I have been a Redskins fan my entire life. As a child I followed the Over-the-Hill gang and their leader George Allen. Back then -- outside of their first Super Bowl appearance -- it seemed like virtually every year they would fall short of the Big Show with a loss to the Vikings in the playoffs. I think I may have hated the Purple People Eaters and Co. more than the Cowboys in those days. For a while that is.
I remember playing Pop Warner football at that time as well. My first two years were unremarkable. Then, however, in my 3rd year of organized ball, I joined the Jr. Midget Santa Ana Redskins. My breakout season. Playing both ways, tight end and defensive end, I was -- if I may sound my own horn -- one of the key components of a team that narrowly missed winning the league title. In fact, our game against the Roadrunners (the eventual champion) was one of the finest I have had at any level; in addition to 3 catches I recorded two sacks and a number of tackles even though we lost a slugfest.
I was hooked. Bound forever to the Burgundy and Gold.
Shortly thereafter I began a scrapbook. I got my hands on one of my Grandmother's best unused albums -- you remember the ones with the filigree gold accents on the outside and the matching outside stripe on each plastic page overlay? -- and began cutting out newspaper articles, magazine photos, anything I found that featured Redskins. Living on the other side of the country in the days before the Internet, that wasn't always easy. Undeterred, I doggedly scoured every media outlet I could get my hands on for new additions to my slowly growing baby.
When the immortal Joe Jackson Gibbs came to D.C. I didn't know what to think. After starting with five consecutive losses in his rookie year I was definitely forming an opinion, however. One that I happily admit now was very wrong. We all know what happened next. The Legend turned things around, the players bought into his "win the right way" philosophy...and the 'Skins freight train of a dynasty slowly started to pull out of the station. In just his second season -- the first strike year -- my team found itself facing the Dolphins in Super Bowl 17 with a chance for payback.
One they didn't pass up.
I will never forget jumping off the carpet and screaming like a banshee as the Diesel took the handoff from Joey T., ran left and pulled free of Don McNeal to rumble into the endzone for the touchdown that would ultimately be the difference in the first of three Lombardi's won under Gibbs. Even now, typing this, the hair is standing up on my arms and the back of my neck as if I'd just seen a ghost. Ahh, memories.
That amazing season at last put the Redskins on the nation's radar. During their playoff run the articles were everywhere; almost overnight my underfed scrapbook began to grow by leaps and bounds. I found myself calculating the odds of obtaining one or perhaps even two more such books from my Grandma. Pictures of the Hogs, Theismann, Riggo and others -- even Sports Illustrated covers! -- were carefully cut out and lovingly placed on fresh page after fresh page. Whenever things seemed a little bleak to my young mind, I would pull that book out and instantly feel better.
As the years went by and I grew into adulthood, my scrapbook sort of fell by the wayside. Such things happen, after all. Cutting out black-and-white blocks of text can hardly hold a candle to the magic of girls, a car, moving out of the folks' house, etc. etc. It didn't help that by '92 it was clear that the end was nigh. Even though we were fresh off our third Super Bowl win, something wasn't right. You could feel it in the air: the 'Skins were about to come back to earth. Gradually I stopped saving anything at all. Eventually I forgot to even pull out my wonderful bits of nostalgia from time to time and reminisce.
Fast forward to the present day. Now believe me, I know I am the farthest thing in the world from a prophet; yet for some reason, beginning with the first win this year over the Saints...I started cutting out stuff again. I'm not really sure exactly why, but if pressed I would say that there was a feeling, an expectation there that I haven't felt in a looong time. As if something very special was about to happen, and if I didn't record it somehow I would later regret it.
A new scrapbook was born.
It is said that you can never go home again. That is true. Every once in awhile, however, if you're very lucky, you can return for a brief visit. My new baby, much like my first, is growing slowly. The current places of honor, the big fish if you will, are the two sizable articles from my local paper about the wins over Dallas and Philadelphia. This morning, imagine my surprise when I turned the page and saw a 3/4 page article of Clinton Portis in the Sports section. I almost couldn't finish reading it before it was clipped and reverently placed next to it's new friends.
I have this feeling that it's going to have a lot of company.
I remember playing Pop Warner football at that time as well. My first two years were unremarkable. Then, however, in my 3rd year of organized ball, I joined the Jr. Midget Santa Ana Redskins. My breakout season. Playing both ways, tight end and defensive end, I was -- if I may sound my own horn -- one of the key components of a team that narrowly missed winning the league title. In fact, our game against the Roadrunners (the eventual champion) was one of the finest I have had at any level; in addition to 3 catches I recorded two sacks and a number of tackles even though we lost a slugfest.
I was hooked. Bound forever to the Burgundy and Gold.
Shortly thereafter I began a scrapbook. I got my hands on one of my Grandmother's best unused albums -- you remember the ones with the filigree gold accents on the outside and the matching outside stripe on each plastic page overlay? -- and began cutting out newspaper articles, magazine photos, anything I found that featured Redskins. Living on the other side of the country in the days before the Internet, that wasn't always easy. Undeterred, I doggedly scoured every media outlet I could get my hands on for new additions to my slowly growing baby.
When the immortal Joe Jackson Gibbs came to D.C. I didn't know what to think. After starting with five consecutive losses in his rookie year I was definitely forming an opinion, however. One that I happily admit now was very wrong. We all know what happened next. The Legend turned things around, the players bought into his "win the right way" philosophy...and the 'Skins freight train of a dynasty slowly started to pull out of the station. In just his second season -- the first strike year -- my team found itself facing the Dolphins in Super Bowl 17 with a chance for payback.
One they didn't pass up.
I will never forget jumping off the carpet and screaming like a banshee as the Diesel took the handoff from Joey T., ran left and pulled free of Don McNeal to rumble into the endzone for the touchdown that would ultimately be the difference in the first of three Lombardi's won under Gibbs. Even now, typing this, the hair is standing up on my arms and the back of my neck as if I'd just seen a ghost. Ahh, memories.
That amazing season at last put the Redskins on the nation's radar. During their playoff run the articles were everywhere; almost overnight my underfed scrapbook began to grow by leaps and bounds. I found myself calculating the odds of obtaining one or perhaps even two more such books from my Grandma. Pictures of the Hogs, Theismann, Riggo and others -- even Sports Illustrated covers! -- were carefully cut out and lovingly placed on fresh page after fresh page. Whenever things seemed a little bleak to my young mind, I would pull that book out and instantly feel better.
As the years went by and I grew into adulthood, my scrapbook sort of fell by the wayside. Such things happen, after all. Cutting out black-and-white blocks of text can hardly hold a candle to the magic of girls, a car, moving out of the folks' house, etc. etc. It didn't help that by '92 it was clear that the end was nigh. Even though we were fresh off our third Super Bowl win, something wasn't right. You could feel it in the air: the 'Skins were about to come back to earth. Gradually I stopped saving anything at all. Eventually I forgot to even pull out my wonderful bits of nostalgia from time to time and reminisce.
Fast forward to the present day. Now believe me, I know I am the farthest thing in the world from a prophet; yet for some reason, beginning with the first win this year over the Saints...I started cutting out stuff again. I'm not really sure exactly why, but if pressed I would say that there was a feeling, an expectation there that I haven't felt in a looong time. As if something very special was about to happen, and if I didn't record it somehow I would later regret it.
A new scrapbook was born.
It is said that you can never go home again. That is true. Every once in awhile, however, if you're very lucky, you can return for a brief visit. My new baby, much like my first, is growing slowly. The current places of honor, the big fish if you will, are the two sizable articles from my local paper about the wins over Dallas and Philadelphia. This morning, imagine my surprise when I turned the page and saw a 3/4 page article of Clinton Portis in the Sports section. I almost couldn't finish reading it before it was clipped and reverently placed next to it's new friends.
I have this feeling that it's going to have a lot of company.
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