I remember thinking to myself that there was no way it was only 45 degrees as I was waiting for the escalator on my way out of FedEx Field yesterday. 45 degrees definitely didn't factor in the wind chill, the altitude I was at, or the iciness with which the Packers handed the Skins a playoff loss in our first appearance since 2012, and only 4th playoff game since 2000. The weather wasn't the only thing that seemed unfair yesterday. It felt unfair that going into the game, I had real optimism about our chances. It felt unfair that during the second quarter, when we were winning 11-0, that optimism turned into elation and a near-certain belief in victory. It felt unfair that I had to sit in the cold, feet so numb I couldn't move my toes, and literally (okay, figuratively) have my heart broke, ripped out, and then stomped on with each successive Packers touchdown, Kirk Cousins incomplete pass, and Packers fan chant. It felt unfair that I, a person no less deserving of success than any other NFL fan if not more for my dedication, had to be a Redskins fan.
In the Greek legend of Sisyphus, a man, Sisyphus, is eternally punished by having to push a boulder up a hill but never being quite able to make it, with the boulder always falling back down the hill and with Sisyphus having to start over, forever. In my mind, being a Redskin fan is fairly equivalent to being Sisyphus, if Sisyphus also got run over by the boulder each time. Each year, you go into the season with new hope, just as I assume every time he starts to push the boulder, Sisyphus, despite the fact that he's literally never succeeded in his lifetime, similar to a, say, 17-year old Redskins fan, thinks that this will be the time he finally gets to the top of the hill. A combination of some flashy new players, perhaps a new coach or GM, and a ridiculous amount of media hype, especially when you consider media attention as a function of winning percentage, renew your belief. As the season goes on, its length and the fact that you can count on the NFC East to be poor, means that whatever the Skins record is, you continue to have hope. Eventually, you reach a point where you really start to believe, only for it to be totally shot down, like Sisyphus when he almost reaches the top but then loses control of the boulder. Then, you're forced to watch management make bad decisions, hear about locker room drama, watch the playoffs while your team sits at home, and then have the thousands of Patriots / Steelers / Packers / Seahawks / any other successful team fans that pop up in DC mercilessly trash talk you, and you can't even defend yourself -- or in the analogy, the boulder running over you. As much as I love the Redskins, being a fan is a fairly thankless position.
In my lifetime, before this year, the Skins had made the playoffs twice: once in 2007, which I don't remember all that well, and once in 2012, in which I was certain that RG3 was the second coming and that our trip to the playoffs and exciting season meant the start of a Redskins dynasty. Back then, I was recently 14, a mere child, young and naive about the world of knee braces and locker room drama. After our 2012 Week 17 win against the Cowboys, I was floating. Despite our first-round exit to the Seahawks, I was still happy and positive. After the 2013 and 2014 seasons, I, and my sense of optimism, were crushed. At the old age of 17, I am entirely less optimistic when it comes to the Redskins. I used to resent my dad for being such a pessimist about the Skins, but now I just feel a sad sense of camaraderie and mutual understanding. When it looked like we would have a real chance at the division, in the middle of the season, I waited for the ground to be pulled out under me. Maybe that's why when we clinched the playoffs in Week 16, as I watched on vacation in Mexico, the scene was entirely different than when we clinched in 2012. The 2012 scene was truly among the happiest moments of my life; I jumped up and down with a smile so big it hurt, trying to keep quiet to not wake anyone up, pumping my fists triumphantly and feeling as if I was on top of the world. This year, my dad, brother and I exchanged high-fives and I just sat in front of the TV smiling. Don't get me wrong, I was excited. I must have had that smile on my face the whole night, shaking my head in a JesusChristWeActuallyMadeThePlayoffsForRealThisTime kind of way. I was still thrilled, I just expressed it in a much less vociferous way, and my joy came with a caution stamp instead of being the pure elation of 2012. But, we made it. We truly made it.
As the next two weeks went on, my cautious optimism began to turn into confidence. The more I thought about it, fairly logically, the more it seemed that we could actually win. Rodgers had not been his usual self at the end of the season, the Packers were on a two-game skid and an overall 4-6 over the past 10 weeks, and we were 7-3 over that same stretch. Cousins had been playing phenomenally, the team was gelling, and I became less and less wary about my newfound confidence in the Redskins. After all, it was grounded in facts. For perhaps the first time since that 2012 season, I really thought that we could make progress.
That first quarter was everything I could have wanted. By the end, we were winning 5-0, and early into the 2nd, we were up 11-0. The atmosphere in the stadium was incredible. I've never witnessed complete strangers totally and completely come together for the common good (a Redskins win, obviously) in such a beautiful way. The stadium was tinged with electricity, with a sense of excitement bubbling over into collective cheering and high-fives. We couldn't go a minute without a "You Like That" chant starting. There was truly a palpable sense of bliss during that first quarter, with each successive good play being met with raucous enthusiasm. The level of connection that I felt with these strangers was intense and fantastic. During that first quarter, and really during all of that night, we were one body, united in our passion, yearning for the winning result that had long eluded us, and fanatically expressing our exuberance when it seemed as if we would get that W.
Well, we ended up losing. As a Redskins fan, maybe that was inevitable. But as depressing as this post may make being a Redskins fan seem, and I promise that I didn't exaggerate, I left the stadium with a new feeling. Beneath all of the depression, anger, sadness and raw emotion of the loss, a silver lining emerged -- hope. Actual, real hope. The kind of hope that post-2012 me hadn't felt before. Yes, we lost. But, even the most idealistic fan could not have predicted a 9-7 record for us, especially after RG3 was benched. A playoff berth? An NFC East title? Forget it. The tragedy of the night kept this feeling buried, but after having time to reflect, I realize just how far we came this season. Obviously, I'm disappointed over the loss. Having said that, it truly was incredible that we made it to that playoff game in the first place.
The hope I feel right now, and the sense of renewed faith I have in this team, can of course be taken away by one poor Dan Snyder decision. It is fragile, and easily removable. However, we have a legitimate core to our team. We have something to build on. And despite every logical bone in body telling me to avoid falling into the trap of believing in this team, it's my only choice. It's what keeps my passion from dying. With the progress we made this year, who knows what will happen next. Maybe I'm being naive again by believing, but there's just something special about this team. I've said it before and I've been dead wrong, but I think that we did it right this time. We have a quarterback who's committed and wasn't thrust into the spotlight. We have some key skill players in place. There are no flashy big names who are bringing drama (yet). Maybe, just maybe, being a Redskins fan will be rewarding sometime in the near future.
Even if the Skins end up imploding and all of the hope I just expressed turns out to just spiral me further into a Redskins-shaped hole of wallowing, my experience as a fan this year, I've come to realize, has been fulfilling. Why? Well during the first quarter, as the Redskins were driving down the field en route to a field goal, I allowed myself to dream. I saw us winning this game, and then going into Arizona and winning the next game. I saw us coming back to FedEx and celebrating as we won the NFC Championship. Finally, for a brief second, I saw Kirk hoisting the Lombardi trophy in a parade of burgundy and gold confetti. Obviously, that was not, and will not be, the case, at least this year. But what does that say? This team, this flawed, disorganized, long-suffering, amazing team, played so well that for a moment, it allowed me to see a dream I didn't even realize could ever be possible. For those 20 seconds, I was happier than I'd ever been. It was just a vision, but this team inspired it. And for that, everything -- the cold, the inspiration of pessism, the 17 years of frustration -- were worth it.
Hail to the Redskins.
