Posted on by Evan Sweeney

Week 1 Irrational Thoughts: That was the harsh dose of reality we all probably needed

NFL: Pittsburgh Steelers at Washington Redskins
“Little help here?” (Photo via USA Today)

Last night, with seven minutes left in the third quarter, this happened.


Having just scored his second touchdown of the night to put the Steelers up by 18, Antonio Brown may as well have been pelvic thrusting the final nail in the the Redskins’ week one coffin.

On any other night, in any other stadium, I would have emphatically cheered Antonio Brown’s rhythmic pelvic thrusts–twerks, as the kids say–if only because it’s one of those rare celebrations that is both funny and humiliating for the opposing team, and therefore flies directly in the face of a league that seems hell bent on stripping individuality and the basic constructs of fun out of every benign aspect of the game.

But last night, as a Redskins fan, it felt like Brown was already dancing on the grave of the 2016 season.

That may sound hyperbolic (Hi! Welcome to this blog!), but it was hard to ignore that dismal feeling beginning to swell in your gut. Just three plays prior, Ben Roethlisberger casually picked up a snap that he fumbled out of the shotgun and nonchalantly heaved it downfield to a guy named Sammie Coates for a 42-yard gain. It was those kinds of utterly demoralizing plays (the Steelers’ second touchdown–a deflection that conveniently landed in the hands of Eli Rogers–was another one) that set the overriding tone for the night.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the ball, Washington’s offense sputtered ineffectively down the field thanks to an inoffensive run game and the kind of quarterback play that we all hoped we wouldn’t see, even if we knew it was distinctly possible.

The gut reaction, of course, is to throw ourselves headlong off the the edge of a cliff and drown in despair. Understandably, that’s a hard feeling to resist when the expectations have been set uncharacteristically high. Some, apparently, were even wondering if Colt McCoy should have a shot at the starting role, solidifying the theory that quarterback instability is a Washington fan’s filthy, soiled security blanket.

Yes, there was plenty to hate about that game. Bashaud Breeland absorbed most of it, while the rest was doled out to a helpless defensive line that looked thoroughly gassed by the third quarter, a running game that never got started, and the coaching staff’s steadfast refusal to put a cornerback that’s spent the majority of the preseason telling everyone he’s the league’s best DB on, I dunno, the league’s best receiver.

On the other hand this game served as a necessary and sobering dose of reality. Whether it’s enjoyable to admit or not, this team is still in the rebuilding stages, and if we want to get real frank, we can’t even be sure that the foundation is stable. What you saw last night was merely a 60-minute distillation of that somber reality. This was a good team with a boatload of talent and experience (a 10-6 team that very nearly knocked the Super Bowl champs from the playoffs in January) against a notoriously middling franchise that likes the notion of winning more than the actual execution.

And maybe that stark realization doesn’t have to be the organization’s death knell. Shit, this is a team that lost their opening game to the Miami Dolphins last year and still managed to piece together a semi-respectable, if not watchable, season.

So, no, Breeland is not as horrendous as he looked against Brown last night (who, by the way, torched Denver’s Chris Harris Jr. for 189 and two TDs in a week 15 matchup against Denver last year). And Cousins isn’t the jittery, confused passer forcing throws into the chest of opposing defenders. And maybe the coaching staff will rethink it’s approach to Josh Norman, given the extra zeros tacked onto his paycheck every other Friday.

But we’re also not going to be able to ignore the glaring weaknesses in this team that were probably there for the last four weeks, but just a little uncomfortable to openly discuss. Or the fact that a brutal schedule is going to feature more opponents like the Steelers that are accustomed to swiftly beating any thoughts of grandeur from our puny little heads.

At this point, our best hope is to find some kind of middle ground, and maybe learn to get a little comfortable there, for now.

Posted on by Evan Sweeney · 1 Comment

This kind of optimism should terrify you

(photo via AP)
Even Kirk can’t help but smile. (photo via AP)

The NFL preseason is always a strange few weeks.

Sports pundits, reporters, and fans grope for clues about the team that is often equal parts new and old. It’s a clean slate and yet no one can evade the lingering shadow of the previous season, for good or for ill. Teams attempting to escape the atrocities that occurred less than a calendar year ago willfully ignore that shadow, while others attempt to build off of prior success even when the makeup of their team is sometimes drastically different.

This is a comfortable routine we have. We permit ourselves to push rationale to the side and bask in the glorious possibilities–a late round draft pick that looks promising in the third quarter of an insufferably boring preseason game; an emerging star that could fall back to earth after a shocking 2015 season. We’re willing to ignore the uncomfortable parts and zero in anything with potential.

In previous years, the shadow that lingered above Richmond, Virginia was routinely dark and ominous. Very few preseasons in recent memory bring to mind a substantial measure of hope or optimism. Even the year after RGIII’s breakout rookie year was singed with trepidation over a reconstructed knee (despite the desperation of #allinforweekone).

This year is different. The shadow is far less ominous, and the expectations elevated–all because of a slightly-better-than-mediocre 9-7 record and a playoff spot that was practically gift-wrapped. But there was promise–a foreign concept in Landover–and perhaps more importantly, the echoing sound of shattered expectations.

Granted those expectations were shamefully low (“This team’s a flat-out dumpster fire,” claimed the Detroit Free Press this time last year–sobering praise from the country’s resident expert on dumpster fires). But it’s something about the sheer awe of surpassing even the lowest bar that seems to have catapulted this team from “dumpster fire” to something on the other side of average. It seems that merely showing up to the party only slightly intoxicated and without a fresh bowel movement in their pants was cause for league-wide celebration.

That’s what the power rankings say, anyway, as futile as those might be. After being gleefully placed in the bottom three slots of the league last year, Washington is actually cracking the top 10 in some rankings. Most have them in the top 20.

And if you’re a fan of the Washington Redskins, that should terrify you. It terrifies me, partially because a reasonable chunk of me earnestly believes what I’m reading. Maybe it’s the Josh Norman signing that gives us a legitimate secondary for the first time in decades. Maybe it’s the feel-good remnants of Kirk Cousins’s shockingly competent season behind center. Maybe it’s the lineup of receivers that should give NFC East DBs night sweats. Maybe I’m delightfully pouring the Scot McCloughan Kool Aid down my throat through a fire hose.

Or maybe this is just a preseason of heightened expectations, that will surely make for a precipitous and sobering crash back to reality. For all the hope and optimism I’m willing to entertain, there’s an equal part of me that’s filled with usual incomprehensible dread and the indisputable knowledge that, traditionally, this team does not respond well to heightened expectations. This cannot end well.

But I suppose that is the bipolar sensibility of the NFL preseason where predictions are hollow enough to instill both unbridled enthusiasm and an opaque sense of dread. Choose your side: Ignore the shadow or accept its familiar embrace.

Posted on by Evan Sweeney

Irrational Thoughts, Playoff Edition: Perhaps it’s only just begun

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“There it is. That irrepressible doubt that’s been nagging me.” (Getty Images)

It was always there, lurking beneath the “You like that!” memes, and the four-game winning streak, and the Aaron Rodgers comparisons. We desperately tried to ignore it, that nagging reality pulling at our shirt sleeve.

“Piss off,” we said, and went back to reading about Kirk Cousins adopting puppies.

After all the speculation about the Green Bay Packers and whether or not Aaron Rodgers was Aaron Rodgers, the final playoff game of the weekend played out the way many believed it would, with the Packers effortlessly steamrolling the Washington Redskins because, after all, the Green Bay Packers are the Green Bay Packers and the Washington Redskins are still some version of the Washington Redskins.

The game itself was fairly forgettable. Sure, there was the safety that put the first two points on the board, and DeSean Jackson’s stunning, infuriating inability to get every inch of his body across the goal line except for the football (equally stunning/infuriating was Washington’s inability to push the football in from a half hard away). But Washington never looked particularly comfortable, sort of like the new kid on the first day of school. The Packers, meanwhile, never really panicked and fell into their rhythm easily, even after trailing by an improbable 11 points. Read more

Posted on by Evan Sweeney

Irrational Thoughts Week 17: Icing on the cake

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Pictured above, Trent Williams wears a t-shirt instead of pads because this game didn’t matter. (via Getty Images)

It’s an odd feeling to arrive at Week 17 of the NFL season and find yourself slumped haphazardly on your couch, hardly caring about the outcome of a divisional game against an opponent that you’ve been trained to loathe unconditionally. It’s not that it’s a bad feeling, necessarily, just strange and exotic in a way that is both comforting and disturbing.

Washington fans have spent an unsettling number of Sundays in December and late January conjuring up the requisite effort necessary to sit dead-eyed and emotionless in front of a television while quietly muttering weak-willed threats about never watching this team again–threats that you know, deep down, you’ll never follow through on only because it would require you to climb out of the cavern of misery you’ve built for yourself and actually make substantial changes to your sports view habits.

That’s a typical early January afternoon for those wearing a tear-soaked and sweat-stained burgundy and gold jersey. But there haven’t been very many Week 17 Sundays that are deemed gleefully unimportant simply because a more important game against an unknown opponent is scheduled for the following week.

Mix in a heated divisional rivalry against a Cowboys team wallowing in despair and you’ve got the makings of a righteous internal battle that took place on Sunday in tomb of despair known as the home to the Dallas Cowboys. Fans gnashed their teeth when players like Kirk Cousins and Jordan Reed suited up for a meaningless Sunday afternoon of football, instinctively guarding their precious few valued belongings. Others spoke of momentum and the thinly veiled desire to mercilessly kick a weak and desperate Cowboys team as it lay dying on the hot Texas pavement. Read more