Back to the fanhood ... maybe?
Once the excitement of July 20 came and went, a strange discomfort set in. It's been 10 years since I disavowed the Washington NFL franchise. Now that the one thing I said could bring me back to the team—Dan Snyder selling it—has happened, it's time to return to the fold.
Or is it?
As I've written here before, the Washington Football Team (I'm intentionally not using "Commanders" because who knows whether that name will stick) was a massive part of my childhood, teens, and twenties. My identity was bound up so tightly in burgundy and gold ribbons that the team's success or failure could dictate my mood for days. Whenever anything bad or good happened with the team, friends and family would call, email, or text to check in. They'd celebrate, commiserate with, or tease me as if I, personally, had thrown the touchdown, lost the fumble, or made the trade.
I held out hope for so long that the franchise would get its act together and return to glory—or at least respectability—at some point. And they gave nuggets of hope: the short-lived Brad Johnson era. The second coming of Joe Gibbs. The magic carpet ride of 2012 with RGIII. But the team was like an abusive lover who brings home flowers the day after a big fight. The blooms never lasted long.
The last time I saw the Washington Football Team play in person, I left at halftime. Not because the team was awful—although yes, they were—but because the atmosphere in the stadium was downright unsafe. That's my lasting memory of what it's like to be a Washington football fan.
(This doesn't even scratch the surface of how it felt being a female fan of a franchise with what turned out to be a hideous environment for women employees.)
Since then, I've lived life in the wilds of NFL neutrality, discovering surprising joy in not living and dying every Sunday. Or Monday. Or Thursday. I've been a passive observer through the Ravens, because I married a Ravens fan and have lived in Baltimore for the past 8 years. But even that has a sanitized remove: My husband and my city are happier when the Ravens win, so I'm on board with that. But if they lose, I'm not emotionally scarred for the next week like I was for so much of my youth as a Washington football fan. Dumb as it sounds, I'm on a much more stable emotional keel without rabid NFL fandom as a defining feature of my life.
In the past 10 years, I filled the Washington Football Team-shaped hole in my life with other teams and sports. There were seven or so seasons filled to the brim with DC sports joy thanks to the Capitals and Nationals. I got to live out my dream of attending not one but two championship parades down Constitution Avenue, basking in the kind of civic unity only title-winning teams can bring.
I caught the Premier League bug after visiting London in 2017 and taking in an Arsenal game at the Emirates. When we returned to the U.S., a friend tipped me off to the Men in Blazers podcast and I've been a GFOP ever since. I've resisted choosing a single team to root for—in large part due to my Washington Football Team PTSD—but that hasn't drained any of my interest in the league or its drama.
In the pandemic's dark early days, Dan and I took a flier on the Netflix series Drive to Survive. Before long, we started tuning in to races on Sunday mornings and speaking with confidence about "boxing" and "tyre strategy" and "team orders."
Leaving my long-term relationship with the Washington NFL franchise ended up opening a wide world of sports for me—and a relatively low-stress world, at that. Is there even room to let the burgundy and gold back into my life? And if there is, is going back to my NFL ex worth it?
I feel like someone who returns to their 20th high school reunion having painstakingly built my best life only to have the guy who broke my heart in 12th grade apologize, profess his undying love, and beg me to take him back, promising he's changed. He looks great. And I can remember that, when the times were good, they were really good. It's tempting. And easy. But it also feels a little dangerous.
Nevertheless ... I've decided to give the old flame a shot.
I bought my kids the first burgundy and gold gear of their young lives. I've been careful to keep it generic: no "Commanders," in case of a name change. I've re-followed a few team social channels and some beat writers to get up to speed with who's on the roster—but I'm still pretty rusty beyond Tress Way, Chase Young, Sam Howell, and Terry McLaurin. I finally watched part of a preseason game last week—but only because Washington was playing Baltimore and Dan had the game on.
For now, I'm gonna take this relationship slow and see where it goes. Stay tuned.