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Prophecy, the Pharaoh and Love


Ghost of

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For a few weeks now, I’ve been asked what new prognostication would serve as encore to my infamous “Brunell will be our downfall” thread. I pondered on how best to time such a post and, indeed, what it might even say. Prophesying such doom (or repeating that caution, really) so soon after the first victory was not something I enjoyed, but it did lend an aspect of the courageous to the post. Indeed, other than a few wise supporters, I received treatment similar to that suffered by Laocoon at the hands of the gods at Troy. Interestingly, he warned too, of a wondrous object being brought into a great city that signaled not victory but destruction. I wonder if Brunell means “horse” in whatever language to which that name belongs. ;)

I realize now, any such attempt would be redundant and a claim jump of the stakes already made by fellow posters. I’ve hinted and even stated outright that I think the Skins will earn some type of championship this year--be it division, conference or possibly the ultimate prize. I’ve made my stance on the starting QB quite clear. I think this is the year he is finally able to make that next step—the big one. But most importantly, the feelings of hope and of confidence in the outcome of this season (and evidence of such) have already been expressed in superior fashion by kleese, Tommy-the-Greek, bulldog and Om. What more need be said when the elite has uttered what you know to be true?

And you know what? That’s just fine by me. I believe the Skins will do great things this year and that’s really all the satisfaction I need. That Ramsey will do just fine will be the icing on the cake. ;)

To him I say: If you make yourself more than just a man, more than just a game manager, more than a quarterback-- you cease to be a man and become something else entirely. He might ask: “And what’s that?” A legend, Mr. Ramsey. If you do what you are capable of doing.

As for our champions? I don’t like the Redskins, I don’t even love them—it’s something beyond that. I grew up with the Skins. As I grew up, so did the Skins, it seemed. As they declined—well, wait, I didn’t start a decline quite that early! To paraphrase Del Griffith in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, love is not a big enough word to describe how I feel about the Redskins. Nothing, not Michigan football, not a new job, not even money or women excite me like a new season of Redskins football. That doesn’t mean I don’t like any of those things, or love them—but this is different. While I may have been a 5 year old Casanova, the Skins have been with me since the beginning. I learned to read by looking at the Sports section, a section often dominated by Skins coverage. I remember the 45-7 obliteration of the Cards, then of St. Louis, and how Rich Milot’s name seemed to light up on the old scoreboard at RFK on every play. And decades later, I sat last year, wracked with worry preceding the kickoff with the Bucs. Then an explosion of joy that matched FedEx itself as International Man of Comedy, Clinton Portis, took his first touch to the house. But this year, that elation will not be the lone and swift falling star on a September night.

A new dawn fast approaches, my friends. And with that breathtaking fire on the horizon, Helios' chariot is led by glory, victory, pride and elation and he throws back the shadows of defeat and despair!

This year.

And I’ll think of you, my brothers, as I nurse my overpriced pitcher of beer tomorrow morning and drink to you!

Hail to the Redskins!

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"...It's something beyond that."

Man, that's exactly how I feel. My friends and family think I'm unbalanced - that the Redskins are way too important to me. And maybe they are. At least I'm not alone in that regard. I'm sure a great many of us here feel the same way. And to that I say: YOU ALL ARE NUTS TOO-OOO! NAA-NANA-NAAAAA-NAAAAA!

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Nice, Ghost.

You know those wonderful NFL Films segments where the camera is right in with the pre-kickoff huddle, and the home team is jumping up and down rhythmically as the special teams coach screams "there's a lot of places we could be right now, and the best one is right here, right now, kicking their ASS!," and multi-colore balloons lift slowly into a sun-drenched September sky, and the home crowd sounds like a fleet of B-52's just lifting off, and the full force of the spectacle and grandeur that is the modern NFL smacks you full in the face like a shovel and leaves you just this side of breathless?

Would that we could bottle the stuff.

Then again ... it's the rarity that makes it so special.

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