Washington Redskins: Darkness Before the Dawn

I don't care, you know.

I don't care about DeAngelo Hall's diarrhetic mouth, Clinton Portis' rubber legs, or the  vacuum that is Albert Haynesworth's intellect.

I don't care if Mike Shanahan, Bruce Allen, and Donovan McNabb are Sons of Washington or adopted sons passing through.

I don't care if Dan Snyder is a sinner or saint.

For reasons that go way back, I do care whether the professional football team known as the Washington Redskins scores more points on a given Sunday than the team the National Football League schedules them to play.

It's a simple formula really:

1. Score more points than the other guy through course of the season, and chances are they will let you play another game.

2. Score more points than the other guy in that game and lo and behold they let you play again.

3. Everyone talks in reverential tones about how awesome, cool, and sexy you are.

I vaguely remember the last time my favorite team was awesome, cool, and sexy. I was 31 and had a full head of hair. I could still stomach cheep beer. Life was good.

Lots has happened in my life since then; stuff you don't care about and I don't feel like telling. Know what hasn't happened?

My favorite football team hasn't won. Instead they have become an opponent.

You know opponents. The Washington Generals are an opponent.

Granada was an opponent.

The Washington Redskins are supposed to be better than that.

I've had my fill of friends who don't follow football, or worse, root for other teams, looking at me Monday mornings with genuine pity, or barely-disguised mirth.

I wish I could stop caring. Or at least I do for a few minutes after the latest soul-crushing loss. But of course I can't. I'm a lifer.

Then I wish like hell I could do something about it. Which of course I also can't. I'm a fan.

I'm tired of losing though. Like, a lot.

I think it's time for a futile gesture.

Until the losing stops this dumb blog will wear black.

Hail dammit.