Point-Counterpoint: Washington Redskins

Point: Hail to the Redskins!

By Chris Rosenthall, October 27, 2008

The Redskins season got off in a deserving fashion, with the induction of two of our all-time greats into the hall of fame. The next day, we stomped the Indianapolis Colts 30-16, and we’ve used that momentum to create one of the best teams in the entire league. Despite bleak preseason predictions from so-called “sports experts” across the nation, we’re 6-2, and well on our way to making a deep run into the playoffs or, dare I say, the Super Bowl.

How did we get here? Let’s take a look.

It all starts at the top, and after years of questionable moves, Dan Snyder has emerged as the savvy owner we always hoped he’d be. Instead of wasting money on some high-priced hotshot coach, he secured a little-known coach from Seattle (Jim Zorn) as his offensive coordinator. With Zorn off the market and in the Redskins stable, Snyder was able to carefully study his work ethic first-hand before determining that he would make an effective head coach.

And how right he was. The first year of Zorn’s coaching career has been nothing short of fantastic. His west coast offensive scheme and unorthodox practice drills have turned us into a high-scoring powerhouse, ready to hold our own against any team in the league. The fans love him, the players love him, and we need to keep him here as long as possible.

The man with the plan

In conclusion, our offense is clicking, our defense is impenetrable, and we’re the best fans in the NFL. Sure, we slipped against the lowly Rams, but that’ll surely just be a tiny aberration on our otherwise fantastic season. Realistically speaking, I predict a 12-4 finish, with an NFL championship by 2011. Hail to the Redskins!

Counterpoint:

The Redskins are the worst football team in the whole wide world. Ever.

By Chris Rosenthall, December 16, 2008

Man oh man, the Redskins suck. Sure, the bandwagon filled up early in the season, but let’s be serious: These guys are horrible. They’ve lost 5 of their last 6 games, and three of those losses were at home. They’re 7-7, and could easily lose their final two games. Horrible, just horrible.

How did they get here? Let’s take a look.

It all starts at the top, and Dan Snyder is clearly an idiot. Always has been, always will be. If you’re looking for proof, look no further than the hiring of Jim Zorn. Nobody wanted Zorn to be the head coach, not even the people who gave him the job. They hired him as the offensive coordinator, and then came back two weeks later and named him the head coach when they couldn’t find anybody else. That’s a pretty big red flag there, isn’t it?

Duh, I don't know nothin bout nothin!

It took Dan Snyder 32 days to hire a new coach. 32 days. For the record, it took 17 for the Catholic Church to pick their new pope. And I bet the pope knew what color his uniform was going to be. Allow me to explain: at Jim Zorn’s first press conference, he referred to the Redskins (aka “The Burgundy & Gold, of course) as “The Maroon and Black”. The Maroon and Black. Really. How do you not know the Redskins colors when you’re:

1) A former NFL quarterback

2) A former NFL quarterback’s coach

3) THE HEAD COACH OF THE EFFING REDSKINS!

If Snyder had a brain in his head, he would have walked up right then and fired him on the spot. My first job was at PetSmart, and I knew what color my outfit would be WAY before I started. And let’s think about that for a second, shall we? Zorn was working as the offensive coordinator for two weeks, and still didn’t know what his team colors were? What was he doing all that time? Certainly nothing football related, I can tell you that. If you gave me seven business days and $2,500 cash, I could get you a monkey that plays Tecmo Bowl, and subsequently, a better football coach than Jim Zorn.

Artist's rendering - not actual monkey

He calls the same three plays, mismanages his roster, and is publicly teased by his players. We need to fire this jerk immediately.

In conclusion, their offense has stalled, their defense has fallen apart, and a lot of you Redskins fans are the crappiest bunch of fans around.

Man, the Redskins are the worst football team in the whole wide world. Ever.

NFL Action: It's Fan-Tastic!

Two weeks (and a cowboys loss) later, I can finally write about the Redskins. I actually started writing this the day after their loss to Seattle, but since discussing it made me feel like someone kicked me in the chest, it had to wait a while. Oh, but that damn game. That heartbreaking damn game. The single-most depressing sporting event of my life.

The toughest part about this game has been forgiving myself for what may have been a horrible mistake: I didn't wear my jersey. The Santana Moss jersey my brother bought me hours before the Skins beat the Cowboys. I didn't wear it, and I may have cost them the game. Allow me to explain: I figured that since it was an away game, I should leave the White jersey at home and go with my gray Redskins t-shirt. A part of me swears that if I'd worn that Moss jersey, he wouldn't have given up on that pass that Seattle intercepted and ran back for a touchdown. The other part realizes that there's a significant chance Santana Moss has never based any of his life decisions on what shirt I was wearing at the time. About three days ago, the latter part finally overtook the former, and I'm proud to say I've forgiven myself, whether I deserve to or not.

I will bring my Redskins season to an end by telling a little story of my always-rewarding fan experience. This particular story takes place on a lovely November afternoon. The skins were hosting the Eagles. We'd been playing a great game, but Brian Westbrook suddenly broke free for a long touchdown run. The woman sitting next to me, a Philly fan rather bovine in nature, jumped out of her seat and cheered. Suddenly I heard a splash, and noticed some food and liquid on my pants leg, next to my feet, and on the backs of those seated in front of me. At first I chuckled, thinking a fellow Skins fan threw something at her from a few rows back. Then I noticed this woman (no longer cheering, by the way) wiping off her chest and quietly sitting back down. I looked closer at the mess. Oh, it wasn't food. Well, it had been food at one point in time, just not when I saw it. That's right, friends, this woman threw up on me.

If you've never raised a child or gone to Mardi Gras, there's a decent chance you've lived your life without someone vomiting on you. I'd made it a good 26 years, 10 months. Maybe it was just my time. And before I go any further in this story, I feel it's important to mention a few things about this woman: first, she was stone cold sober. Hadn't had a single thing to drink. Second (equally concerning, yet twice as disgusting), she didn't do a single thing post-yak. Didn't go to the bathroom, rinse her mouth out, or anything. Didn't even apologize. And that's what made this all so very odd. She just sat back down and acted like, well, she acted like she hadn't just vomited on me.

Imagine you come home from work, walk in your house and catch your wife having sex with the Hamburglar. Not a look-alike, but literally the Hamburglar, dressed in full Hamburglar garb, going to town on your wife. You'd probably call her a whore, storm out of the room and take about three steps before stopping dead in your tracks and thinking: "wait, hold up: the fuck just happened? Was that the Hamburglar?" That equal blend of rage and confusion is pretty much exactly what I was going through. It felt like the Hamburglar nailed my wife. And it didn't go away, because as I said, the woman just sat down and went about her business. I sat there for about ten minutes before I finally confronted her. And even in my state of rage, I was a perfect gentleman: "Excuse me, ma'am?" I said, "Did you happen to spill something over here?" She calmly turned to me and said "No". Huh. Well then. So, I turned back around and resumed watching the game. What else was I supposed to do? Pretty much everything else hinged on that answer going just a bit differently.

For the next 30 minutes or so, it was all I could think about. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I gave her one more chance. "Excuse me, ma'am? Are you sure you didn't spill anything earlier?" This time she got all indignant. "I said no!" she yelled, downright insulted that I dare accuse her of spilling something. Again, I turned back around, choosing to spend the remainder of the game in a blind rage. Somebody passed, somebody ran, touchdowns were scored, who cares. The point is, this bitch vomited on me, then repeatedly denied it.

At the end of the game, my brother stepped in and decided to say something. "Excuse me, but I've sat here the entire game, waiting for you to do the right thing, and you never did, so now I have to say something. Look, we saw you vomit, we saw you cleaning yourself off, and you didn't do a thing about it. And even when my brother asked you if you did it, you just denied it!"

"No," she said defiantly, "he asked me if I spilled something." I'm not making that up; that was her serious answer.

"You vomited on him!" he said, "You don't think that counts?!"

Her husband then stepped in, curious as to why two young men were yelling at his wife. He asked what the problem was, so I informed him that his wife vomited on me and never even apologized. Only when he confronted her did the wall crack a bit "Well, I did get sick," she admitted.

Faraji chimed back in with his last bit of editorial: "I'm just saying, act like a grown up, and take responsibility for your actions. The way you just sat there and acted like nothing happened was incredibly offensive!"

"Well!" she said (still a bit upset about the accusation), "sorry for offending you!"

"Hey, while we're handing out apologies," I said, "how about you apologize for vomiting on me?" And then she finally said it. After all of that, she said she was sorry.

And so my story comes to an end, officially bringing my fan season to a close. In only about seven months, we'll begin our run to the 2009 Super Bowl. And when we do, I'll be at every game wearing my Santana Moss jersey, screaming at the top of my lungs, and praying I make it through the day without some bitch vomiting on me.