The Detritus Of a Lost Season

Gallery

Week 17: 49ers 27, Redskins 24

The Redskins complete their second-half slide with a 27-24 loss to the 49ers, finishing the season with an 8-8 record.

» LAUNCH PHOTO GALLERY

"Not much to say. It was a promising season at the beginning," Thomas said. "And we laid an egg in the second half."

Kendall can dwell on the Rams game all he wants, but when they look back at this unsatisfying end to a season, the Redskins have one place to look, one loss on which to dwell.

Of all the wins they had to have, Cincinnati two weeks ago was a must, an opportunity to give the Redskins at least a cushion heading into those final two weeks. The loss to the Rams loss was inexcusable at the time, but the Redskins didn't come into that game playing essentially for their postseason.

It has to be asked: How much more urgency and desperation do they show against the 49ers if the Eagles don't have a half-game lead on Washington because they merely tied and didn't lose to the Bengals?

Zorn is slowly remaking this franchise in his image. But watching this team at the end was a lot like watching Joe Gibbs's teams for the past four years. The Redskins were only as good as their defense each week.

Playing to their linemen's strength and Portis's spryness, their running game became their identity early. When the rest of the offense lagged behind, they became more predictable and looked tired and old up front.

For all the behemoths who make this a violent game, the Redskins would be nowhere without three players between 5 feet 8 and 5-11 -- Clinton Portis, London Fletcher and Rock Cartwright, who defined the offense, defense and special teams, respectively.

When they were healthy and going well, their teammates followed suit.

Portis was a warrior, but so much was made of his weekly ailments you half-expected him to be entirely wrapped in gauze one Sunday. Between tales of blood, menthol heat rubs, deep-tissue massage and ice submersion, he essentially starred in "The Ashburn Patient."

Meanwhile, Fletcher bled from his elbows too and fought each week to get his battered body into any kind of playing shape for Sunday. And unlike Portis, he didn't go to a Pro Bowl he has deserved for at least three seasons now.

Cartwright, a 5-foot-8, immovable object, kept his legs and heart churning even when his team didn't. One of the best memories of the season is the harmless jig he did to celebrate Washington's victory in their last game at Texas Stadium, near the star in the middle of the field.

The dance got under Tank Johnson's skin so much he went after Cartwright, who stood toe-to-toe with another one of Jerry Jones's temperamental reclamation projects, trading words, until the two were separated.

The Redskins mattered in the NFL conversation that day; they hushed their haters and enraptured their congregation. Three months later, after they had sabotaged the chance to make this Sunday meaningful, the final two dressed and trudged slowly out of a locker room.

Marcus Washington, playing maybe his final game for the Redskins, strode beside Chris Wilson, as they wheeled their luggage toward the bus and the last ride to the airport of the season.

"Say we beat the Bengals and the Rams, yeah, you can ask yourself, 'Would we have played with more urgency and won today?' " said Wilson. "But that's just another what-if. And we've had a lot of those.

"Bottom line, if 'what if' was a fifth [of alcohol], we'd all be drunk now."