Your Daddy's Redskins

4 (Now 6) In A Woe, Part 2 -

2011-11-20T14:44:00.000-08:00

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Between the first and second parts of this piece the Redskins losing streak has grown from four, to five, and now sits at a pitiable six games in a row. The longest losing streak for this Washington team since 1998. And, as I said in Part 1, it's going to get worse before it ever thinks about getting better. Count on it.)

All of these offensive woes don't exist simply because we have inferior athletes, however. Oh no. Even journeyman players can produce, and sometimes even thrive, in systems that are well-crafted and geared toward the available talent's skillset. Which brings me to:

Offensive Coordinator: I know what our Head Coach Mike Shanahan has done. I still firmly believe he has the drive and the philosophies to do so again. His son Kyle, on the other hand...take away 2008, when he produced mediocre results with the Texans, and the following year, 2009, when he directed a top 10 NFL offense, and he hasn't done anything close to enough to justify his being hired as the youngest coordinator in the NFL by a Shanahan protege, Gary Kubiak. Heck, he hasn't done enough to justify being named a position coach since then.

I watch our games of late and I see similarities between this unit and the hapless, punchless, predictable Zorn offenses of '08-'09. I get the sinking feeling opposing DC's don't start scheming in earnest until the Thursday before a game with Washington, if not later. We can't fool anyone, we don't scare anyone, and until we start getting either better coaching, a better scheme or better athletes, or some combination of all three, we won't ever have an attack that creates all kinds of matchup problems for opponents. An offense that explodes every once in a while, all over even the most formidable defenses, helping their team coast to a relatively easy win.

The infrequent wins we've gotten for far too long are these gut-wrenching nail-biters, these tepid grinding retardations of all that is current and cutting-edge in NFL offenses, courtesy of the usual kind of stuttering, stammering, lukewarm squads that not only can't be expected to overwhelm their opposite numbers, they frequently cannot even be asked to NOT give the game away before the defense can get it's bearings and set it's feet. Speaking of which -.

This year's D, a solid, unassuming, mildly successful group of ageless wonders mixed in with a couple of neophyte stars in the making, sprinkled with a liberal dash of middle of the road journeymen who could and would probably be backups on most other teams, can't be asked to carry the load week in and week out, yielding fewer points than it itself scores more games than not.

We're not the Ravens. Not even close.

But we're actually not that bad as a unit. We rank around the middle in yards against, and ToP, but we're 6th best in scoring average against, and we've allowed our opponents' offense to convert on 3rd down a stingy 33 % of the time. All this while racking up more penalty yards than all but two other teams, and sitting at a -8 in turnover ratio as a team. If you ask me they've performed admirably and courageously considering what they've been handicapped with and/or handcuffed by since Week 3 or 4 on. The strain of keeping their team in games with little or no offensive help is starting to take its toll though; cracks are starting to undermine this group's foundation despite the continuing excellence of it's seemingly ageless captain, London Fletcher.

I hate to sound like a broken record here, but back in the day we assembled defenses built primarily out of blue-collar, hard working guys who may not have been the most athletic but were always among the toughest mentally. They played with what at times seemed like a collective mind, flying to the ball like men whose hair was on fire, and they never ever ever stopped playing like that down was their absolute last. No matter what the score, they competed until the very end. Their opponents resigned themselves to a 60 minute war, a knock-down drag-out affair every time the Burgundy & Gold showed up on their schedules. That's just the way it was.

This current crop of defenders, with 4 or 5 exceptions, wouldn't know a never-say-die attitude from a hole in the ground, which not coincidentally is where they often find themselves. Their inconsistency from game to game, sometimes even from play to play, is maddening. Sometimes they pin their ears back, snarl and seem ready to literally die before giving up a TD. Other times they display a lassitude that is incomprehensible. I was and still am a guy who would have traded away many valuable things to possess the physical tools required to play on Sundays. I like to believe I would never have taken those abilities for granted - which is what some of these "competitors" too often seem to be doing. Those hard-working, high-motor players like Kerrigan and Orakpo can't make up for their teammates who play two downs on, one down off, and they know it. Right now it's not an issue, but sooner or later they are going to get fed up with teammates who aren't putting out like they are (and who could blame them?). Resentment and frustration will begin to build, and it will go rapidly downhill from there.

These are unfortunately not the only problems this team must deal with right now; they are the most obvious ones that I can see. I don't know how to begin to address even the simplest of them. I just know they must be adressed, and soon, or this latest rebuild, this Shana-plan, will end up like all the rest these last two decades: over-hyped, absurdly whitewashed and ultimately crushed under the enormous weight of it's own bloated, unrealistic expectations I hope, of course, that this time is different. That this coach is the one. That this long slump may finally be ending.

But then I've hoped these things before. More than once...

I know this reads like an extremely long puff-piece from a holdover of the glory days, when Joe Gibbs was king and his teams were crown jewels. In many ways it is. But I am starting to miss those teams for a different reason than I ever did before, and here's why: it's more than wistfully recalling the fading memories of a nostalgic yesteryear. It's not because I took that era of the Gibbs dynasty for granted as a young man, even though there is no doubt that, young and foolish as I was, I assumed that those 10 or 11 years of consistent greatness, when we were serious contenders to win it all every single preseason, would continue forever (Ah, youth). It's not any of that. What it is is the mind-numbing confusion, the utter perplexity of a once-great team mired for the last 19 years in at best mediocrity, and at worst sheer incompetence. I don't understand why my team can't get out of this rut. I mean, in that time great teams have risen, fallen and then risen again.

Why can't we?

How many more fruitless years will I have to watch a good offense struggle to win games because it's paired with an atrocious defense, or vice versa? How much longer will the once proud Redskins be laughed at by teams that used to be in awe of them, and stomped by lesser organizations that used to be routinely smoked in years past? How many more seasons must I chant the tired mantra, "just give it a little more time - we're headed in the right direction." I don't know, but I hope it's not too much longer, because what I just described in the last few sentences is complete and utter bs. It's not the kind of thing any diehard, loyal fan should have to ever put up with - much less a Redskins fan. A fan whose team used to be one of the league's flagship enterprises. Used to be admired and envied by other teams. Used to set an excellent example on how a successful franchise needed to be run to build a dynasty. Used to be a powerhouse.

A lot of used to's there. Too many by far.

But for all that I shouldn't get too carried away, too melodramatic about it. You're sitting there saying "NOW you tell me," after this Tolstoy-length diatribe is almost at it's end. So sue me. I would be less than honest if I didn't admit that even now, and probably even (heaven forbid) after another 20 more years of hopeless seasons, I will still be a staunchly loyal, fiercely devoted Redskins fan-atic. I still hope for a win each and every Sunay in the fall. Doesn't matter who we're playing. I still hope for the break-through season each and every summer, no matter who's on our roster. I ignore today's harsh realities as much as possible, so I can continue hoping.

These days it seems like that's all I have left. It may be. And so I must at all costs hold onto it. It cannot be allowed to slip away like so many other things that were once the Redskins. In the absence of all else, when each new year brings fewer and fewer wins, my hope will have to suffice. I always hope we win...always.

I just wish I could get back to expecting the win. That sure would be something, wouldn't it?

Hail

4 In A Woe, Part 1

2011-11-09T11:45:00.000-08:00

Well, the verdict is nearly in. It's far from official, and even less of a surprise to anyone who has even casually followed the Redskins this season:

We're not a good football team.

In fact, we're pretty bad.

And we're getting worse.

This pessimistic outlook goes completely against my grain, but the facts are nearly indisputable. After a 3-1 first quarter that gave rise to all kinds of now-absurd speculation, the B&G have, in order, lost to

1) A reeling Eagles squad at home 20-13. The 1-4 "Dream Team" outgained us by nearly 140 yards and held the ball almost twice as long as they righted the ship on their way out of the NFCE cellar.

2) The toddling Panthers (!?!) 33-20. Though we were only outgained by 50 yards this time, and held the ball only 11 minutes less, once again a team with only one win, led by a true rookie QB, beat us.

3) A solid but unspectacular Bills team 23-0. Yup. Blanked. Shut-out. Goose-egged. For the first time ever in Mike Shanahan's long and storied career.

4) A rising, overachieving 49'ers unit led by their highly caffeinated, super-testosterone-charged head coach, 19-11. Again at home. And it wasn't even as close as the final score indicated.

This 4 game tailspin should and probably will end soon; two of our next three games are eminently winnable, whether we do so or not. Starting in Week 13 though, we face an extremely tough 3 game stretch against, in order, the Jets, the Patriots and the Giants. In the last half of the season we play only 4 games in which we should be favored and should win if we play the way we have been. Of those four we figure to lose at least one - that's just how it is in today's ultra-parity NFL. Discounting any big upsets in the other matchups, that means we may very well finish these last 8 games with a 3-5 record. Again. Meaning another 6-10 season. Again.

Yay.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we were re-building here? Onward and upward, that whole bit. I might not know the definition of progress word for word, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't include back to back 6-10 seasons. I know it hasn't happened yet, but it is highly probable that it will. It might even be 5-11 or worse, who knows? In fairness I realize it could also be much better than I anticipate, but I'd lay odds it won't. When the dust settles I see us exactly where we were one year ago. And that, as I said earlier, is not progress. It's being stuck in the same old same old.

So who's to blame for all this? If we're not really building or re-building anything, where does the buck stop? With such a wide range of dysfunction and disarray, it's not an easy task assigning blame in this situation. After all, there are so many targets to choose from; where does one begin? Let's start here...

Quarterback: It's been sooo long since anyone wearing the best colors in sports could confidently, consistently lead an offense down the field that it's not even remotely funny. If you discount Brad Johnson, who wasn't here long enough to truly establish himself in the line of succession from Sammy to Sonny to Billy and so on, the last decent signal-caller we had was Mark Rypien, who not coincidentally led us to our last Super Bowl victory way way WAY back in 1992. Ryp wasn't the most accurate guy out there, but he threw a nice deep ball and had no problem making quick, sure decisions in the pocket. In short, he was a leader and a winner.

Rex Grossman and John Beck, on the other hand, er, not so much.

I watched a game today where I saw more checkdowns than a month of entire Pop Warner league games combined would normally produce. Some of that can of course be put on the receivers not getting separation, but c'mon -- how many times can you miss guys who are relatively wide open to dump off the ball to your safety valve RB? Or throw to an underneath route far from the sticks on a 3rd down? At the midway point this season our passing offense sits squarely in the middle of the pack, 16th out of 32 at 228 yards per game. Those numbers are slightly skewed by the fact that we have played from behind in most if not all of our last four games, not to mention in the win over the Cardinals. On offense the 'Skins have thrown just over 37 times a game this season, 9th highest in the NFL, but with only 6.7 yards per completion we rank in the bottom 3rd of the league, and our QBR of 69.2 is next to last.

Nothing about those numbers in any way suggests we have a competent, confident field general directing traffic behind center. But what else is new (at least in the last 20 years) when it comes to the 'Skins? We need a good QB in the worst way. Whether we get one after this rapidly plummeting season is anybody's guess, but until it happens we have little shot at doing anything in the postseason. Quarterback, however, is only the most glaring weakness. It is not nearly the only one. Which brings me to:

The Wide Receivers: Outside of Fred "Sleepy" Davis, an inconsistent at best Jabar Gaffney and Santana Moss (before he was injured that is), the entire 2011 crop of Redskins pass-catchers might as well be on IR for all the impact they've made on the field. The recently jettisoned Donte Stallworth reminded me only too much of so many high-priced, over the hill FA pickups of years past. His effort was also eerily reminiscent of all those washed up acquisitions - slim or none. Leonard Hankerson has shown promise, but his fellow rookie Niles Paul has been nearly as much of an Invisible Man as the one famously penned by Ralph Ellison. The same goes for Anthony Armstrong...and please don't get me started on Terence Austin. I love the UCLA Bruins nearly as much as I do the 'Skins, but the last two Westwood products to come to DC, Austin and S Chris Horton, have done so badly in Burgundy & Gold that I'm almost finding myself looking across town these days and contemplating how I'd look in Cardinal and Gold. As in USC Cardinal and Gold. .

Almost.

This cast of characters usually can't catch a cold, but on those rare occasions when they do, the odds are good that they'll cough up the ball two or three seconds later. Not exactly comforting. Also not exactly a lethal juggernaut comprised of world-class speed, sponge-like hands and breathtaking run-after-catch moves. Definitely nothing like the Smurfs or the Fun Bunch in their respective heydays (sigh). Not for the first time I find myself wondering and waiting and worrying about when, if ever, we see receivers the equal of Monk, Clark, Sanders, Brown and even the aging but still potent Henry Ellard - targets that never let a defense let down it's guard for even a single play, lest they pay the highest price for doing so...(second sigh) I watch other teams play and see play after play made by a leaping, twisting, impossibly elevated WR, and I ask why the Redskins can't seem to stock their rosters with players of comparable ability.

I dunno. We just never do...

Our WR's can't get off of jams at the line of scrimmage, they can't outrun defenders on go routes or skinny posts, they can't seem to find the holes in 2 deep or any other kind of zone...come to think of it, they can't really do much of a doggone thing. And that's a problem, because it means opposing defenses can safely walk 8 or even 9 men up to within 5-6 yards of the LOS without any worries about a deep ball ending up in the hands of somebody who torched the corner and got behind the deep safety for a quick, dramatic, easy six. Because that will never happen with this crop of wideouts. At least not any more than one wins the lottery.

This complete absence of anything resembling a deep threat means all those defenders in the box have little problem shutting down our ZBS running game; outside of the occasional stretch play we run the ball the way former President Bill Clinton controlled his adulterous sexual urges - which is to say not at all. That means that one of the strengths of this strengthless team, the running back core, is rendered totally ineffective nearly every time they take the field. Doesn't matter who's back there 7 yards deep - Tim Hightower, Ryan Torain, Roy Helu or even Darrel Young just for laughs - the guy taking the handoff is going to gain 2.5 yards or less a pathetic 7 times out of 10. And that's a generous estimate, believe me.

It also wouldn't matter if we had the Hogs in their prime blocking for them, though we clearly don't. The current edition of the O-line is one part underachieving, one part over-the-hill journeymen and one part quality starters. And it shows. Halfway through this season the Redskins have rushed for a paltry 719 yards, Only the Giants, Seahawks, Browns and Titans have done worse. Our pitiful 3.9 yards per carry average is worse than all but six teams. Even the pass-happy Detroit Lions have toted the rock more than we have. Say what you will about injuries, a makeshift O-line, etc etc, at the end of the day the 'Skins can't consistently run the ball. And we all know what that means:

Teams that can't run the ball can't sustain drives. They can't control the clock. They can't salt away games they are leading. And come December, when games are that much more important as teams sprint for the few postseason berths available, their offenses are forced to pass in usually inclement weather - not a solid recipe for success.

Well, it's not like our Head Coach is an offensive guru who is synonymous with taking no-name linemen and unwanted running backs and blowing up with them; he's not exactly a guy who once fielded one of the most devastating rushing offenses in all of football year in and year out with a minimum of raw talent -

Oh wait...he is. Or was.

PART 2 COMING SOON

So Here's The Deal -

2011-10-08T18:00:00.000-07:00

I'm Back!

Some, but not many of you will have noticed I was gone; most of those who did probably didn't care. A very small percentage might have, however. This post is addressed to you.

It has been nearly two years since my last entry in this space. What began as a labor of Redskins love turned rather quickly into a sporadic foray, instead of the professed relentless pursuit, of all things Burgundy & Gold. No matter. It's not how you start but how you finish, as the man once said.

And I intend to finish.

I would first like to explain my absence. I feel it is the least I can do, not only for those of you who might read this but, more importantly, for myself. It is the purely transparent thing to do. And that, my reunited friends, is of the utmost importance, as you shall soon see.

Besides, better bloggers than I have stepped out of the proverbial batters box to get squared away, like my man Ben Folsom of The Curly R. If he can take some time off, I don't feel so bad. Ben is a superfan whether he wants to admit it or not.

Allow me at this point to change gears: I apologize to the mods of whatever forum this happens to end up in, because from here the subject matter may become less than 100% Redskins-related. I trust you will do what you think is best. But I digress.

I am 45 years old. I have been a Redskins fan since I knew what a pigskin was. That's a long time. For roughly half of my life I have also been a born again Christian. While I have never wavered in my support of my beloved 'Skins, when it comes to following Jesus Christ I have been, shall we say, less than consistent. Twenty-five years ago I gave my life to the Lord, but I have only recently begun following Him again. For the majority of that time I have done my own thing, to my great detriment.

But things change.

Sometimes for the better.

Two years ago, when it was obvious that Jim Zorn was merely waiting for his severance pay from Daniel M. Snyder, I wrote him a letter to thank him for his time as Redskins Head Coach. Said letter went as follows:

Dear Mr. Zorn:

Odds are by the time this letter reaches you, if it does at all, you will have already been dismissed by the Redskins. As a lifelong diehard fan I was excited about your hiring and thought you would achieve greater success than you ultimately did -- though certainly no more than you yourself expected. I won't go into any second-guessing or anything else regarding my opinion of your job as Head Coach, because it's none of my business. Indeed, I write you for a different reason entirely, though one connected to your current job just the same. Since by all accounts you are and have been for some time now a "lame-duck" coach (for lack of a better term), you could hardly have been faulted if the pressure and stress of those circumstances had caused you to become somewhat bitter and negative -- yet you have consistently been as upbeat, as forthright, as honest as a man could be from Day One. I commend you for your unflagging attitude, and I have the highest respect for the way you've conducted yourself in spite of all the things that seem to have gone against you either fairly or unfairly.

This morning I read a quote of yours about your current status that was typical of your personal accountability and integrity, and it moved me to write you this letter in hopes that you might read it and know that at least one fan believes not even the great Joe Jackson Gibbs himself could have handled things any better than you have these past two seasons. No matter what I may think of your gameday decisions and strategy, etc. etc., I cannot help but be impressed with how you've been a stand-up guy since you first signed on. Today's quote, wherein you spoke of truly having a great experience with all this. it wasn't fun, but it was a great experience nonetheless, and that better days lay ahead, is an inspiration to me.

Thank you for that. It comes at a critical juncture in my life. I am 43 years old and a lifelong drug addict who has only recently made the serious decision to seek help and begin my recovery. Methamphetamine use has taken nearly everything from me, and thus far has obliterated the vast potential I once had. Before my addiction I was smart, healthy, and raised right, meaning I had all the advantages and tools anyone could ever need to succeed in Life. Unfortunately I haven't, at least not to this point...but there's always time, and Hope.

I'm preparing to undertake the most radical and diffiuclt change of my entire life at present, and I am as nervous as nervous gets about it. I need every shot in the arm I can get at the moment, and words like the ones you said above are just the thing to keep me focused and persistently positive. I believe that just like you, better days are ahead for me. I wish you all the best in your next position, I thank you for your hard work as coach of the team I love, and pray that you and your family continue to receive all the blessings Life has to offer, Mr. Zorn. If you haven't earned that I would be hard-pressed to name someone who has.

Somehow I don't think I have to wish for any of it in your case, however. Your attitude is more than equal to the task.

Some weeks later I received a card in the mail, with no return address. The face of the card was four black and white images on a white background. The images themselves seemed to be random; there was no discernible pattern. Curiously I opened it and read this:

Dear Sean,

Thank you for your words and kind thoughts My very best to you as you continue to fight with all the tools God has given you. Proverbs 22:1.

Pr 22:1 (NIV) reads: A good name is more desirable than great riches; to be esteemed is better than silver and gold.

I couldn't make out the signature, so I looked again at the face of the card. The images spelled out Z-O-R-N. The card was from Jimmy Z himself.

Why do I write this? Bear with me, gentle reader. The answers are coming.

Without going into too much detail, shortly thereafter I enrolled in a faith-based rehab program that lasted eleven months. Upon completion of this curriculum I elected to stay on for an additional four months as an intern. One of the rules of this program was no internet access, so I was prohibited from posting for fifteen months. Eventually I graduated, however, and am now as free to post as I ever was. During my time at Teen Challenge I re-committed my life to Christ. Everything fell into place for me. A twenty-five year addiction to nicotine was almost instantly broken, my addiction to meth as well, and all of a sudden my life began to experience hope, a feeling I had not known for a very long time.

One thing still bothered me, however. The Bible tells us that to put anything above Christ is idolatry. Well, I loved my Redskins. Passionately. Did that qualify, and if so, how in the world was I going to reconcile that with my new lifestyle? I did NOT want to give up my love for the B & G. I possibly would have if I absolutely had to, but man oh man, I really did not want to.

God, my friends, is a wonderfully loving Creator. He saw my dilemma and provided me with the unlikeliest of answers.

About seven months into my program, I happened upon a book called Sermon On the Mound: Finding God At the Heart of the Game, by Michael O'Connor. While this book dealt with baseball, not my favorite sport, one of it's overriding messages was how this fan's obsession with a game brought him to the Lord. As I read it I began to see that God wasn't asking me to choose the Redskins over Him; He was merely telling me that in loving the Burgundy and Gold I should never forget that they play a game He invented for our pleasure. My love for the 'Skins was okay, because without Him the 'Skins (along with you and I) would have never been.

It is a lesson I was blessed to learn, and one I will never forget.

Why, again, do I write this? I do so to say this: I am now as much as I have ever been a diehard Redskins fan. I go to the wall with my team each and every Sunday. When they lose I hate it; when they win I exult vicariously, as if I somehow had something to do with the win. But no matter how each game, each season turns out, I will give credit where credit is due.

God is and has always been Sovereign.

So where am I now? I am a new creation, a burning brand snatched from the fire. I am working again. I have the love and more importantly, the trust of my family once more. I still struggle - most notably with my beer, it is hard not to want to crack a cold one after a hard day of work - but I don't suffer the pangs of withdrawal as I once did, and I believe my life has a future once more.

Priceless. Absolutely, undeniably priceless.

Before you flame, before you refute, before you deny what you've read, allow me to say that I know how these things go: a thread like this can be massively misconstrued, can be turned into a war ground for religious debate, can be all more than enough impetus to cast aspersions on a fellow fan. Often for no reason at all. Those of you who might be thinking of doing so, please don't.

That is not my intention here. Let me say in closing that I love ExtremeSkins. I love The Hogs.net. I love BGO. I love the Redskins, and will always do so. I also love you, my fellow fans. There is not a single thing I would not do for any of you were it within my power to do so. I merely wanted to point out that though I will continue to write about my beloved Washington Redskins, and at times question some things about the organization...at the end of the day I still love them as much as I ever did.

I love them as something God gave me.

Something He gave you too.

Thanks so much for reading. God Bless You.

Hail To the Redskins.

Irreconcilable Differences

2009-12-04T22:42:00.000-08:00

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.

The National Footsie-Ball League?

2009-04-12T04:23:00.000-07:00

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, but also what it will become. That's key in a sport as venerated and traditional as pro football is. 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 that way.

But these days that's being threatened. It appears -- you guessed it -- that change is looming on the horizon.

And this one's particularly unwelcome if you ask me.

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 no sport is ever safe or completely free of change. Football apparently abhors a vacuum as much as Life in General does. To that end it alters itself from time to time, whether we as fans like it...or not. Some modifications are minor and cosmetic more than anything, and fairly easy to assimilate.

Then there are those other ones.

Some changes are big dogs; a handful for even the most progressive-minded individual. Like the ones we're looking at now.

Some of the most basic, fundamental aspects of the greatest game ever invented are being re-constituted by men who very likely do not share my reverence for them. What's worse is that this hasn't just begun. The NFLRC has actually been making some fairly radical changes to 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.

Not anymore.

Their latest overprotective attempts to remake the game have at last pinged on my screen. Conn, sonar, contact bearing break with all tradition; recommend designate contact "who cares so long as we make big bucks?"

Sonar, conn aye.

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

2009-02-01T08:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-09T18:00:00.000-08:00

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 -

2009-01-07T20:45:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-15T13:21:00.000-08:00

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!

2008-12-09T10:12:00.000-08:00

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.

Giving Thanks

2008-11-25T16:05:00.000-08:00

The following story is completely fictional. Only the names have been retained to protect the innocent. Reader discretion is advised.

Okay, everybody! Mmm, mmm -- boy that bird smells good! I think we're about ready to eat here, so if you all want to head to the dining room... Coach, thanks for the heads-up on the turkey. You were right; just keep the oven medium for 25 minutes a pound, and voila. Uh, could somebody wake up Fred? Looks like he sorta nodded off again in the recliner.

Alrighty. Ahh, lets see -- we keep it pretty informal at my place, guys, so just sort of sit wherever. Except for you, Clinton. You get the spot at the head of the table, my man. None of us would be here without you. Well! First let me say what an honor this is to have all of you over. I can't believe it even now. It goes without saying that this is going to go down as the most special, most memorable Thanksgiving I've ever had.

Before we say grace, a couple of things: a big thanks to young Mr. Horton for seemingly being everywhere at once helping set the table, and generally doing what needed to be done. And for the last time, Cooley -- I'm sorry you're not allowed to take the pics today, but let's face it man. You've already proven you can't be trusted with a camera. I don't want to see anything but your smiling faces when I get these developed later, got it? Oh, and 'Los, don't worry about dropping the dish of yams. Hey, it happens. Nobody really likes those things anyway.

Well then. Before I begin, let's bow our heads and remember our fallen brother with a silent prayer, shall we?

Okay.

Lord, thank you for this day. We thank you for sending us ST as well. Though he was only with us for but a short while, too short in fact, you saw fit to call him back to your bosom. The brief time he was here was one we will never forget. We love him, and miss him terribly, not just for what he did on the field but for what he was becoming off of it. We know he is looking down on us now with the same love we will always have for him, and he's truly in a better place right by your side. Rest in peace, Sean.

We thank you Lord, for this year, and our new head coach. Not since the first go-round of Joe Gibbs have things felt so fresh, so full of promise for the future of this team. Thank you for finally giving Vinny and the Dan a clue, namely that building through the draft is the only way to go. We understand that it may take them a couple of whacks at the ole pinata to really hit it, but it's a start.

Thank you for the health we've enjoyed. Honestly, it seems like we've got less reason for thanks in this area than many other teams, but who are we to know your mind? When we've been faced with injury challenges, you have worked in wondrous ways to bring us experienced vets who have filled the gaps. Jason, DeAngelo, even Ryan weren't with us at the start of the year, but they are now. We are glad to have them.

We thank you for the surprising success this team has had this year, Lord. None of us at this table really thought we would be where we are now, though we would never have admitted it. Here we are, the last week of November, right smack dab in the playoff hunt. We may or may not get there, but being where we are right now is pretty cool in it's own right.

We thank you for our offensive stars. JC, Clinton, 'Tana, Chris. Even though we'd hoped to score a few more points than we have this year, Lord, they've been awesome. Now if we could only get from the redzone to the endzone...

We thank you most especially, Lord, for our defense. When our coordinator guru left many of us thought we were gonna get run over like roadkill, but that hasn't happened. This unit has performed better in many ways than the ones Gregg ran. They've kept us in games all year long, not once at full-strength. If its not too much to ask, Father -- maybe London can get his trip to Honolulu at last this year?

Lastly, Lord, we thank you for this wonderful feast you've set before us. Good friends, good food, and good times. For all of this we are grateful.

Amen.

Ok, dig in everybody! Jason, would you pass me the -- anything, son. Pass me anything. Just wing it.

A Thin Line Between Love and Hate

2008-11-22T03:45:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, in the midst of some quiet reverie, my thoughts drift -- of course -- to my life's obsession. My alpha and omega, my reason for being. The Washington Redskins.

Almost invariably at times like these I will count back through the years to when I became a fan. I don't know precisely how old I was, but I do know I was very young. When you're in your forties and you fell in love with your team somewhere between seven and nine years old, you've got some tenure. You've put in some time. I'm now working on my fourth decade, and my passion is every bit as strong as it's always been, if not more so.

Like most fans, I suppose, I have had my good and bad years. There have been periods of time when I was at least as hardcore, as knowledgeable, as walk-through-fire fanatical as anybody out there. There have also been periods when I follow my team rather perfunctorily, with a detached interest, because right then and there I have far more pressing things in my life to deal with. Also, in the interests of full disclosure, I have to admit that while the day will never dawn that I no longer bleed Burgundy and sweat Gold, my fandom waned a little during the dark years of the mid 90's and early 2000's. It's insidiously easy to let your passion for anything lose a lot of it's importance when you pour your heart and soul into it year after year, and get virtually nothing but disappointment and heartache in return.

As I said, most of you can probably relate. It depends on the person, of course, but I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that nearly all of you who have been hardcore fans for at least 15 years have gone through something similar. What is my point, you ask? Simply this: all things considered, I am and have always been somewhere between a casual and the most diehard fan.

I have more shirts, jerseys, and memorabilia than those who call themselves fans mainly because their significant other has always been an ultimate fan...but not nearly as much as those who set aside an entire room of their home as a shrine to Burgundy and Gold.

I know more Redskins history and trivia than those fans who live in or near D.C. and root for the nearest team to them...but not as much as the person who owns every book ever written about the 'Skins, and is always among the first to buy special DVD collections of Greatest Games or Super Bowl Years in Review.

I know more about the nuances of the game, the battles within the battle, than your average armchair quarterback -- even one who played the game in his youth ..but not as much as those who coach and teach the game to kids at any amateur level.

In short, I'm somewhere in the middle of the pack as a Redskins fan. A little more intense than most... but not as into it as some. As a fan, I am, in the immortal words of the legendary Joe Walsh, just an ordinary, average guy.

Nowadays, any questions I have about my team can be answered in minutes via the miracle of the Internet. There is literally nothing about the team, from their storied history (including game results from every season they've played) all the way down to the most mundane information about transportation to and from their stadium, that I can't have at my fingertips with no effort at all. As a result I find myself, having followed my team for at least 33 or 34 years, more informed than I've ever been as a fan. Thanks to electronic communities like ExtremeSkins, theHogs.net and theWarpath.net, for example, I can discuss anything about my 'Skins with my fellow fans. I learn something new almost every day about the franchise I've followed nearly my whole life, and will follow until the day I die.

It's truly amazing. Short of attending every home game like so many I've met who live in or around the Washington area, I feel as connected to the team and it's daily operations as I've ever been. As connected as the beat writers who make a living writing about the team daily, and know their way around Redskins Park like the back of their hands. All while living 3,000 miles away, on the other side of the continent -- as far as one can be and still live on the mainland of the United States.

As recently as three or four years ago I never dreamed that I would one day be so "in the loop" where the 'Skins are concerned. I never envisioned being aware of everything the team is doing outside of the locker room and team meetings, down to the smallest detail. When a Redskins star sneezes I'm damn near right there to offer him a handkerchief. Not in my wildest, most feverish Indian-head flights of fancy did I see this day coming.

And that's a very good thing. Because believe you me, if I had, I would've run the other way so far and so fast that it never would have caught me.

I dislike adages, maxims, call them what you will: so-called "truisms" that have been twisted and re-arranged so far from their original state that they are usually anything but. Nevertheless, a few still hold true, and carry a weight of wisdom even today. One such is the short phrase "ignorance is bliss." I don't know that I've ever really paid any attention to that saying, but I do now. In fact, I find myself mentally reciting it more and more these days. You see, all those years when I worshipped the coaches and players, and cheered the team on from afar, I was happy not knowing.

Not knowing that with one shining exception, the entire incoming crop of 2008 rookies has made about as much impact on any single game this season as the parking valets outside FedEx Field.

Not knowing that the offensive and defensive lines are so old, banged-up and just plain un-talented, that the team's potential franchise player, a 6'5", 233 lb man with a guided missile platform for a right arm and quicks to boot, is in danger of suffering a career-ending injury just about every time he drops back to pass.

Not knowing that the shining monument to one man's ego that the 'Skins now call home, a stadium that isn't even in the District at all, is so outrageously priced that certain opponents, such as the Steelers three weeks ago, can almost turn it into their home game by virtue of the thousands of terrible towel-waving fans who too easily got tickets to what was clearly one of the biggest games of this year the day the schedule came out.

Not knowing that the front office, until very recently, behaved a lot like a spoiled child born into a wealthy family -- impulsive, domineering, short-sighted, and tempermental -- more and more so with each year and each failed big-name acquisition.

All things being equal, I think if I had my choice I'd go back to those yester years, when I was lucky to see the Redskins on T.V. 5-6 times a year if they were winning. The days when my eyes would constantly scan the bottom ticker or upper right-hand corner of the screen during whatever teams I happened to be watching for scoring updates of their games, and I would eagerly rip the rubber-band off Monday's newspaper in my haste to open the Sports section and read the single measly column, no more than 4 paragraphs long, about the Redskins game that Sunday.

At least that way I could just be a fan, a guy who loved his team and believed they would win each and every Sunday no matter what. A guy who wasn't somehow so informed yet at the same time so unfamiliar with his favorite NFL team. Just a normal guy who wanted the best for his team, but understood deep down that his best probably wasn't going to happen for them, and kept on hoping for it anyway.

Just some dumb fan...

Yes Virginia, There Is a Sanity Clause

2008-11-08T10:36:00.000-08:00

By now it's nearly old news. The Redskins made another acquisition of a (relatively) big-name free agent by signing cornerback DeAngelo Hall for the remainder of the season. He bolsters an already deep secondary, albeit one that has struggled with injuries this season, namely the lingering ailments that Shawn Springs has had to deal with.

Hall is the second big pickup this season, joining Jason Taylor as the signature additions in Vinny Cerrato's inaugural season as The Man.

Despite some sentiments to the contrary, this is another shrewd move by a front office that seems to be doing everything it can to erase memories of past follies. Bruce Smith. Deion Sanders. Irving Fryar. Mark Carrier. Jeff George. Adam Archuleta.

Need I say more?

The aforementioned Mr. Cerrato has been much criticized in the past, and rightfully so, for signing over the hill players with little or nothing left in their tanks. So many, in fact, that for a while there the Gold in Burgundy and Gold almost surely referred to the watch given to so many retirees to commemorate their years of valuable service. It must have. The names on Vinny C.'s list hardly did more than sign on the dotted line, then stand up and thank those assembled for the party thrown in their honor.

They certainly didn't play any good football.

Of late that seems to have changed. It began with the 2008 draft, in which an almost unheard-of ten players were selected -- all of whom eventually made the team. It continued when our new Executive Vice President of Football Operations (read Snyderian for GM) lured the disgruntled Jason Taylor away from his longtime Miami home to replace the injured Philip Daniels. And the streak stays intact with the presence of Hall.

Just where the heck is Cerrato anyway, and who or what have they done with his body?

When the Dan's good friend came to work for the 49'ers from Notre Dame, he began to craft a reputation as a good but not great talent scout. He was never confused for a wunderkind, but he made the same good decisions for George Seifert's teams that he had for Lou Holtz's. Then he was hired by Snyder.

That was when the trouble started.

In retrospect he probably was neither more nor less culpable than his billionaire boss for the laundry list of busts who came to finish out the string here. His firing by then head coach Marty Schottenheimer in 2001 was as much about clashing personalities as poor decision-making. At the end of the day, however, he was and is the face of the Redskins' management. For good or ill, any players who don't produce are laid on his doorstep. The grumbles of the fervent fans swelled to a roar as one after another high-priced former star was contracted to lead the franchise back to glory, only to fall woefully short of anything but collecting hefty paychecks.

It was widely believed that he held his job more to keep the owner company and occasionally golf with him than for his football acumen.

For a long time, that appeared to be accurate.

Now, not so much.

A football executive is a job description. Whether it is general manager, director of scouting, director of player personnel, or his current title...it's a position. As such, like nearly all high level roles, there is a learning curve to deal with. In fairness to Vinny, he had to adjust on the fly much like anyone else in his shoes would have had to. Whether he did so with speed and alacrity or mind-numbing slowness is a subject of considerable debate. He has learned, however. This season's moves alone prove that much.

I am not alone in hoping that he continues to do so. The Redskins will no doubt reap wonderful rewards should the man come to one day be mentioned in the same breath as Bobby Beathard and Charlie Casserly as far as team building goes.

Carry on, Vinny C. Carry on.

Are You Ready For Some Football?

2008-11-02T20:00:00.000-08:00

Monday Night Football. The biggest stage in the NFL, despite it's relatively new digs on ESPN. Two of the marquee teams in the league, both playing at a high level.

What more could one ask for?

In light of this matchup I thought I would provide some Redskins MNF history -- not all of it good -- but hopefully most of it entertaining. Ready, begin.

The Redskins have played on 56 Monday nights, with a record of 27-29, a .482 winning percentage. By contrast, their opponent, the Steelers, have played in 57 and are 35-22, a .614 clip. Ok, that's enough black and gold for one column. Save to say that I am reasonably confident their percentage will stand at .603 by game's end tomorrow night. You do the math.

The first time the Redskins appeared on MNF was October 19, 1970. They lost that game to the Oakland Raiders 34-20. Their last appearance was last year at Lincoln Financial Field, a game they won over the Eagles 20-12. In between they have played some memorable contests, a few of which I would like to highlight here (courtesy of the Redskins History Database).

October 8, 1973:

The Skins hosted their hated rivals the Cowboys at RFK stadium. Trailing 7-0 for most of the game, Sonny Jurgensen finally hit Charley Taylor for a one-yard TD pass (not the longest for either man to be sure) in the 4th quarter to tie the game. A little over a minute later Brig Owens returned an INT for a second touchdown to take the lead. With the clock ticking down, the Cowboys were forced to punt, but a bad bounce gave them the ball back with a chance to tie. The final play of the game will forever be remembered in Redskins lore, as Ken Houston stopped Walt Garrison with a textbook tackle on the 1 yard line on 4th down to preserve the win.

Redskins 14-7.

October 17, 1983:

The Redskins and the Pack squared off at Lambeau Field in what is still the highest scoring game in MNF history. The game featured 1,025 yards of total offense, 56 first downs, and 17 scores. It was a seesaw offensive war, with both teams taking turns reclaiming the lead at various points during the game. In the end, a missed Mark Moseley 39 yard FG attempt with 3 seconds left gave Green Bay the win. As entertaining a game as has ever been on a Monday, if you ask me.

Packers 48-47.

November 18, 1985:

Hosting the Giants at RFK in a matchup of NFC East powerhouses, things could not have seemed more bleak for Redskins faithful when Lawrence Taylor gruesomely broke Joe Theismann's leg on a sack in the 1st half. In went unknown Jay Schroeder, who promptly fired off a long completion to Art Monk; although a fumble cost them a chance to score on that drive, the kid had sent a message to the Giants defense: you don't know me, but I'm not afraid of you. Trailing by a touchdown in the final quarter, Schroeder led the Skins on a long FG drive to pull within 4 points. After a second successful onside kick was recovered -- yes, children, the great Joe Gibbs was once as free-wheeling as a riverboat gambler -- the Skins drove for the go-ahead TD, then held off the Giants to secure the victory. On that night the backup QB who hadn't wanted to play in the NFL until his pro baseball career stalled out was a calm, cool and collected 13 of 20 for 221 yards. In less than a full game. Against the best defense in the league.

Redskins 23-21.

November 20, 2000:

Playing at the Trans World Dome against the Greatest Show on Turf in their heyday, the Redskins seemed overmatched right out of the gate. Less than six minutes into the game the Rams were up 10-0 and it looked like it would be a long night. But a funny thing happened on the way to the blowout. Once again a backup QB (Jeff George this time) came to the rescue. Once again a head coach, guy by the name of Turner, went against the grain and called for an onside kick...which worked. And on a night they should have lost, the team -- led by a couple of stars and a couple of veteran journeymen -- found a way to win going away. It would prove to be one of the few bright spots in an otherwise disappointing season.

Redskins 33-20.

September 19, 2005:

Symmetry in all things, my friends. As it began so shall it end, with a win over the Cowboys. And what a win it was. The Monday Night Miracle. Playing 3 1/2 plus quarters of uninspired football at Texas Stadium, down 13-0 late in the game...it was over. The Skins were done. Cooked. Kaput. Then lightning struck, not once but twice, in the form of two long bombs from Mark Brunell to Santana Moss. Victory was improbably, inconceivably snatched from the jaws of defeat. Hell, victory was pretty much over the lips, past the gums, look out stomach here she comes -- except it never did. Not for the Cowboys it didn't.

Redskins 14-13.

These are but a few memorable moments in our beloved team's Monday night archives. Here's hoping for a few more during the course of tomorrow's game against Pittsburgh. I don't know about you, but all my rowdy Redskin friends are coming over Monday Night.

Press Clippings

2008-10-25T10:15:00.001-07:00

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.

Decorating

2008-10-23T11:49:00.000-07:00

We've all been there. You make up your mind to either buy a new home or move out of your existing rental into a different one. Problem is, sometimes the furnishings you own at the time don't necessarily fit where you're headed.

You have to decorate.

The d-word has a lot of subjective meanings depending on the person. Some, mostly women, embrace the concept. Others, mostly men, shudder with horror at the thought of it.

Lump me into the latter category.

Since starting up my little project here, I've found myself at a score of cyber-Home Depots as I struggle to assemble a page worthy of those who I hope will visit. I have scrolled through color schemes, formats, and blogsites, again and again, looking to add key components here and there that will be either graphically entertaining or substantively informative.

I'm ready to pull my hair out. Just as I would be in the real world. Those of you who can relate, let's have a show of hands.

I thought so.

Nevertheless, I am not anywhere near done. To borrow from King Henry, once more unto the breach, my friends. It is a labor of love, after all...

Stay tuned.

Setting Out

2008-10-22T09:07:00.000-07:00

Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. Everyone, but everyone, blogs these days. I held out as long as I could.

Really.

At long last, however, having surrendered to the tidal trend, I find myself attempting to shape my thoughts into something more than incoherent ramblings of my inner mind. Given the subject matter -- my beloved Washington Redskins -- it will no doubt be passionate, enthusiastic, and lengthy (I rarely have anything to say that isn't). That is not to say it will necessarily be logical or completely factual, although I assure you I will do my best on both counts.

Not as easy as you might think. Then again...perhaps you know me, in which case it will probably be a bit easier than you suspect. To all who have braved the unknown to come here, I raise my glass and salute you. You are hardy souls. I hope you will come back soon. Here's to our shared journeys, my friends.

May they take us to wondrous and lofty places.