that some of the most forgiving jobs in the world are those of the contributors to these "Championship Season" yearbooks and highlight dvd's that become available for purchase scant weeks after a team becomes world champs. How can one go wrong with the content? Let's face it: when one of your teams wins the whole shebang, anything and everything becomes not only the fondest of memories, but also played a vital role in the team's post-season run.

[Riiight. That mid-season game when the Gatorade was unknowingly spiked with a whole elementary school's supply of dental fluoride pills was critical to the team's metamorphosis. They wouldn't have been champs without 'em.]

Mediocre, average teams, on the other hand -- say, this year's 'Skins for example -- tend to be a lot harder to neatly characterize. Conversely, recognizing the true defining moments of a humdrum season -- like this one, for instance -- becomes much more of a chore. They are there; pinning them down usually involves sifting through a heck of a lot of train wrecks you'd rather forget, however. This Washington team, like nearly every team since the 3rd and last of those glorious Lombardi Trophies was garnered an unbelievable seventeen years ago, is a muddled mass of fix-it to do's and problem spots, sprinkled here and there with the occasional surprise and feel-good story for good measure.

In case you're wondering, I'm still working on it. Stay tuned. You'll be the first to know -

Dear Santa

Dear Santa -

I've been a very -- who am I kidding; you see all, you know all -- okay, I've been a reasonably good boy this year. I only shot BB's at the neighbor's cat two or three times, I swear I wasn't actually doing 80 in that 55 mph zone like the highway patrolman said, and I still manage to find time to mow my Grandma's lawns every two weeks. That should be good for something besides coal in the stocking, wouldn't you say?

Good. Here's the deal -

You know how I am about my Redskins, right? I mean, they're IT for me. I understand that I'm not going to see a fourth Lombardi under the tree at Redskins Park this year, and that's okay. Soon, I hope...but for now, I understand. Hey, you've pretty much got your hands full this time of year, so let's just put that on the back burner. Since we're talking Burgundy and Gold, however, there are a couple things you could get me.

I'll even throw in an extra plate of cookies and a pitcher of milk to sweeten the deal.

First things first. I would like the same head coach next year. As far as I'm concerned, he's working off a set of blueprints he didn't design. I know construction, and believe me, that ain't always easy to do. I say give him at least another year to bring in some players he wants, and let's see what happens. If he fails, there should still be a few big names out there that Dan Snyder can throw sums the equal of small countries' GNP at to come and coach this team. Every year there are a few out there, right? So we should give the man at least one more chance to show his stuff, I think.

Second, and this should be near and dear to your heart, you big rolly-polly. LINEMEN. Thunderbutts. The Big Uglies. Be they defensive, offensive, American, Canadian, democratic or communist, so long as they can line up and knock the snot out of whoever is across from them I don't care. They'll do. If you've watched any of our games this year, Kris, then you already know our interiors are as poorly crafted as Wal-Mart furniture. They just won't hold up under any kind of strain. It would be nice to see some fresh, hungry, mean young faces wearing indian head helmets next year in training camp. I mean seriously cool.

Even better than that Planet of the Apes tower you gave me when I was 11.

Lastly, big guy (I know I'm just one of many so I'm keeping this short), I would like Joe Gibbs to return to the fold. Hold on, wait a sec -- I know you don't work miracles. You're powers aren't infinite. I just want Joe to maybe be an informal advisor, sort of how Bill Walsh came back to the 49'ers as a "consultant" years after he stepped down as coach. Lord knows Jim Zorn could use all the help he can get right now. Who better to not only whisper in his ear, but also patch up any friction between he and his star players, than the Legend? I know I'm being selfish here. Joe Gibbs has already given more to this great organization than just about anyone else, alive or dead; he has his family and NASCAR to keep him busy, and let's face it -- the man doesn't have all that much time left. But if you could, Nick, maybe you could arrange for him to help steer this train back onto the tracks, just one more time.

Well, that's it. I've taken enough of your time. Thanks in advance for everything I do get, Santa. I say it every year, but you're the greatest.

Oh, and watch out when you come down the chimney this year. I still haven't repaired that flue.


Yours Truly,

BigRedskinDaddy

Eeny Meeny Miney MO!

Well, friends, here we are. The stretch run. The playoff push. Crunch time. With three weeks remaining in the 2008 regular season, the Redskins stand at 7-6. The fact that they are last in their division and ninth in the conference wouldn't be so disturbing in and of itself, were it not for the fact they have gone 1-4 since starting the first half of the season with an impressive 6-2 record.

Clearly, things are not rosy in D.C.

Coming off the heels of their latest defeat, yet another manhandling by a more physical, more determined, more intense team, the rumor mill has kicked into high gear. Rookie Head Coach Jim Zorn may have lost the team. His job may depend on winning out this year. The defense may be pointing fingers at the shadowy, insubstantial ghost of a unit that is the offense. Daniel Snyder's cell phone LUDS might reveal a stalker-like obsession with Bill Cowher, erstwhile prodigal son Gregg Williams, or both...

The list goes on and on. And on and on.

This should come as no surprise; the only thing standing between the team and a "world is ending" five-game losing streak is a win against the woeful Seahawks 3 games ago in the 'Skins home away from home, otherwise known as anyplace but FedEx. It has almost become an annual event in Washington, this November swoon. Just as summer yields to fall, and the leaves change their colors, the Burgundy and Gold invariably charge full speed into the wall that is Thanksgiving month. Sometimes, they bounce off it like a steroid crazed Tasmanian devil, then spin cyclone-like into the playoffs. Other times, they land on the seat of their pants, and there they stay.

Which course will this season take? I don't know. I can only hope.

I know this much. This next game, against the hapless Bengals, could not possibly have come at a better time. We should all say thank you to the NFL gods for this particular bit of good luck. Next to the Lions, Cincinnati is the football version of NyQuil -- the coughing, sneezing, stuffy-head so you can get back on a winning streak medicine. In sports, perhaps more so than in anything else, momentum plays a vital role. Once generated, it tends to snowball and feed on itself; once lost, it leaves behind an inertia that is very difficult to overcome. If this squad is to have any hope of righting itself, as the late great Elvis Presley once crooned, it's now or never.

With that in mind, here follows a list of some things I would like to see this Sunday.

1. Creativity. As DeForrest "Bones" Kelley used to say, damnit Jim. I think your secret's out. Portis left, Portis right, JC pass, then punt just isn't getting it done anymore. At least not out of the usual 3 WR sets you love, it isn't. You want to establish the run? Fine. Let's mix things up a little. There's a fine blocking TE, more of a Tackle-lite really, on your roster. Guy by the name of Todd Yoder. You don't want to throw to him, okay. At least put him to use on the other side of Cpt. Chaos and let him slog in the mud a little. With the injuries and age of this offensive line a little heavy jumbo type action couldn't hurt.

Or perhaps, and call me addled here, just maybe we don't run at all on first down. Remember the quick slant? Bunch formations? Rub routes? I know, they're not the bubble screens and 5 to 10 yard in/out routes you seem to be madly in love with, but they might work nonetheless. I don't know if you've noticed, but we the fans sure as hell have: defenses are loading up the box like UPS trucks at Christmas to stop the inevitable running plays. And since we can't seem to provide a pocket that will hold up long enough for a five, much less a seven step drop, quick hitters like those could be just the thing.

2. Speaking of pockets, the offensive line wasn't exactly a juggernaut before Chris Samuels and Jon Jansen left the game against the Ravens. I'm not sure Devin Clark will make matters much better. I realize it's late in the year, and much is at stake, but this is still a great time to find out what Rino can do. Put Stephon Heyer at LT since he's the best pass pro lineman you have left, and stick Chad in on the other side. He played T in college, albeit on the left side. He's apparently being groomed to replace Kendall or Thomas at some point, but for now I have to think he's a better option than Justin Geisinger out there on that island. If he doesn't work out, you throw Fabini in there. Just once this season I'd like to see Jason walk off the field after a game having never touched the turf with anything other than his cleats.

Whether or not Jansen can go is now irrelevant. Jon, I love ya for what you've given to this team, but we need to call it a day. Have a seat, big guy. We'll let you know when we need you.

3. While we're on the subject of rookies, may I suggest actively involving Mssrs. Thomas and Kelly? I mean really getting them touches. I don't know but that it can't be that hard to draw up 3 or 4 routes they can run this week. Maybe more than once. After all, you don't seem shy about repetition. They're both big, fast and pose matchup problems out there, so throw them the ball. Let the kids play, coach. Let 'em play. By now it's painfully apparent that ARE frightens no one as the #2, and James Thrash might as well be taping ankles in the locker room for all the impact he's had on the field...so go for it. Albert Einstein once said, "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

You're not crazy, are you? I didn't think so.

4. A spark. Something needs to happen for this team to get fired up again. What better way to do that than a quick TD, say on special teams? I'm not sure what exactly ails our punt return teams, but whether it's the blocking or something entirely different, the aforementioned Randel-El obviously can't overcome it. Remember when Tana broke one against the Lions? That TD that proved to be the difference in the game? Well...let him try it again. If his strained hamstring is too much at risk, throw DeAngelo Hall back there. He's almost fully integrated on defense now; indeed, it's nearly seems like he came out of Va Tech straight to the 'Skins, doesn't it? He is a proven commodity on PR, with speed and elusiveness that your normal returner has lost to age. If nothing else he's shown he knows how to catch a ball, so you should be able to put any fears of a turnover from a muffed punt to rest. I can think of few things that fire up an entire sideline like a cheap 6 without the offense even having to trot onto the field.

Which brings me to my last, most important wish -

5. Points. We still haven't topped 30 one single time this season. We haven't scored more than 20 in the last eight -- count 'em, EIGHT -- games, and that only once. This is a good defense, I know, but for the love of Mike...how much do you expect them to carry? The '85 Bears might not have won more than the 10 we're shooting for this year if Sweetness, McMahon and Co. had only averaged 10.6 a game, which is what this offense has to show for it's production these last five games. No one's asking your guys to be last year's Patriots, just totals a little closer to three TD's a game than not would be nice. You've been looking a little haggard lately, a by-product of the stress of losing in a football mad city, no doubt. What better way to take a load off than to put a game away relatively early by scoring in bunches, and then turn the dogs loose on D and watch what happens? I know you've got it in you. You know they've got it in them.

Time to quit talking about it, and just do it.