January 8, 2008
Joe Gibbs returns -- a true story
Washington Redskins Coach Joe Gibbs at his resignation press conference, with team owner Dan Snyder standing behind him.
Gibbs with Sean Taylor during a press conference after Taylor signed his contract on July 27, 2004. The Washington Post reported that Gibbs and Taylor formed a bond over the years, making Taylor's death in 2007 that much harder for the coach and the team.
Joe Gibbs returns -- a true story
Jan. 8, 2004Ours is a mixed marriage. Not in the superficial sense that my husband is black, and I white; that he is younger and I am older; that he is a Protestant and moderate-to-liberal and I, Catholic and moderate-to-conservative — though all these things are quite true.
No, ours is a mixed marriage in a far more significant sense: He loved the old Baltimore Colts and now the Ravens. I, even more passionately, breathe for the Washington Redskins. We make our home in Ravens territory. From our Fells Point roof deck in Baltimore, we can see the upper ramparts of the stadium where Ray Lewis imposes his will to win on the random events of sporting contests and on the lesser talent of his teammates.
Yet on our roof deck also arrive the signals of Washington’s Channel 5, captured by a powerful antenna pointed southwest for Redskins’ broadcasts.
This year around Christmas, we had one of those typical holiday disagreements, one involving getting ready for a breakfast for his family. I know that Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome affects my winter mood, but in the bumbling era of Redskins Coach Steve Spurrier, a second malady dogged me: Football Affective Disorder Syndrome.
After our subsequent making up, we stood in the sun under the skylights of our bedroom on the last Saturday afternoon of 2003.
“You know,” I told Lamont, as my teddy bear in a burgundy-and-gold uniform bore witness, “if the Redskins did better, it would certainly help our marriage.”
He thought and eventually replied, in the spirit of "South Park’s" Eric Cartman weighing two very closely balanced propositions, “Hmm, better Redskins? Marriage? Redskins? Marriage?” We laughed.
In the movie Diner, a fan screens his fiancée on her knowledge of Baltimore Colts trivia. In modern Washington, the situation might be reversed, given a knowledgeable female fan base. My 76-year-old mother in a Washington suburb and I watched the ‘Skins via long-distance telephone. The ringing had been constant during the scoring of the good years. Now, with fourth-quarter collapses the rule, the phone often stood silent after the first half.
Anthropologists could have a field day analyzing why so many Washington women attended games, in marked contrast to, say, the male-dominated demographics of a Latin American soccer match. D.C. had a concentration of influential females who seemed to gravitate towards the corridors of power and sport alike.
And under Coach Joe Gibbs’ leadership from 1981 to 1993, the uniquely felon-free team had been quite friendly towards family values ... heck, a famous video clip showed the coach praying on his knees during a playoff game. This went over big with Mom, who never forgave Gibbs’ successor, Norv Turner, for audible-ing a wordy dirty on the sidelines as the team slid to mediocrity.
If the Redskins did better, it would certainly help our marriage.
The truth of my remark hung in the air of our bedroom. My subconscious had sent a vital telegram to my waking mind.
Eleven mornings later, Mom related the latest: Gibbs was returning as head coach of the Redskins.
I asked Mom how she felt.
“Euphoria,” she said simply.
The Sports page of the Washington Post reported that the paper’s printers had cheered louder at the news than at the capture of Saddam Hussein.
I reassessed my life. The past decade seemed to me one where I had had ups and downs, and maybe taken the downs too hard.
Something had hung over me, perhaps a woman’s hormonal odyssey through her 40s. Now, I suspect that the real problem all along had been the absence of Joe Gibbs. The Messiah had felt called to NASCAR. A huge region of 5 million fans paid the costly psychological toll. The Redskins had been so consistently excellent and entertaining, no one handled their post-Gibbs fall well.
A memory returned. I had been scheduled to work at the Baltimore Sun the night of the 1988 Super Bowl. I was one of three Washingtonians to ask for the night off, which was granted by our boss, to each of our's undying gratitude.
Our family had gathered at my parents’ in Rockville to watch the contest. A nephew, then a toddler, shrieked with joy, tearing around holding aloft a corduroy burgundy mini-football. Adults high fived. My California brother-in-law was barraged for supporting the Broncos as the Redskins piled on one, two, three, four, five touchdowns in the second quarter.
Had a people ever been happier?
In 2000, after the Ravens’ Super Bowl victory, Lamont, my now-grown nephew, Matt, and I boogied in the streets of our neighborhood, Fells Point, jammed with cars honking or abandoned by dancing drivers. Neighbors said they saw us on TV.
After coming on the field with a war dance, Ray Lewis had crushed our enemies, driving them backwards with the football.
But Ray-Ray’s ability to collect heads for a team that could stymie others and even win at times on a few field goals simply was not the same as watching a decade of Gibbs’ quarterbacks sling arrows to Heaven and vindicate the tribal soul of a national capital that united around just one symbol, its football team.
Happiness overcame me. Our coach had returned. Our mixed marriage will draw greater strength from having, let’s hope, two teams in every postseason.
I'll set up a big TV and a little TV to watch both games at once, with the Redskins on the big one.
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I'm struck on rereading this by how maudlin yet honest it is. I really did feel this at the time and have to conclude that some things are truly unshakeable, including D.C.'s gratitude to Coach Joe. And yes, maybe I am as ridiculous as a Da Bears Superfan. I think Lamont definitely benefitted from having a less irate spouse during football season the last four years.
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