I came up with this crazy idea, so bear with me:
I step off the plane, tired from a long flight. I'm tanned and utterly relaxed, though, yet so excited to be home. It's been two and half long months of no football, no baseball, no Glee, no Parks and Recreation, and no sports except Israeli soccer. I'm so eager to find out what I've missed--the first 24 hours of free agency, the draft, inevitable Parks/Tiller showdowns. I survey the area after I've grabbed my bags... where's the nearest computer?
I spot the airport lounge, and pick up the pace. I place my bag softly on the ground, open up whatever default browser Dulles uses, type "www.hogshaven.com" into the search bar... and I'm greeted with the following headline:
Q&A with Our New QB
I skim the piece, not sure who the QB is, but not really caring either. "We got him," I mutter, clicking to read after the jump. It's not long, though it is highly informative. The adrenaline is rushing through as I methodically pick apart his answers in my head. This seems right, I think. Everything is going well.
I click "Home" and scroll down slightly. My eyes rest on another headline:
Redskins Draft Acclaimed by National Sportswriters
Recognition... I can't even believe it. Respect. That can't be right. That's something we've never had. And then, it dawns on me how I've missed Redskins football. And reading through every article I couldn't while I was hiking through the Judaean Hills, I feel completely home.
"Thanks," I say, although the recipient is unknown. I exit the screen, and glinting in the fluorescent airport lights is my Redskins keychain. That's a sign if I ever heard of one...
And here comes the bad stuff:
I get off the plane, nervous, tired, and hungry. I rummage through my pockets for a couple dollars, but all I can find are shekels. "Useless," I mutter. I shake my head, sighing deeply. I guess it's time to check on Hogs Haven. I grip my heavy duffel, walk over to the computer, and type "www.hogshaven.com" into the browser. Immediately, I'm greeted with a barrage of negative headlines, the first:
So... We Didn't Get a QB. Now What?
Those words are almost too much to bear. How could Shanahan do that? Reading the biting article, I am glad I missed this madness. "Same old, same old," I say. A man glances in my direction, and I scowl. He doesn't deserve it, but the Redskins deserve my ire.
Then, another soul-crushing headline pops up:
Our Draft Was Really Bad, Says Everyone
What did I expect? It's the same old Washington Redskins. Foolish, reckless, and directionless. All hope is lost. I shut off the browser in disgust, glimpse my Redskins keychain, and throw it in the trash. I regret the grand gesture briefly, but I'm done.
Hours later, my backpack looks like just another backpack, naked without the keychain. "Oh well," I mumble halfheartedly. I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't give up. But this is a nightmare.
All I'm really saying is that in essence, everything we're predicting--nightmare or dream--is just that... unreal. We can't control our dreams and our nightmares, like we can't control whether our beloved team is going to fuck up or wow the country. Maybe we'll get the best, maybe we'll get the worst, or maybe we'll meet somewhere in the middle. It's all maybe, and at heart I'm sad I'll miss all the fun and/or heartache. Fun/Heartache... that's Redskins football, isn't it?