A-Town Love

I had the strangest dream the other night.

I was riding through the desert on a pink elephant, when I glanced up and saw a television screen roughly the size of the moon broadcasting a playoff game in the desert sky.

It was the Atlanta Falcons, that’s right, my Atlanta Falcons, pitted against some other team in the opening round of the ‘08 NFL playoffs. I think it was against another one of those bird-teams. I immediately recognized my dream for what it was.

The pink elephant I could understand, I’ve actually seen one of those (don’t ask), and I figure that the giant celestial flat-screen can’t be too far into the future.

No, what tipped me off that this was not real, was that the Atlanta Falcons were in the playoffs and were actual contenders for Super Bowl glory.

At the time, the idea seemed almost laughable. I awoke bathed in a cold sweat, like I usually do, completely disoriented, and trying to remember everything I had eaten before going to bed. Then it hit me. It wasn’t a dream, it was a memory.

Relieved that the pink elephant had been sufficiently explained, I was still at somewhat of a loss to explain how the Falcons ended up in the playoffs.

Snapshots started flashing through my mind, visions of smiling Falcons personnel, and for once, smiling Falcons fans danced like sugarplums through my head.

Optimistic phrases, in the form of sound bytes, whispered in my ear like that song you just can’t quite get out of your head.

Phrases like: “Rookie of the Year”, “Coach of the Year”, “Top three Sack Leader”, and “Best Free-Agent Acquisition”, invaded my brain and challenged everything I thought I knew about professional football.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. We’re the Falcons. We’re a rebuilding team; we always have been. O sure, there was ‘99, but I think everyone thinks that that was just a fluke. I know I did.

So what happened? Is this a trap? Are the Falcons dangling flashes of greatness in front of me, as they have so many times before, in an effort to reel me back in just so they can laugh at me after four or five consecutive wild-card losses? I hope not. That’s just mean.

So I guess that brings us to the bottom line: is this all part of some elaborate sham? I must admit, in my heart of cynical hearts, I gotta say...I don’t think so. This doesn’t feel like a quick fix, a publicity stunt, or anything that’s gonna require damage control later.

So maybe it’s not.

Maybe these are the rewards we reap when we are patient, humble (and after the last couple of seasons, how could we not be?), and reserved about our administrative decisions, foregoing the popular or expensive decisions, in favor of the sound one’s, in the hope of eventually achieving all of the above.

I may be getting ahead of myself, in fact, I almost certainly am, but I just can’t shake the feeling that this could be it for us. This could be where our dynasty begins. Yea, that’s right, I said that. Dynasty. No, not die-nasty...Dynasty.

I’m still half-expecting to wake up and realize that none of this is real. I mean come on, what are Falcons fans if not realists’? But wherever these happy thoughts are coming from, be it from the world of dreams or some other, I don’t want it to stop.

I’m surviving one of the worst American economies on record, my daughter continues to vindicate my pride in her by becoming a smart, beautiful young lady, I might be falling in love, I haven’t seen a pink elephant in nearly a decade, and my Falcons are legitimate NFC contenders.

If this is a dream, then I guess there’s only one thing left to do: Dream On, Dirty-Bird Nation...

Dream On