But normally, the Redskins are the cool side of the pillow in our miserable Washington summers — first in war, first in peace, first in offseason drama. Sure, there was the usual April draft, but without minicamps and OTAs, and players not showing up to mini-camps and OTAs, and contract holdouts and quarterback-management sniping, and all the little things the Redskins do to keep us entertained, it’s been a cruel, cruel summer.
Not that the Redskins haven’t tried to keep us entertained. The team with hundreds, thousands or millions of names on its season ticket waiting list — depending on whose figure you believe — is ripping out seats to provide party decks. Thank goodness, because what’s clearly been missing on game days is partying. FedEx Field was quickly becoming known as the Quilting Bee of the NFL. So by all means, let’s round up the drunks and put them on an elevated platform; that’s been the dream among the more sober fans for a long time.
Jim Riggleman did his part to keep the summer interesting by walking off the job last month just as the Nats hit .500. But the Nats still are hovering around that magical mark, and while for another team that might not seem like much, for the Nats, it is. (And truthfully, the locked-out Redskins and Wizards dream of .500, so let’s not scoff.)
The Capitals, of course, can reach the .500 mark in their sleep — then sleep-walk right out of the playoffs. So George McPhee took a page from the Redskins’ playbook — maybe he borrowed Donovan McNabb’s copy — and has spent the summer wheeling and dealing and, fans hope, stealing as well. NHL news barely penetrated my vacation lair, yet even from Kansas I could see there was a whole lotta changing going on. The Caps were nearly Redskinsian in their free agent acquisitions, and got older as a result. Well, they’ve tried using children dressed as adults, like those horrible Subway commercials. Why not?
The Women’s World Cup ate up some time; now it’s the Tour de France’s turn. But nothing moves the needle — no cycling pun intended — in this country like football. Pro football, fantasy football, college football, high school football, Madden NFL ’12.
A part of me wonders whether this is because football is now the only sport in which America is consistently dominant. Are we really that shallow? Perhaps. I do know that the best Portrush (British Open champ Darren Clarke’s residence) has to offer might hammer us in golf and rugby and darts, but I still like our chances against ’em on the gridiron.
And while I’d like not to, I still miss football, even the offseason kind, even the Redskins’ kind — the cutting, signing, threatening, bragging, holding out, all of it. Let’s hope this deal gets done, and soon. I’m past caring about winners and losers in the labor talks; it’s time for the cool side of the pillow.
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