New Year, Same Freak

At around 6:30 p.m. central standard time on New Year's Day 2006, my phone started ringing off the hook. I was fielding congratulatory calls from friends, family, and coworkers. Every time I would pick up the receiver, I would exhale a sigh of relief and gratefully accept the accolades coming my way. It wasn't a big surprise-- this is what normally occurs when you accomplish something out of the ordinary--especially when you pay the price to get there. These types of call may roll in after a job promotion, child berth, buying a new home-- or watching your football team clinch their first playoff berth since 1999.

No one that called me was surprised that I was drained and elated. What surprised them was my reaction to their question, "You must have enjoyed that, huh?" My response was as swift as it was decisive: "NO!"

There was nothing enjoyable about the day or the game itself. Nothing fun. Nothing exciting. Simply agonizing.

I woke up early Sunday morning, unable to sleep even though I'd stayed up celebrating the New Year with my wife and some friends at a local pub the night before. Knowing I still had over 7 hours until the Redskins-Eagles game kicked off, I tried to keep myself busy and distracted. I piddled around the house, watched a movie, and wrote some thank-you notes from Christmas. By the time my wife rolled out of bed (at a normal time considering the events of the night before) I was raring to go. So we hopped in the car and grabbed some lunch at one of our favorite little places near our house.

When we got home, I felt relaxed, ready to go. My wife asked, "You gonna be OK?" I aswered honestly, with only a hint of hesitation, "I think so." That was until I realized that the early games had just kicked off--- still three hours until our game even STARTED.

If playoff football was an annual right for the Redskins, I doubt I would have been so nervous. But since Joe Gibbs left following the 1992 season, the Redskins have only made the playoffs one time-- a token appearance in 1999. Now, in only Gibbs' second year back on the job, they had a chance to visit the promised land once again. They had come so far. After losing to San Diego in late November, the Redskins fell to 5-6, and faced a dire situation where they knew they needed to win their final five games in order to make it past New Year's Day. It didn't look good. Then, the Redskins won two games on the road in St. Louis and Arizona. Nice, but not exactly the greatest measuring stick. Dallas, New York, and Philadelphia, three teams that have dominated the Redskins for a decade lay in wait with no margain for error.

The Redskins blasted the rival Cowboys and then outlasted the hated Giants. One game left. One game to either validate the efforts of the season or once again leave the fans with the perverbial "what if's?" Philly was down out, bruised and battered, playing out the string. But you could be sure that they wanted to take the Redskins down with them. No matter the records, no matter the situation, I knew all week that this game would be a fight to the finish. Thus, my nerves prior to kickoff.

At 3:15, the game finally got underway. I had purchased a new Redskins T-shirt before the St. Louis game in an effort to shift our fortunes, and with the shirt's record sitting at 4-0, I figured I better go ahead and wear it once again. The shirt was in addition to my lucky Redskins socks, pajama pants, and hat. Even my wife played along for me-- wearing the same outfit (Redskins T-shirt and socks) that I'd forced her to wear the previous four weeks.

The game got off to a rocky start, and the agony of the day was underway. The Redskins breifly took a 7-3 lead which settled my stomach for a moment and gave me hope that maybe we could end it early. Thirty minutes later we were down 17-7, and I honestly felt my lunch bubbling up my throat. Not only was I seeing everything we worked for slip away, I was fully aware that our loss would most likely propel the Dallas Cowboys into OUR playoff spot. I could not get the mental image of thousands of despicable Cowboys fans around the world reveling in every false move we made. It was sickening. I didn't lose faith down by 10 points late in the first half, but I did start rationalzing the season and reminding myself to not freak out or pout all week (my wife deserves better). Hope was fading.

The commercials! The game was dragging along slowly enough as it was, but every time I thought my head was about to explode, here comes another commercial break. If only the delay in action delayed my agony-- but it only made it worse. By halftime, the Redskins had made it 17-10. I took a break on my back porch to call a fellow fan friend of mine and clear my head. We decided if the Redskins could tie it quickly in the second half, that we'd be just fine.

Sure enough, three minutes into the half, the Redskins tied the score at 17. I felt relieved. I felt that we had taken their best shot, and were still standing. Then, seemingly 10 seconds later, the Eagles kicked a field goal to take the lead 20-17. My relief was short-lived. Not only were we behind, but the time was ticking. Entering the fourth quarter, we were losing. Losing a game we had to win. Losing a game that would define every second I had spent watching the team for 17 weeks. Losing a game that I dreamed about since the schedule was released in March.

With about 12:00 minutes left in the game, the Redskins finally made a big play. An interception lead to a touchdown, and a 24-20 lead. I would have paid $1000 to somehow make the clock read 0:00 at that point. But I knew I still had over 10:00 game minutes of agony left. The Eagles had THREE more chances to win the game-- each more excruciating to watch. The first two ended without a score, but both times the Redskins were unable to put the game away. With just over 2:00 minutes left, the Eagles had the ball, and were driving down the field.

Then, we hit their quarterback and the ball came loose! I swear on my life that the football was bouncing on the ground for over an hour. If my TV screen has been a tad bigger, I would have jumped through and recovered it myself. Instead, at the last minute, we scooped it up, and ran the other way for the game-clinching touchdown. As we crossed the goaline and my brain went into full delerium mode, I screamed "We're going to the playoffs!! We're going to the playoffs!" I looked over at my wife, who had patiently sat through this entire fiasco, and she smiled at me-- a semi "I'm embarrassed for you," smile, but a smile nontheless.

A few minutes later it was official. 31-20 Redskins win. Playoff bound. A few minutes after that, the calls started coming in. And that's when I would explain the excruciating hours that had preceeded. I had NO fun watching that game. None. It was pure and utter agony.

So, the honest and obvious question becomes, "why do you do it?" Why put yourself through that when you openly admit you didn't enjoy it? My answer my be cloudy for some, but is as clear as day for me. My answer is simple: "The aftermath." As horrible as the day itself was, the feeling after the game was pure euphoria. We went out to dinner, and I was so happy that I couldn't stop giggling. My mood even rubbed off on my wife, and we both laughed and sang and exhaulted to and from dinner.

I woke up Monday morning with a spring in my step. I knew we had accomplished something big. We were relevant again. We were BACK! Even though I'm sure the nerves will kick up again on Saturday when we take the field against Tampa Bay, I feel secure in what the team has already accomplished and where they are headed. The playoffs were the goal-- the rest is gravy. The reward for the agony of New Year's Day is this week of excitement leading up to the game. The reward is knowing that Dallas fans across the universe got off to a bitter 2006. The reward is knowing that 20 other teams are envious of where we are right now. The reward is that I get bust out my lucky outfit at least one more time this year-- not so sure my wife would consider that a "reward," but that's not the point.

Without risk, there is no reward. I don't play, so I can't risk my body. I'm not part of the front office, so I can't risk my job or livlihood. As a fan, the only thing I can risk is my sanity. And I laid it on the line this past Sunday, and for the first time in a long time, I'm reaping the rewards. I hope their having fun in Dallas this week.




What I was doing One Year Ago Today:
1-3-05 (Monday):

Every morning, I usually wake up with something on my mind. Sometimes it’s the result from a game the day before. Sometimes it’s what I want for breakfast. Sometimes, it’s a nagging feeling of having to do something later that day. This morning, I woke up concerned about the comment Jennie made about me looking like Olivia Newton-John. It gnawed at me while I brushed me teeth, but faded as I sat down with a bowl of cereal. I decided to focus on something else for the day.

Even though I’ve yet to have any of my work published outside of a school newspaper or internet website, I do fancy myself a writer at heart. I’m not quite sure who’s writing style I most closely resemble. If I had to venture one guess, I’d say I’m fairly close to former Major League Baseball outfielder, Lenny Dykstra. Dykstra’s nickname was “Nails,” partly because of the way he played, and I think partly because of what was perceived to be between his ears. An eloquent man, Dykstra was not. But that didn’t stop him from writing a book. One of my all-time favorite quotes comes from Michael Lewis, author of the life-changing book, “Moneyball.” Of Dykstra he said, “Lenny doesn’t read books, he just writes them.” I’m much more Dykstra than I am Hemmingway.

Not being particularly well-read is certainly a weakness. I think. At least I think I’m supposed to think that. In any event, I’ve decided I need to read more often. Problem is, I don’t find the time to read, even though I have loads of it. I do read Sports Illustrated every week and about once a year something will possess me to read an actual book cover to cover, but for the most part, I’m a watcher, not a reader. I fill my free time either watching sports, piddling on the internet, or ironically, writing. Who has time for books when you’re too busy writing them? Now I understand Dykstra’s lament.

In an effort to appease both my mind and body, I’ve decided to start buying audio books. I started with “Moneyball,” which is much less a book about being the general manager of a baseball team, and much more a story of the power of outside-the-box thinking. I’ve found myself completely immersed in the story, and I’ve already spent several evenings sitting in the garage waiting for the perfect stopping point before turning off my car. I’m already on disc four of the five disc set and I look forward to each ride to and from work—I even try to find reasons to take the long way or run errands just so I can listen. I may have found the perfect antidote to my own laziness.
But in the end, the couch and the television will always win. So that’s where I found myself this evening, watching the Cavs beat the Bobcats. Lebron not only played, but he played brilliantly, leading Cleveland to an easy victory. After the game, I resisted the urge to celebrate with ice cream (I worked out this morning and ate well all day), and instead went for some yogurt. Not quite the same, but it will have to do for now. Then, I somehow fell asleep on Jennie’s lap. When I woke up, Jennie had slyly moved to the chair and I was left alone on the couch with Vinny. Jennie had a bit of a wry smile on her face as I emerged from my slumber, and I wasn’t quite sure why. It didn’t take long to figure it out. As I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, I noticed in the reflection from the fridge that I was still wearing my headband. Of course, I’d been asleep, so my mountain of hair had been pushed to the top, creating a mushroom-cloud effect. My first thought? I’d be damned if I really didn’t look just like Olivia Newton John. Jennie wasn’t yanking my chain after all.