On hope, part one

We came into the game with restrained expectations. They were one of the best teams in the league, and we had just barely squeaked into the playoffs. My family of devoted Redskins fans was just happy we'd gotten so far-- mostly. There was, of course, a slender and not impossible hope that we might win this game, and having won it, the football experts in the family (i.e. Dad and the brothers) didn't see why we shouldn't go all the way.

It was a beautiful game. We scored first. It took us most of the first quarter to do it, but we got our three points on the board. Everybody was playing tightly. Our guys were on today (as they most definitely weren't in the first half of last week's game). Our hopes began to rise. Coming into a game, statistics and records seem very important, but after the first ten minutes, all history melts away. Never mind what they've done other weeks, other seasons. Which team is better now, here, today? And in this game, it quickly became clear that both teams were very, very good.

We remained suspended, on edge, hoping, for the next hour. The Seahawks overtook us, and the initial surge of hope fell down. But all was not lost. We hung on-- no one lost patience, no one lost focus, no one threw in the towel. Coming into the fourth quarter, it didn't look good for us, but it was a game that we could win if we did just a little better and they did just a little worse. I said as much to my dad. And then, not two minutes after I said it, we had a gorgeous scoring drive, putting us only a touchdown behind. Hope rose higher. We might pull this one out. With the momentum on our side, we might manage a tremendous upset. It was within our grasp.

It had been decided that I would make hit and harden sauce for dessert, but I refused to begin until I knew whether it was celebratory sauce or consolatory sauce. I had figured that I'd be able to get up and make the sauce about halfway through the fourth quarter. Usually you know by then. You can relax in victory or relax in defeat. You can begin to detach emotionally from the game, start to care about other stuff again.

Not so with this game. We were behind, and soon behind by two scores, but not until the last minute could I get up and make my consolatory hit and harden sauce. I was proud of our guys-- they made the Seahawks fight until the bitter end for their victory.

This is both my favorite and my least favorite kind of game. It's clearly the best kind... where's the fun if it's plain, early on, who will win? But it is also by far the most brutal. Oh, the long extension of hope-- the rise and fall, the endless calculations to see if some, some certainty can be reached about the outcome. It can't, of course. The game must be played, moment by moment, each new play bringing, perhaps, a new turn of fortunes. And the higher and longer our hopes are raised, the more painful we know it will be if, at the end, there is no victory.

And if you think it's bad when the Redskins play, you should see me at my brother's basketball games.