The Origin-A Die Hard Redskins Fan's Story

There are a lot of factors that go into deciding what team to pledge your allegiance to. The most obvious one that comes to mind is the real estate argument: Location, location, location. The closest team automatically becomes the favorite. The team is more accessible and the local news covers the team every night.

Then there are folks that were swayed by their family into becoming a loyal member of (Fill In The Blank) Nation.

For the most part, I've let my dad influence me into become a Redskins fan. I still will watch most of the games with him at his house. There's no better way to spend a Sunday afternoon in the fall (and the winter, God willing) than watching your favorite team with your father win or lose.

To this day, I still will look at my baby pictures and cringe over the fact that my Grandmother tried to dress me in Dallas Cowboys garb. No baby should be subject to that punishment. Especially me, I was too cute (what happened?).

I'm willing to forgive her, though. She's a fantastic Grandmother and my father quickly sent me down the right path.

But back to the topic at hand.

You need someone to share your fan-hood with, and who better than the one that taught you in the first place. I can still picture sitting in the living room and seeing Mark Rypien donning the old white No. 11 jersey with the gorgeous burgundy lettering. As a matter of fact I still wear my Dad's old replica of that same jersey on most Sundays.

Rypien wasn't a flashy quarterback and he wasn't at the top for very long but he was a stand-up guy and was persistent, even as a travelling backup for four other teams. Just two weeks after winning Super Bowl XXVI, my sister was born and was given the same name as Mark Rypien's daughter. Now that's a tribute.

However, when Rypien's career ran down and the Redskins went from elite to sad, there was only one player left on the Redskins roster for the rest of the 90's that was worth consideration as one of the best in team's history.

That player was Darrell Green.

He was the one player in the era that my father and I could agree was something extraordinary. Sort of an underdog story coming out of college as he was pegged as being too small to be a lock-down cornerback over the span of an entire career. Year in and year out, though, he proved that he belonged in the category of best ever to play the position.

Unfortunately, I wasn't born soon enough to see him chase down Tony Dorsett from the other side of the field or return a punt against the Bears in a playoff game for a touchdown...with one arm covering his torn rib cartilage. Just watching the old film reels of those plays gives me chills.

Other than Art Monk, Green was the only Redskin I've seen play in my lifetime that had a Hall of Fame career. To see them inducted together was a real treat, I just wish I would have been there in person to see it.

If it weren't for Green, I'm not so sure my father could have convinced me to keep my Redskins Fan Card in my wallet for the last 21 years.

He was the silver lining in the years or the Heath Shuler/Gus Frerotte debacle that lasted about two years more than it should have. It's easy to look back at now and laugh, but Frerotte was an adequate quarterback who's most memorable moment was ramming his head into Jack Kent Cooke Stadium's green wall (now FedEx Field, with a red wall).

The frustration continued after Frerotte left. They had perfectly good quarterbacks in Trent Green and Brad Johnson in consecutive years, only to let each of them go and take a shot on the great Jeff George and a multitude of other washed up and high priced free agents. One thing stayed the same though, and once again, it was Darrell Green.

It was sad to see him retire in 2002, but the way he went out was memorable. Even in a non-playoff season, the Redskins broke a 10-game losing streak to Dallas by winning 20-14 at home for a perfect sendoff.

Even though Green's career ended and he's already in the Hall of Fame you may question why I still watch the Redskins. It's hard to put a finger on it, but I would have to say that watching the games with my father brings back a nostalgia of the glory days and I really want to be around when they happen again.

And I promise you that they will.