I can’t remember what I ate for lunch 48hrs ago and you can remember an opinion article from 1983. I’m impressed.
In fairness, I cut out the article and put it in a scrapbook where it has resided to this day. The only new article I ever cut out and saved. I just dug it out, and will reproduce it, here.
The Deadskins are a Pitiful Lot
"George Solomon, sports editor of the Washington Post, called the other day. George, no relation to Allen, wondered if I planned to do another hatched job on the Redskins. You remember: the Redskins, Strike Bowl champs.
You Cowboy fans probably didn't bother to read the yawner I wrote before last January's NFC title game at RFK (Rickety Field for Knuckleheads). Out of preweek boredom, I scrapped yet another column on why Tom Landray should be running the country and entertained myself with Why I Loathe the Redskins.
Obviously, I don't loathe them. I mean, loathing the Deadskins would be like loathing lug nuts or 40 watt light bulbs. Who cares? The Redskins are beneath loathing.
But how do you explain this to the poor Redskin fans, a shrink's dream? These people live to loathe Dallas, where they'd love to live, and its Cowboys, whom they'd love to love. Freud would call it Dallas Envy. After the Redskins accidentally eliminated the Cowboys last January, Washington fans were like children who told big brother they hate him. They merely wanted the Cowboys' attention and respect, and they surely were sorry.
This, sadly, is a one-sided rivalry. Yes, another Cowboy Week! in Washington. World war headlines, TV specials. You'd think the Russians were coming. Behind closed door, our nation's leaders have huddled sleeplessly to design a defense that will protect a soft underbelly - the Redskins', who have grown classically fat on Super Bowl champagne.
Cowboy fans will scan the TV guide over Monday evening's Enchiladas Lorraine and and say, "Oh, that's right, the Cowboys are playing Washington. Won't be much of a game, but we can hit 'Hamlet' tomorrow night."
Ah, but George Solomon was hoping I'd shoot him another flaming arrow, so he could print it in the Washington Post, as he did last January's, and incited the pretentious snobs who only pretend they understand what they're reading in that fine newspaper. Unfortunately, most Post readers comprehend on the level of Redskin Bullback John Riggins, an offspring of Kansas cattle, and my satire flew over their heads like an errant Joe Theismann pass, of which they'll see many this 6-10 season.
Hate mail by the trash bag followed that Saturday night after the game, when my hotel room phone sounded like a fire alarm. As I wrote, scolding the Cowboys for overlooking the no-talent band of castoffs, Redskin fans called to gloat. one ugly sounding woman even made an obscene overture - "if you have one." Dallas Envy.
So, this time, I will not waste words on the Deadskins. I don't loathe them.
I pity them. Poor Riggins. He's voted Super Bowl MVP and he thinks his Billy Bob Shakespeare. He opened his Tuesday press briefing with, "I come to bury the Cowboys, not to praise them, so let's get the shovels." As Inside Sports notes, Riggins named his daughter after Portia, the character in - Riggins thought - "Macbeth". Or maybe "Hamlet".
His wife had to tell him it was "Merchant of Venice." No, John, Venice is not the planet from which you came. A sleeker Riggins should have an even bigger year if he can withstand the banging and avoid anthrax.
The Redskins won it all in a strike-crazy season because Riggins, plodding behind the Hogs or Dogs or whatever they call their blocking beef, kept the Redskin defense off the field and the ball out of Theismann's cold hands. They won because of Mark Moseley's unconscious field-goaling. They won because they didn't know any better.
But sometime in February, the Deadskins awoke from their midwinter night's dream - sorry, Riggo - and said, "Hey, we're Super Bowl champs. We've got to act like it." So guard Fred Dean sold out to the USFL's Tampa Bandits. Cornerback Jeris White is still holding out. Defensive end Dexter Not-So-Manley sacked himself a new contract, a reported $600,000 for three years, had his hair Mohawked and began calling himself Mr. D, after Mr. T. Send him to the B Team.
Moseley even filed a $30,000 grievance against his employers over last year's contract incentives. Management says he broke the consecutive field-goal record once; Moseley says seven times. Poor Moseley, who had a poor preseason, should be kicked in the tacky Redskin pants.
Poor Washington. The Redskins even tried to compete with the Cowboys in drug publicity. Shrewdly, the Cowboy PR machine generated the cocaine headlines merely to refocus national attention on Dallas. No Cowboys were arrested or, says President Tex Schramm, even investigated.
Redskin safety Tony Peters, who has pleaded innocent to cocaine involvement, was arrested in his training camp dorm. Clarence Harmon, busted for coke possession, was cut.
So now the Deadskin secondary will feature 5-8 rookie Darrell Green at corner. Alas, more little Smurfs or Earps or whatever. This, unfortunately, is the big leagues.
I pray the Redskins - and their fans - aren't hurt Monday night."
(I watched the game with a couple of friends who were Redskin fans. Cowboys came back from a big deficit to win, 31-30).
