Redskins dysfunction puts an unenviable strain on fandom

I have been fortunate enough to go to two Redskins Super Bowls.

The last, January 26, 1992, in Minneapolis’ Metrodome, sitting in a section of Buffalo Bills fans who were gobsmacked by the physical dominance my team displayed, was my high point as a fan. The other game, eight years earlier, against the Raiders in the Pirate Ship in Tampa, was so demoralizing that I have never set foot in Tampa again. It was my lowest point as a Washington Redskins fan.

Until now.

The allegations of sexual misconduct against much of Daniel Snyder’s inner circle are still brand new to most of us. There is a great deal we do not know, and I have found that in such circumstances, all sides rush to establish their beachheads. So I’ll repeat an opinion that is sure to draw the ire of all sides. We don’t know to what extent these things are true.

But it sure looks bad.

And in time — perhaps a very short period of time — we will know. Then we can make our final judgments.

The events over the past few weeks have been stunning, and I suspect most people bothering to read this do not need them rehashed. Smarter people than I may have interpreted the signs earlier, but I will tell you when I knew something serious was afoot.

When Larry Michael — to many, the face and voice of the Redskins — announced his retirement without a word of good-bye from the organization, it became clear the franchise was running away as quickly as possible from something. Now we know what it is.

We do not know the entire story. But it is fifteen women over about fifteen years, and so I’ll repeat this as well:

It sure looks bad.

Like many fans, I have lamented Daniel Snyder’s ownership. He was overmatched and stubborn from day one. He gave the keys of a proud franchise to unqualified cronies, the likes of Vinnie Cerrato and Bruce Allen, and presided over the devaluation from champion, to laughingstock, and ultimately, to irrelevance.

Like many, I screamed about front office moves and player decisions. I complained when the organization — under the guise of “fan safety” — prohibited fans from saving a few bucks by parking in the old Landover Mall and taking the short walk into FedEx. I winced at Haynesworth and George.

I never questioned the owner’s desire to win, and I respected his willingness to pay for what he wanted, even if he showed time and again that he had no clear understanding of how to spend that money wisely.

Now there are allegations that during the majority of his stewardship, while we were lamenting the fiascos of Spurrier and Zorn and Gruden (I’ll grant you, “fiasco” is too cruel a term for Jay, but I am in an ugly mood), there may well have been something far more despicable than bad play calling going on inside the walls at Ashburn.

I became a Redskins fan during the 1960s. The team was not good. They didn’t begin winning until the next decade. Through the years, my own passion ebbed and flowed, and it always had more to do with my life circumstances than any results on the field. I can take losing. We all lose. I can take insults — whether good-natured or not — about my range of opinions from the team mascot to my absurd (to many) ranking of Dexter Manley as the 24th greatest Redskins defender of all time.

Those things are easy to deal with. What’s a thousand times harder is the shame that I feel today. The shame of being associated with — of rooting for — a team that may have spawned a truly toxic culture and allowed it to fester unchecked year after year.

The team of Flaherty and Gibbs. Of Sammy and Sunny. Monk and Green. Now bathed in disfunction and dragged through scandal. I am not calling for Daniel Snyder to sell the team. We are still early in this process. We will learn more. When we do, there may come a time when an old fan like me has a tough decision to make about whether I can support the franchise I have lived and died with for my entire life.

But that time isn’t today. Today — one day removed from recording a fun podcast about who the team’s 6th receiver might be this year — today, it’s just really tough to be a fan.