The Redskins were the pinnacle of professionalism and production for over 20 years. The Skins fans reveled in their glory as our gladiators took the field of battle and won with an unparalleled consistency. As the wheel of time turned, the heights of Redskins greatness flourished and increased into a rich and colorful tradition. With the arrival of Joe Gibbs, the "Over the Hill" gang gave way to the newly born Hogs. The Fun Bunch arrived, spreading joy and touchdowns for all to see. The Diesel regularly rolled down highway 66 on his way to the promised land.
Once, the Diesel even did this while dragging Don McNeal behind on a jaunt to a touchdown winning Superbowl. More Superbowls followed, as did a level of excellence that every Redskin fan became to expect from a lunch-pail carrying team that was known for integrity, hard work, determination, winning and championships. In those years, the King was truly the Lord of the Rings and Master of city…
To the fans of the Burgundy and Gold, Sunday was almost always a day of excitement and elation. The most fortunate of us would make the weekly pilgrimage to RFK and pay homage to Skins with storytelling and tailgating. The less fortunate of us would gather with friends and family around barbeques and TV sets to yell and scream with delight.
Each fan had their favorite player. We would thrash about endlessly about how out our players never got the respect they deserved; we were almost sure we had the best receiver corps in the league. But while we had debates and discussion over which players was great, every Redskin fan KNEW our coach was King. And life was good…
And then, the King left…
Although we were told not to worry, there was a nagging doubt in the heart of all Redskins fan everywhere. The Pettibon era started with a wonderfully satisfying victory over the hated Cowboys and skins fans everywhere were placated. But slowly but surely it became clear that the waves of despair were washing on the Redskins shore. We saw our warriors age before our eyes as the Burgundy and Gold slowly slipped into the bounds of mediocrity. By the end of the year, the reign was over. The dynasty was finished.
And life was no longer good…
Over time, the depths of our plight became clear: the Holy Grail was lost. Redskins fans were thrown into the murky, cyclical nadirs of false promises followed by devastating despair. With every potential hope that formed in our minds, the vast ocean of reality would come crashing through like a tidal wave, smashing our newly formed, fragile dreams into little grains of sand on an endless shore of mediocrity. There were too many low points to elucidate, but the lowest of the low came not less than a month ago, when our most hated rival, now coached by the King's greatest adversary, stomped all over the Redskins in a display that ripped the heart out of the most hardy of fans. Whatever tatters that were left of the fabled lore and tradition was ripped to the point that the quickly fading light of hope was eternally vanquished.
The Skins fans' suffering and torture was so great that the wailing wafting up from the DC area echoed far and wide. As far as Carolina this desolation spread. But there, our anguish was not only heard, but and was rejoined by the ONE who also felt the despair…
At first it started with farcical midnight rumors that only lived in the heart of fantasy within every Redskins fan. But soon we were awash with stories that could have only come from our finest dreams. It was being reported that the lifeblood of DC, the eternal spirit and leader of our team was again drinking from the Holy Grail. And today at 5:03 p.m. the dream was realized.
Although he told us that time had past him by, and that he would be lucky to earn a single yard from his greatest rival who now has the best defense in the league, all Skins fans knew better. He told us how his chances of success were far worse than any snowball on its way to hell, but we knew better. We had heard this all before; only this time it wasn't from vassals of false hopes and promises. This was spoken from the mouth of the King, who in times of yore won 124 games while still being an underdog in every one of'em. Instantaneously, Skins fans everywhere miraculously reborn.
From our cold, crumpled remains lying underneath the depths of the Dallas game, our Savior has walked across the vast ocean of despair and has picked us up out of the ashes...
ARTICLE TOOLS 
