I'm glad the Redskins have finally found their next Joe Gibbs. But I can't help thinking that Spurrier better represented the spirit of the town, making $5 million a year to sit on his ass and basically not care about the kind of job he was doing.
I've maintained that the Redskins represent Washington not just on the football field, but in all the ways this mish-mash of a megalopolis suuuuucks. Someone wrote a letter to the Post after attending a miserable Redskins game in the cold rain that summed up my theory nicely:
I don't begrudge Dan Snyder's profiting by offering expensive options to fans who want to pay for them. I do mind how he's been "squeezing more revenues" out of the average fan in ways that degrade the game-day experience.And that's life in Washington in a nutshell: paying three dollars on a cold, rainy day for a small coffee that tastes like shit, because you have no other option if you want to stay warm.
My personal last straw came on the day of the Redskins' miserable loss to Dallas on Dec. 14. It was raining, with temperatures in the 30s, and I bought a cup of coffee on the mezzanine. For $3, I got a cheap, thin cup, powdered creamer and no lid.
Anyone buying that coffee had to carry it back to his or her seat. I spilled some on my coat sleeve and the rest promptly got cold.
Mr. Snyder probably saved a half-cent a cup by not buying lids, but he just lost a $2,400 season-ticket customer.
Hmm. My wife says I need therapy. She's crazy.
Meanwhile, I sold the tickets I had to the last two games of the season, and used the profits to attend the Ravens-Titans playoff game in Baltimore. And my critics will be happy to know I didn't drive to Baltimore; I Metroed (not a word) to Union Station, trained up to Baltimore's Penn Station, and light railed to the Ravens' product-placed bank stadium, which by the way is about 20 times better than the Redskins' product-placed shipping company stadium.
But what I don't get is: why did it cost me $12.60 to go from Washington to Baltimore via Amtrak, while going to New York City on the same train would have cost me $77? I don't understand... it would cost me less to fly there. And yeah, it's further, but it would also cost me less to go to Chicago, which is a much longer trip.
I would totally be willing to train up to NYC, a city with actual personality and life, to escape Washington, avoiding all the tolls and traffic along the Northeast corridor, if it were priced somewhat more reasonably. Instead, stuck here. And paying $1,035 for my two-bedroom apartment, which oh-by-the-way has very little heat on this 24-degree night.
God, I can't believe I've been here almost two and a half years. I'm beat down.
That's the best way to describe it. Work is a chronic beat down. I dread going in now; it's all meetings and conversations that go nowhere. Projects that go nowhere and have no direction. There's no interaction, no feedback. I stay up late, sleep in until 9, show up at 10. Flounder around on the Web for hours because I can't bring myself to do the work. Nobody cares; nobody looks at or acknowledges any of the work I actually do anyway.
I long for a job that involves some shred of creativity that will also keep me from being homeless. There are none here. I lack the capital to start a business of my own that will keep me from being homeless. Instead, I trudge into the boring job every day. Aimless. Beat down.
Therapy? Fuck therapy. Just get me out of Washington. I hate being bled dry and beat down, and nobody cares.
Nobody. Cares.
Welcome to my blog.
Bad Boys II soundtrack.
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