20-10 Loss to Seahawks Ends Weeks of Camaraderie for 12 Friends
By Dan Morse
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, January 15, 2006
With 4 minutes, 31 seconds left in the Redskins game yesterday, Mike Crutchfield let it go -- a sigh of exhaustion, a loss of hope, a season conceded. "That's the game. Missed tackles," the lumberyard worker said quietly, sitting on a sofa in a room surrounded by 11 friends in Silver Spring.
Throughout the Washington area last night, Redskins fans gathered and rode roller coasters of emotions, crashed into deep sadness and finally reflected on the season that had just ended. That certainly happened at the Silver Spring house.
"We can't be mad about it. We were five and six," Crutchfield said a few moments later, rationalizing that his team had improved during the year after six losses. He stood up and walked to the back deck to smoke a cigarette in the lightly falling snow.
Just then, the Redskins completed a long pass to Santana Moss. Rudy Crutchfield, Mike's cousin, jumped from his seat, which was an orange plastic stadium chair that a friend was believed to have ripped out of Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium 10 years ago, after the final Redskins game there. The friend had brought it by for good luck.
"We're still good! We're still good! We're not done!" Rudy Crutchfield yelled. Several plays later, he appeared to be right.
Another long pass hung in the air.
"Touchdown, baby!" Rudy Crutchfield yelled.
But a Seattle player knocked the ball away, and it fell to the ground.
"Interference!" yelled Kamer Ozkayan, 36. But no penalty was called. "You got to be kidding me!" Ozkayan yelled.
A minute later it was over. The game. The season. The hopes and dreams and longings and desires of the guys sitting on sofas.
A core of four of them had known each other for about 20 years since their days at Wheaton High School. They still gather for flag football games.
One black, one white, one the son of an Iranian father and American mother, the other born in Turkey. For days, they'd been talking up the game, confident they were going to win.
They gathered at the home of Steve Hadeed, a computer printer salesman, and his wife, Anita Rodrigues.
At 1 p.m., Hadeed went into a guest room and opened the drawer of a bedside table. In it, he and Anita keep keepsakes -- ticket stubs from early dates, their wedding pictures. And a piece of turf that Hadeed had ripped from the ground at RFK after running onto the field in 1996 after the final game.
Hadeed walked downstairs and placed it atop the TV. He does that for good luck for big games.
By 3 p.m., the crowd started showing up. Extended friends. Two kids. Two girlfriends. They grilled steaks and bratwursts. They ate pizza and drank beer.
And as the game got underway, they were fully confident -- a feeling strengthened when Seattle's star running back was knocked out of the game with a concussion. "He's out!" one of the fans yelled. "He's done, baby!" added another.
Later, when the Redskins scored a touchdown, everyone jumped up and yelled. Then they looked around to where they were sitting. No one could change seats. That'd be bad luck. Mike Crutchfield was on the porch, smoking a cigarette.
"Hold on!" Steve Hadeed yelled at him through the sliding glass, holding up his hands. "Hold on!"
"You want a hat?" Rudy Crutchfield yelled. But his cousin was then allowed in.
After the crushing end of the game, the friends drifted into the kitchen. Ozkayan tried to boost spirits.
"Come on, guys. Look, we were five and six, man, and we made it to the second round of the playoffs," he said. "You can't complain about that, Rudy. It was a good season."
Rudy Crutchfield looked at him, while opening another beer.
"It was," he finally said, quietly.
But he didn't completely mean it.
"It was right there," he said, going on to explain that the Redskins were in the weaker conference of professional football -- the NFC -- and had a really good chance to get the Super Bowl.
Crutchfield turned to matters he thought he could control, offering advice to his friend Dave Ghahhari, 36, an electrician. Ghahhari was sad about something else -- losing a short-term financial investment that was premised on a Redskins victory -- or a tight loss.
Crutchfield suggested he invest in the Chicago Bears and the New England Patriots in upcoming games.
Back in the living room, only one guy remained on the sofa.
"We still won. We still won, you know what I'm saying," he called out to the kitchen. "As long as we beat Dallas, we're still good. We're still good."
Within 30 minutes, the crowd started drifting into other rooms.
Ghahhari, the electrician, sat on a sofa in the study, holding Kennedi, Rudy Crutchfield's 8-month-old daughter, in his lap.
The loss hurt. It was disappointing.
It brought to the end weeks of weekend camaraderie, of catharsis, of emotional ups and downs, of the bonding of strangers and the renewed bonding of old friends. All over at 7:35 p.m. or thereabouts. By a score of 20 to 10. Over by a touchdown and a field goal in damp and gray Seattle.
Over.
Over, of course, until next year.
Staff writer Martin Weil contributed to this report.
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