Irreconcilable Differences

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following scenario is fictional, but I would not be the least bit surprised if something like it is taking place in more than one home these days.

Picture, if you will, a father sitting on the edge of his young son's bed as the last fading sunshine of a fall day gives way to the gloaming. Though it is getting hard to see in the upstairs room, no light is on save for the tiny single bulb of the son's nite-lite, a grinning ceramic likeness of Clifford the Big Red Dog. The father is talking gently, softly to his son; the subject is one much like the day: cold and dim. He is trying without much success to ease the child's mind, to get rid of his fear....

"Listen, buddy -- sometimes these things happen, even when you don't want them to. I know it's hard to understand now but when you're a little older it might be easier. You need to know that we both still love you as much as before, and that will never ever change. It's just that the two of us, well....we just can't be together anymore....not like we used to be. Okay?"

With wide, anxious eyes and a trembling lower lip his small son nods his head. Even at his young age he understands that just as he needs his Dad, right now for some reason his Dad needs this from him every bit as much. With every ounce of courage he can muster he tries to look his father in the eye, the way he told him to, and respond confidently and convincingly. His body language betrays him, however, and reveals the scared child behind the brave mask.

For a moment the two men -- one grown and the other little more than an infant -- stare helplessly at each other. The boy wonders if he gave his father what he seemed to need so badly. He will never know the answer. Neither of them will ever speak of what they saw in the other's eyes that sad day.

This little episode is all too common in today's world of disposable convenience and frighteningly little commitment. Tsk tsk, you mutter -- another family broken beyond repair; another divorce, another do-over for Mom and Dad, and another child left scarred and alone in a scary, difficult world. But that's not at all what's happening. Take a closer look:

Downstairs in the den, walls which were once almost completely covered with pennants, pictures, posters and anything else that bore the insignia "Washington Redskins" are now nearly bare. The wall surfaces where all these oaths of allegiance hung are conspicuous by the difference the shades of paint on the walls, which now look oddly like two-dimensional, vertical graveyards of abandoned hopes and dreams.

The father's closet was recently at least half-filled with every kind of clothing imaginable that sported the proud Indian-head profile and team name. All that remains of those items are the hangars used for them; what little clothing there is is normal and scattered amongst long stretches of bare clothes rod. Underneath the carpeting suddenly seems too bright, or too something -- maybe it's just the absence of all the Burgundy and Gold footwear that once rested there.

In the living room the large, modular entertainment center that served as both an electronic means to an end every Sunday from September through December AND a mini shrine to gridiron glory now sits as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard. The footballs, helmets, collectibles and assorted other memorabilia that had been crammed into or on every available space since, well, forever, are gone with no clue as to their whereabouts.

It's almost as if they were never there at all.

The young boy's parents, in many ways, wish they hadn't been.

Mom and Dad both grew up diehard 'Skins fans. Their third date was a home game at RFK. Through the years the life they built together had always counted Redskins football as one of it's constants, a symbol of tradition and continuity in an increasingly changing world. It was so much more than just one thing they had in common. In some ways it was the foundation of their entire relationship. Heck, once or maybe even twice they'd fought so bitterly that just about the only thing keeping them together, at least for that night, was their team.

That was then. This is now. And now is not good -- not even a little bit.

Now it's all about the megalomaniacal owner, a man of small physical stature but giant ego who cares not a whit for the proud, storied history of the team he paid nearly a billion dollars for. Now it's FedEx Field, not RFK, where the Redskins play their home games. Now the stadium isn't even in the District at all, but instead out in Landover MD. Now the football team created by George Preston Marshall and raised to greatness by Jack Kent Cooke is in the imperious, callous hands of an owner who thinks no more of it's loyal fanbase -- one of the very best in all of sports -- than is necessary to keep them paying into his coffers, and no more.

Like I said, now is not good. In fact, now sucks. Big time.

In both sports and business the most successful groups lead with integrity and sound principles from the top down. These days with the Redskins that's exactly where the problems start. Dan Snyder has learned nothing about football since the day he took ownership over ten years ago. This in and of itself is not so unusual; roughly half of the current NFL owners know the game, and the other half just know how to sign the checks. However, when one considers that coming in he knew absolutely nothing about football, and a decade later well, knows exactly what he did then...yeah. For such a supposed entrepreneurial wizard this total lack of progress, this flatline of a learning curve, is not only appalling, at first glance it seems nigh impossible. The Dan may or may not be many things, but he's certainly no idiot. You aren't able to pony up $800 million for anything unless you have a shrewd mind.

For the better part of eight years I pondered this: why wasn't this guy learning how to run a football team the same way he learned how to become a multi-millionaire? Year after year, one colossal blunder after another happened and then happened again. It didn't make sense...until it finally hit me: the man has no interest in learning how to run a successful, competitive team so long as it's not a requirement of making money with one. As long as his investment continues to bring in substantial returns year after year he's as happy as a pig in ----.

He may have paid some lip service to the great Redskins tradition and history when he signed the papers. Hell, he may even have been somewhat sincere about upholding such things back when he said as much, but let's be clear: the man's first and foremost priority, above all else, is and has always been TURNING A BUCK. Period.

Now hold on a second, you say. If he's the micro-managing corporate despot you say he is, why is it that time and again he's shelled out mountains of cash to acquire some of the biggest marquee free agents around? If he only cares about making money why has he been so generous with player salaries? The man must want to win if he's willing to pay top dollar (some would say considerably more so) for premium talent to come play here. Right?

Wrong. The willingness to spend to win is only one of several key things an owner must do for his team to become great. Moreover, the last time I looked it was pretty much the only one of those things Snyder has done, so he's far from willing to do whatever it takes to field a championship team if you ask me. Had I been asked this a year and a half ago I would have held up his spending habits as evidence of his commitment, and I would have argued it to my last breath. Up until three or four months ago I was still creatively finding ways to rationalize the stewardship of this man who in just ten years took a team that was one of the league's elite and turned it into one that is only slightly better than the most pathetic laughingstocks in all of football (see Browns, Cleveland and Lions, Detroit).

That doesn't happen if the owner is 100% committed to building a winner. No way.

Now -- there's that word again -- I no longer have the luxury of those foolish illusions. I can't keep telling myself that this clown means the very best for this team, that he will eventually make it all happen. Now it's all becoming terribly clear. Everything Snyder has done practically screams his disdain for the game and the legions of fans who made it the biggest spectator sport in the world. From his excessive marketing and selling ad space like the 'Skins were a Sprint Cup stock car to his near-censorship of fans who rightly feel that paying outrageous sums of money entitles them to be critical of his aimless 'leadership,' through his continuing, almost insanely stubborn refusal to admit his lack of football acumen, making it virtually impossible to hire anyone who actually does, he's done so many things wrong it's tough to keep count.

The number of mistakes he's made is not nearly as important as what they all add up to however: this franchise is being run right into the ground as fast as can be. He must know this as much as we all do, but he doesn't care. He believes he is better than we are. He is not. He still thinks he knows what's best at all times. He does not. He is convinced he is above reproach. He is not. He just has more money. His money gives him certain power, but you know what they say:

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Snyder's lack of respect for his fanbase coupled with his false sense of unassailability are the same two fatal errors powerful men have always made; from Nero to Ceausescu they all underestimated the power of their once-cowed masses and overestimated their iron grip on the situation. All eventually fell from grace, as will the Dan if he doesn't pull his head out and grab a clue. He cares only for the bottom line, a fat black inked summary of his periodic profits. Little does he realize those profits are generated by fans who understand what this team is and what it means to be a Redskin...he has not truly earned them. What's more, he refuses to grasp that even fans like us have limits; go too far and you may see it all come crashing down on your head, Mr. Snyder.

It starts with real families like the ones described at the outset of this piece making an agonizing decision: their personal health and well-being or their team. When you come right down to it it's really not much of a contest. Our owner believes that just like big tobacco, his clientele will continually renew itself to replace those who die or voluntarily walk away. I don't think it works that way, Dan-o.

For now at least, on the balance sheets a small family that comes to a place where they can no longer be Redskins fans may be worth much less than the collective value of the organization. For now. But I don't honestly think it will stay that way for long. Not with this character at the wheel.

He just doesn't get it. He probably never will. The kicker is that by extension we the fans won't get it -- respect and perennial contenders that is -- either. At least not before our fifth owner, whoever that may be, takes over this show.