Redskins: Landon Collins, and the convergence of legacy

At his introductory press conference with the Redskins, Landon Collins was supposed to speak. But instead, he was quiet.

A reporter had just asked him about the story everyone had heard. About how Washington Redskins owner Dan Snyder had presented a signed jersey of the late Sean Taylor to Collins at dinner the night before.

It was a question meant to be answered, as most questions are. But for what seemed like an eternity, Collins did not comply to the customs of conference. He stood, in an ironed burgundy polo, eyes worn from a week of new places, behind an oaken podium, and was silent.

What was lost, in that moment, was that this reporter had not simply asked about Sean Taylor; the legendary ‘Meast’ who’d once been the paragon of pure, unfurled ferocity in the NFL.

No. This reporter had asked about Sean Taylor; the first bone-crushing safety whose highlights a younger Landon Collins loaded up on YouTube. The first player Collins ever watched, with eyes of awestruck excitement. The player for whom Collins chose his college number, 26, and the player for whom Collins chose his professional number, 21. The player who Collins molded not just his game, but his life after. His only idol, beyond God.

No one could blame Collins when it took him some time to find words. And so they accepted his silence. For it is not just the presence of words, but also the absence of words, that conveys meaning.

After a long moment, Collins did speak. He spoke of his meeting with Snyder, and how the owner had presented him with a gift-wrapped box. How Collins’ young son had opened it midway through their meal, and how Collins found himself paralyzed by the golden-embroidered No. 21 on the back of the enclosed Redskins jersey. The deep, battle-worn burgundy, overlain with numbers and letters of beaming white. And on this white, a long-dried segment of cursive manuscript, written in black ink. The heavy mark of a legend.

Newly acquainted with D.C., and still six months removed from his first game in burgundy and gold, Landon Collins is already at odds with an unlikely opponent. On one hand, he’s a 22-year old All-Pro, a three-time Pro Bowler, the highest-paid safety in the NFL, and a star upon arrival in Washington. But on the other hand, he’s only the next in a long line of those who have tried, and failed, to fill the looming void left by Taylor’s death.

Perhaps, the end of the search for No. 21’s replacement could end, at the hands of a new No. 21. Whether or not he’s able to don the legend’s code does not matter. The expectations are set for Collins. But when asked if he would be able to wear the No. 21 of his idol, in his idol’s colors, and effectively converge his fledgeling legacy with Sean Taylor’s, Landon Collins answered simply, his voice brittle with some kind of mixture of emotion.

“I hope.”

With the stakes as high as this, and the example so impossible to follow, “hope” is all anyone can do.