Me And My Commanders

Having grown up in Philadelphia as a dyed in the wool Philadelphia Eagles fan, I felt more than a little strange when I switched my allegiance to their arch enemy, Washington’s team. This happened shortly after I relocated from Upstate New York to the DC area in 2015. It’s the first place I’ve lived in since my 20s that has major professional sports teams. For whatever reason, when Washington became home, I decided to get behind the home teams. Many of my new neighbors were shocked that I should become a full-fledged fan of its perennially hapless football team. Said one, “If you enjoy being disappointed, they will never disappoint you.” And disappoint they did (or didn’t as the case may be.) I, however, remained undaunted in my masochistic support and watched their games each Sunday in hopes that they might yet evolve into a team worthy of it.

And so it came to pass that Daniel Snyder, the Donald Trump of football team owners, finally sold his team to a reasonable and rational new owner. Josh Harris immediately began the process of undoing the damage Snyder had inflicted upon this once proud organization. This happened none too soon for me who had been stricken with a fatal, untreatable illness that might possibly have prevented me from witnessing even the early fruits of his labors. Like me, the team has struggled through its ups and downs throughout this season, sometimes looking as though it would never achieve much more than most pundits had predicted, at best a 500 record.

I did not expect to make it to 2025, but here I am, and here we are, the Commanders and I. Somehow we reached the playoffs. They did it with the best win-loss record they’ve had since 1991 when they won the Super Bowl. This year at least, no reasonable person would expect a Super Bowl championship. Even a win in the first round of the playoffs appears unlikely to me. But don’t tell the Commanders that. Like me, this scrappy crew refuse to give up. They play every game wholeheartedly, maintaining hope that, even in the final seconds there is still a chance to pull off yet one more last gasp win. They have done so, or so it seems, in almost every game they’ve won during this heart attack inducing season. Watching them dig themselves out of a hole then go on to snatch a last second victory out of the jaws of defeat takes my mind off of my own troubles for a few hours each week. I forget about my increasing frailty as I vicariously inhabit the bodies of the players, feeling their strength, gracefulness and power.

As the Commanders rise and I descend, we pass in the middle for a brief time, sharing that same space of hope for as long as we can make it last. These Commanders embody a principle that has always guided my endeavors, the value of perseverance in the face of daunting odds.

As the Commanders and I each confront our respective challenges, pushing through until the final seconds, we can share in the satisfaction of knowing that, no matter what the final outcome, we gave it our all as long as the clock kept ticking.