Natmagic
January-4th-2008, 02:46 PM
============Life==============Can====
==Streak and flash like a bolt of lightning as we wonder were the time does indeed go==
==Flow with the eternal elegance of the good times that can spin, glimmer and shine with the divine order of the cosmos==
Unfortunately, sometimes, life can get a bit blurry as the random weeknights gone by fade from the forefront of our conscious minds….
January 6th, 2004 was most certainly not one of those nights
This howling, cold New York night found me far away from the crosshairs of my “early thirties stock market crash driven renaissance/mid life crisis” period. That said, stress and too much partying were, as ever, the order of the day. As was my habit, I would listen to the local New Yorkers rag on each other on the regional sports station – 660 WFAN – as I was getting ready for bed.
====Then it happened====
The WFAN “20-20 Flash” reported that Coach Gibbs was considering coming out of retirement in order to save our beloved franchise. I remember the exact way the WFAN 20-20 update guy slowed and elevated his voice as he said “Joe Gibbs contemplating coming out of retirement.” My initial reaction was one of disbelief and anger. HOW DARE THE DOUCHE BAG NEW YORK MEDIA MEDDLE WITH REDSKIN FANS EMOTIONS WITH REGARDS TO SUCH A SACRED ISSUE!!! The sting of yet another horrid season was still bleeding inside of me as I thought of the beloved and historic franchise that encompasses my hometown.
At over a Billion dollars – the Forbes list had us ranked as the wealthiest sports franchise in the world – At just under one hundred thousand in capacity we easily had the largest stadium in the NFL… How on earth could this be happening to us? The anger, fury and violence that accompanies the empty recognition that “maybe somehow this will be our year” was indeed going to be put off at the very least another year feeling was seemingly never going to end. What can you do when something you love so much, makes you and everybody you really care about so frustrated and sad?
The anger began to drift and I eventually found myself daydreaming away as the clocked sliced through midnight. I couldn’t help myself from thinking about the return of the coach who everybody that I know and respect back home loved as if he were one of their grandfathers. The next morning as I drove to work, it was confirmed, the coach to whom I owe my blessed childhood was back===
XVII = 10 years old = My Mom can never speak of this one without mentioning the fact that “he was sitting there cheering in his PJs.” Riggins and the Skins were like real life cartoon characters to me as our nations capital burst into a burgundy and gold frenzy of joy. I’m certain that the regional revelry will never ever be matched. Why? John Feinstein sums it up best in his book "Next Man Up." After a few pages describing what it was like growing up in New York going to Giant and eventually Jet games, Feinstein writes:
"I always knew pro football was a big deal when I was a kid. After all, there were only fourteen regular season games, so they all mattered. But it wasn't until my parents moved to Washington during my senior year of high school that I understood how it can become an entire town’s obsession. My parents move coincided with George Allen's second season as coach of the Redskins. I was finishing high school in New York, but I went to Washington most weekends and I was amazed by the Redskins' hold on the entire city. As I watched television, listened to the radio, read the sports section of the Washington Post and Washington Star, it was as if nothing else existed. I still remember going to the Safeway one Sunday afternoon during a Redskin game and feeling as if I had wandered into a ghost town. The guy behind the counter looked at me strangely, as if to say, “If you don’t have to be out, why are you?” He had a radio tuned to the game, naturally.
When the Redskins went to the Super Bowl that season, the story seemed only slightly more important than the end of the Vietnam War. Richard Nixon was sending plays to Allen from the White House. When the Redskins lost the Super Bowl to the Miami Dolphins, the entire city went into an extended state of depression.
I wasn’t a Redskins fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I loved reading the Washington Post’s saturation coverage of the team. Leonard Shapiro, the post’s Redskins beat writer, became one of my first heroes of journalism, as did Ken Denlinger, their primary Redskins columnist. When I joined the post after college, I got close-up look at how important the Redskins were to the newspaper, to the local media in Washington, and to the entire city. During my first year at the paper, I was sitting at my desk on the first day of the NFL draft – this was so long ago, it was before the draft was on TV – When Ben Bradlee, the Post’s legendary executive editor, came bouncing back to the sports section.
“Hey, George,” he yelled at sports editor George Solomon, “who’d we get?”
I was twenty-one and even more of a wise guy than I am now. “Jeez, Ben,” I said, “I didn’t realize the Post had a pick in the NFL draft.”
Bradlee whirled around, pointed his finger at me, and said, “Listen, Feinstein, if you don’t like the Redskins, you can get the **** out of town right now.”
Those of you who have read or seen “All the Presidents Men” know I’m not exaggerating about the profanity. What’s more, he wasn’t smiling when he said it.
I learned my lesson: don’t joke about the Redskins around the brass.”
XXII = 15 years old = A teenage football player who wanted to one day play for the Redskins more than anything in the world. Also old enough to realize that it was Joe Gibbs, not the president, who ruled over Washington DC
XXVI = 20 years old = A young man and his friends drank an insane amount of beer, howled at the moon and had as fine a time as there will ever be. Kings of the world… we all were exactly where we wanted to be
Gibbs retires and starts a NACAR empire. We root and marvel as Joe Gibbs Racing becomes a powerhouse
Darkness falls upon DC, Maryland and Virginia. I haven’t written about the old days all that much. The reason I’ve chosen right now stems from the fact that the stakes have, and currently are as big as they’ve ever been. My worst nightmare with regards to Coach Gibbs return has been the fact that I can’t stand to see him criticized. We all thought about it when he returned. He’s already been enshrined into the Hall of Fame – He might as well have had a halo above his head from all of our perspectives. What if it doesn’t work out? But OH MAN what if it does?! The 2005 winning streak and Tampa Bay wildcard win had us all dreaming of a “return to glory.” We had a least 20,000 Redskin fans going crazy in Tampa Bay. I’ve never seen such dominance of another teams “house” – we were literally everywhere. The multiple renditions of “Hail to the Redskins” sung that glorious afternoon and late into the Tampa night were still ringing in my head as the good times crashed into the Seattle division loss and the unthinkable 5 and 11 season. Coach Gibbs was being trashed by *******s in the media and worse yet, fellow Skin fans?!? Even though the Skin fan Gibbs bashers numbers were small, the fact that such selfish, miserable ungrateful souls existed made we want to puke. I’m convinced that any and all Redskin fan Coach Gibbs bashers were not loved by their mothers while they were growing up. How else could someone be so shallow? Whatever the case, my worst nightmare was coming true.
We all know what’s gone down this year. Last night I found myself reading an old email having to do with the fact that I planned to go down to Jackson Memorial Hospital and hang my beloved “Tampa Bay Wildcard” Redskin flag at the gates. It was sent the night Sean Taylor died. I was awoken that morning by a very simple text sent to me by Matt. It simply said “Sean Taylor died.” It was before 6am and couldn’t get out of bed. Not because I was tired, because I couldn’t breathe. Devastating and heartbroken simply won’t do. It was flat out like WE lost a member of our family – and of course – he was the beaming star and a beacon of hope for the Redskin family. Sean passed away on a Tuesday; things were more than gloomy until his Father showed up at Redskin Park the following day. Just after their 1st practice back he told the team to “go out there and make the playoffs for Sean.” Word is there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The gloom almost instantly felt replaced by “THE HELL BLAZED BOLT OF LIGHTNING” RIDING ON OUR SHOULDERS. I traveled back home to DC for the game that Sunday. Seeing old friends and being and cheering along with a hundred thousand burgundy and gold clad brethren at “The Fed” was a shade beyond therapeutic. We walked into the band in full regalia playing “Hail to the Redskins” at half tempo.
Then, they stopped just short of the end. As intoxicated as the crowd was, the reason why they stopped in such an abrupt manner was lost on no one. They handed out #21 towels at the gate as we filed through in order to pay our respects and cheer for our boys. Sure we wanted to win, but most of our cheers were for simply taking the field – to be there for them. The video tribute was stunning. The hits -- the picks -- the fumble recovery and “the dive” pierced into our hearts. As it was ending I looked around me. I guess it seems appropriate that everyone was using their #21 towels to wipe their tears. The game was flat, rainy and hard on everyone involved. As for the Gibbs double time out? Well. Can worst nightmares get worse? Douche bags of all sorts piled on Coach like there was no tomorrow. I was even told there was a (small) group of Skin fans chanting “Gibbs must go.” I swear by God if I would have personally bore witness to this I would have beaten these losers as if they were Philly/South Jersey scum. They are most certainly of similar character and I’m ashamed to even think of them as fellow Skin fans.
The Chicago game found me back down in south Florida with a house full of non Skin fan friends. Given the fact that I normally insist upon watching the games with Skin fan brethren or in seclusion, this is a highly unusual occurrence. Either way my buddies were happy to be able to hang out on a Thursday night and watch me lose my skull. Given the fact that this very easily could have been our last stand, I went all out with regards to food, cigars and booze. When JC was being carted off the field that was it, rock bottom had arrived. I had lost my powers of speech and was literally sinking and sinking into my couch. No one even dared to speak for fear for being tossed out on their ear. Truth be told, save for the good food and booze, it was a morbid vibe. Then it happened. A pick so big -- during a game so dull --that even these non Skin fans were jumping up and down.
The beginning of our ride had arrived and the party was ON
The following week I was lucky enough to have two -- might as well be long time friends-- Redskin fans at my house for the Viking game. The following week I went to one of their houses for the Dallas game. This time full on families were involved. We filled the house with so much love and good times that I found myself thinking that it was not unlike so many other happy homes a thousand miles to our north.
And why has this magical ride been so jubilant?
===The Holy Trio of the Ride===
===The legacy of Gibbs and his leadership when we needed it most. The man who speaks of shaking, “every last fans cold hand,” when they got back to Redskin Park after the 2005 Seattle loss. The man who speaks of “doing it for the fans” to the point of saturation. No coach has ever loved a fan base as much as he loves us.
===The spirit of #21 mixed into our burgundy laced souls
===The Todd Collins story. The smart, classy loyal guy who’s worked so hard lives a dream?
*Note* “of the ride” was added due to the fact that I often refer to the holy trio as Jerry, Phil and Robert Hunter – you Dead Heads out there know what I speak of
The ride
The magical ride
Of course a song is in order. I’ve been considering:
Slightly Stoopid “Open Road” –
Lights go down and you're ready for the open road
maybe theres a chance for sure
never really knowin' if you'll be on the other side
when its time to come home
“Magic Carpet Ride” -- too cliché.
“Look what’s happening, start a revolution, start a revolution” – maybe
“For What It’s Worth?” –
There's something happening hereWhat it is ain't exactly clearThere's a man with a gun over thereTelling me I got to bewareI think it's time we stop, children, what's that soundEverybody look what's going down
*Nope*
With a nod to “AP” for his “may be going to hell in a bucket babe…least I’m enjoying the ride” We’re going with:Uncle John's Band
Lyrics: Robert Hunter
Music: Jerry Garcia
Well the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more
'Cause when life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door
Think this through with me, let me know your mind
Wo-oh, what I want to know is, are you kind?
It's a buck dancer's choice my friend, better take my advice
You know all the rules by now, and the fire from the ice
Will you come with me, won't you come with me?
Wo-oh, what I want to know, will you come with me?
God damn, well I declare, have you seen the like?
Their walls are built of cannon balls
Their motto is "don't" tread on me"
Come hear Uncle John's Band, playing to the tide
Come with me or go alone
He's come to take his children home
It's the same story the crow told me, it's the only one he knows
Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go
Ain't no time to hate, barely time to wait
Wo-oh, what I want to know, where does the time go?
I live in a silver mine and I call it beggar's tomb
I got me a violin and I beg you call the tune
Anybody's choice, I can hear your voice
Wo-oh, what I want to know, how does the song go?
Come hear Uncle John's Band, by the river side
Got some things to talk about
Here beside the rising tide
Wo-oh what I want to know, how does the song go?
WARPATH
==Streak and flash like a bolt of lightning as we wonder were the time does indeed go==
==Flow with the eternal elegance of the good times that can spin, glimmer and shine with the divine order of the cosmos==
Unfortunately, sometimes, life can get a bit blurry as the random weeknights gone by fade from the forefront of our conscious minds….
January 6th, 2004 was most certainly not one of those nights
This howling, cold New York night found me far away from the crosshairs of my “early thirties stock market crash driven renaissance/mid life crisis” period. That said, stress and too much partying were, as ever, the order of the day. As was my habit, I would listen to the local New Yorkers rag on each other on the regional sports station – 660 WFAN – as I was getting ready for bed.
====Then it happened====
The WFAN “20-20 Flash” reported that Coach Gibbs was considering coming out of retirement in order to save our beloved franchise. I remember the exact way the WFAN 20-20 update guy slowed and elevated his voice as he said “Joe Gibbs contemplating coming out of retirement.” My initial reaction was one of disbelief and anger. HOW DARE THE DOUCHE BAG NEW YORK MEDIA MEDDLE WITH REDSKIN FANS EMOTIONS WITH REGARDS TO SUCH A SACRED ISSUE!!! The sting of yet another horrid season was still bleeding inside of me as I thought of the beloved and historic franchise that encompasses my hometown.
At over a Billion dollars – the Forbes list had us ranked as the wealthiest sports franchise in the world – At just under one hundred thousand in capacity we easily had the largest stadium in the NFL… How on earth could this be happening to us? The anger, fury and violence that accompanies the empty recognition that “maybe somehow this will be our year” was indeed going to be put off at the very least another year feeling was seemingly never going to end. What can you do when something you love so much, makes you and everybody you really care about so frustrated and sad?
The anger began to drift and I eventually found myself daydreaming away as the clocked sliced through midnight. I couldn’t help myself from thinking about the return of the coach who everybody that I know and respect back home loved as if he were one of their grandfathers. The next morning as I drove to work, it was confirmed, the coach to whom I owe my blessed childhood was back===
XVII = 10 years old = My Mom can never speak of this one without mentioning the fact that “he was sitting there cheering in his PJs.” Riggins and the Skins were like real life cartoon characters to me as our nations capital burst into a burgundy and gold frenzy of joy. I’m certain that the regional revelry will never ever be matched. Why? John Feinstein sums it up best in his book "Next Man Up." After a few pages describing what it was like growing up in New York going to Giant and eventually Jet games, Feinstein writes:
"I always knew pro football was a big deal when I was a kid. After all, there were only fourteen regular season games, so they all mattered. But it wasn't until my parents moved to Washington during my senior year of high school that I understood how it can become an entire town’s obsession. My parents move coincided with George Allen's second season as coach of the Redskins. I was finishing high school in New York, but I went to Washington most weekends and I was amazed by the Redskins' hold on the entire city. As I watched television, listened to the radio, read the sports section of the Washington Post and Washington Star, it was as if nothing else existed. I still remember going to the Safeway one Sunday afternoon during a Redskin game and feeling as if I had wandered into a ghost town. The guy behind the counter looked at me strangely, as if to say, “If you don’t have to be out, why are you?” He had a radio tuned to the game, naturally.
When the Redskins went to the Super Bowl that season, the story seemed only slightly more important than the end of the Vietnam War. Richard Nixon was sending plays to Allen from the White House. When the Redskins lost the Super Bowl to the Miami Dolphins, the entire city went into an extended state of depression.
I wasn’t a Redskins fan by any stretch of the imagination, but I loved reading the Washington Post’s saturation coverage of the team. Leonard Shapiro, the post’s Redskins beat writer, became one of my first heroes of journalism, as did Ken Denlinger, their primary Redskins columnist. When I joined the post after college, I got close-up look at how important the Redskins were to the newspaper, to the local media in Washington, and to the entire city. During my first year at the paper, I was sitting at my desk on the first day of the NFL draft – this was so long ago, it was before the draft was on TV – When Ben Bradlee, the Post’s legendary executive editor, came bouncing back to the sports section.
“Hey, George,” he yelled at sports editor George Solomon, “who’d we get?”
I was twenty-one and even more of a wise guy than I am now. “Jeez, Ben,” I said, “I didn’t realize the Post had a pick in the NFL draft.”
Bradlee whirled around, pointed his finger at me, and said, “Listen, Feinstein, if you don’t like the Redskins, you can get the **** out of town right now.”
Those of you who have read or seen “All the Presidents Men” know I’m not exaggerating about the profanity. What’s more, he wasn’t smiling when he said it.
I learned my lesson: don’t joke about the Redskins around the brass.”
XXII = 15 years old = A teenage football player who wanted to one day play for the Redskins more than anything in the world. Also old enough to realize that it was Joe Gibbs, not the president, who ruled over Washington DC
XXVI = 20 years old = A young man and his friends drank an insane amount of beer, howled at the moon and had as fine a time as there will ever be. Kings of the world… we all were exactly where we wanted to be
Gibbs retires and starts a NACAR empire. We root and marvel as Joe Gibbs Racing becomes a powerhouse
Darkness falls upon DC, Maryland and Virginia. I haven’t written about the old days all that much. The reason I’ve chosen right now stems from the fact that the stakes have, and currently are as big as they’ve ever been. My worst nightmare with regards to Coach Gibbs return has been the fact that I can’t stand to see him criticized. We all thought about it when he returned. He’s already been enshrined into the Hall of Fame – He might as well have had a halo above his head from all of our perspectives. What if it doesn’t work out? But OH MAN what if it does?! The 2005 winning streak and Tampa Bay wildcard win had us all dreaming of a “return to glory.” We had a least 20,000 Redskin fans going crazy in Tampa Bay. I’ve never seen such dominance of another teams “house” – we were literally everywhere. The multiple renditions of “Hail to the Redskins” sung that glorious afternoon and late into the Tampa night were still ringing in my head as the good times crashed into the Seattle division loss and the unthinkable 5 and 11 season. Coach Gibbs was being trashed by *******s in the media and worse yet, fellow Skin fans?!? Even though the Skin fan Gibbs bashers numbers were small, the fact that such selfish, miserable ungrateful souls existed made we want to puke. I’m convinced that any and all Redskin fan Coach Gibbs bashers were not loved by their mothers while they were growing up. How else could someone be so shallow? Whatever the case, my worst nightmare was coming true.
We all know what’s gone down this year. Last night I found myself reading an old email having to do with the fact that I planned to go down to Jackson Memorial Hospital and hang my beloved “Tampa Bay Wildcard” Redskin flag at the gates. It was sent the night Sean Taylor died. I was awoken that morning by a very simple text sent to me by Matt. It simply said “Sean Taylor died.” It was before 6am and couldn’t get out of bed. Not because I was tired, because I couldn’t breathe. Devastating and heartbroken simply won’t do. It was flat out like WE lost a member of our family – and of course – he was the beaming star and a beacon of hope for the Redskin family. Sean passed away on a Tuesday; things were more than gloomy until his Father showed up at Redskin Park the following day. Just after their 1st practice back he told the team to “go out there and make the playoffs for Sean.” Word is there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. The gloom almost instantly felt replaced by “THE HELL BLAZED BOLT OF LIGHTNING” RIDING ON OUR SHOULDERS. I traveled back home to DC for the game that Sunday. Seeing old friends and being and cheering along with a hundred thousand burgundy and gold clad brethren at “The Fed” was a shade beyond therapeutic. We walked into the band in full regalia playing “Hail to the Redskins” at half tempo.
Then, they stopped just short of the end. As intoxicated as the crowd was, the reason why they stopped in such an abrupt manner was lost on no one. They handed out #21 towels at the gate as we filed through in order to pay our respects and cheer for our boys. Sure we wanted to win, but most of our cheers were for simply taking the field – to be there for them. The video tribute was stunning. The hits -- the picks -- the fumble recovery and “the dive” pierced into our hearts. As it was ending I looked around me. I guess it seems appropriate that everyone was using their #21 towels to wipe their tears. The game was flat, rainy and hard on everyone involved. As for the Gibbs double time out? Well. Can worst nightmares get worse? Douche bags of all sorts piled on Coach like there was no tomorrow. I was even told there was a (small) group of Skin fans chanting “Gibbs must go.” I swear by God if I would have personally bore witness to this I would have beaten these losers as if they were Philly/South Jersey scum. They are most certainly of similar character and I’m ashamed to even think of them as fellow Skin fans.
The Chicago game found me back down in south Florida with a house full of non Skin fan friends. Given the fact that I normally insist upon watching the games with Skin fan brethren or in seclusion, this is a highly unusual occurrence. Either way my buddies were happy to be able to hang out on a Thursday night and watch me lose my skull. Given the fact that this very easily could have been our last stand, I went all out with regards to food, cigars and booze. When JC was being carted off the field that was it, rock bottom had arrived. I had lost my powers of speech and was literally sinking and sinking into my couch. No one even dared to speak for fear for being tossed out on their ear. Truth be told, save for the good food and booze, it was a morbid vibe. Then it happened. A pick so big -- during a game so dull --that even these non Skin fans were jumping up and down.
The beginning of our ride had arrived and the party was ON
The following week I was lucky enough to have two -- might as well be long time friends-- Redskin fans at my house for the Viking game. The following week I went to one of their houses for the Dallas game. This time full on families were involved. We filled the house with so much love and good times that I found myself thinking that it was not unlike so many other happy homes a thousand miles to our north.
And why has this magical ride been so jubilant?
===The Holy Trio of the Ride===
===The legacy of Gibbs and his leadership when we needed it most. The man who speaks of shaking, “every last fans cold hand,” when they got back to Redskin Park after the 2005 Seattle loss. The man who speaks of “doing it for the fans” to the point of saturation. No coach has ever loved a fan base as much as he loves us.
===The spirit of #21 mixed into our burgundy laced souls
===The Todd Collins story. The smart, classy loyal guy who’s worked so hard lives a dream?
*Note* “of the ride” was added due to the fact that I often refer to the holy trio as Jerry, Phil and Robert Hunter – you Dead Heads out there know what I speak of
The ride
The magical ride
Of course a song is in order. I’ve been considering:
Slightly Stoopid “Open Road” –
Lights go down and you're ready for the open road
maybe theres a chance for sure
never really knowin' if you'll be on the other side
when its time to come home
“Magic Carpet Ride” -- too cliché.
“Look what’s happening, start a revolution, start a revolution” – maybe
“For What It’s Worth?” –
There's something happening hereWhat it is ain't exactly clearThere's a man with a gun over thereTelling me I got to bewareI think it's time we stop, children, what's that soundEverybody look what's going down
*Nope*
With a nod to “AP” for his “may be going to hell in a bucket babe…least I’m enjoying the ride” We’re going with:Uncle John's Band
Lyrics: Robert Hunter
Music: Jerry Garcia
Well the first days are the hardest days, don't you worry any more
'Cause when life looks like easy street, there is danger at your door
Think this through with me, let me know your mind
Wo-oh, what I want to know is, are you kind?
It's a buck dancer's choice my friend, better take my advice
You know all the rules by now, and the fire from the ice
Will you come with me, won't you come with me?
Wo-oh, what I want to know, will you come with me?
God damn, well I declare, have you seen the like?
Their walls are built of cannon balls
Their motto is "don't" tread on me"
Come hear Uncle John's Band, playing to the tide
Come with me or go alone
He's come to take his children home
It's the same story the crow told me, it's the only one he knows
Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go
Ain't no time to hate, barely time to wait
Wo-oh, what I want to know, where does the time go?
I live in a silver mine and I call it beggar's tomb
I got me a violin and I beg you call the tune
Anybody's choice, I can hear your voice
Wo-oh, what I want to know, how does the song go?
Come hear Uncle John's Band, by the river side
Got some things to talk about
Here beside the rising tide
Wo-oh what I want to know, how does the song go?
WARPATH