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

(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

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 -

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

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?

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

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

Once again, no Hogs made the final list.

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

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

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

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

In a perfect world, anyway.

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

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

Whether they ever receive their due is.

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

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

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

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

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

What, pray tell, is the freaking problem?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What in the heck is wrong with that picture?

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

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

Final Thoughts 2008

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

At least more so than usual.

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

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

In chronological order, they are as follows:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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