Sunset in the Tundra

"Sunset in the Tundra" - Kahnjan Metha

This morning, I was rooting through my drawers for an appropriate shirt.  Being Friday—and, therefore, Casual—I often don the colors or gear of one of my chosen sports teams.  During football season, I’m consistently sporting Lions gear to close out the work week.  This morning, it clicked.

It’s over.

The Lions are not going to play any more football until next autumn.

As we age, years seem to get shorter and shorter.  Seasons change as fast as we can get used to them, months are over before we know it, weeks melt away like ice in a fire . . . and days are interminable.  Yet, this annual cycle of football/no football stays the same.

In-season, it feels like the game always has, and always will, be there—week after week after week, football has a lovely rhythm.  We watch the game, have our Sunday outbursts, our slept-on-it Monday reactions, and our Tuesday and Wednesday reflections.  Then, three days of hype about, breakdowns of, and buildup to the next contest.

But now, we step foot onto the seemingly-infinite ice sheet between us and more Lions.  Oh, sure, there’s the playoffs, Super Bowl, college all-star games, etc.; we’ll get our football fixes.  But as of right now, we no longer live in the real: we return to our annual festival of speculation, argument, infighting, name-calling, prognosticating, and pronouncement-making that DF1979 over at Roar of the Lions aptly calls the “Ifseason”.

The Ifseason has always been a double-edged sword.  On one hand, “optimists” such as myself now have a an infinite canvas of snow upon which we can paint scenes of future Lions glory.  On the other, every internet discussion about the current and future Lions will be like NFL front office LARP: imaginary battles fought with foam swords and pretend spells.  Lions fans will argue vociferously over what is and is not real, what will and will not be, and what would and would not happen in various scenarios.

As exasperating—and pointless—as it is, it’s really all we have.  Despite what can only be described as massive upheaval last offseason—new President, GM, Head Coach, coaching staff, logo, uniform, and half of the roster—the improvement was difficult to quantify: from immeasurably bad, to merely awful.  Is 0-16 to 2-14 significant?  Are the Lions on the right track?  Did Mayhew, Harris, Schwartz, Cunningham, and Linehan overcome all odds to get this team back on the board, or did they fail spectacularly?

Obnoxiously, we won't be able to know—for real—until next autumn.

Read more...

Snow on Snow on Snow

Technically, I’m still on vacation.  But this morning, I had an errand to run, so I woke at my usual time.  Throwing on jeans, a T-shirt, coat, and Lions cap, I trudged out to my snowed-over car.  I sighed, pulled my scraper out, and attacked the windshield.

The scraper zipped across the glass, revealing a swath of the interior. To my surprise, there was no ice underneath the snow!  I smiled, flipped the scraper over to the brush side, and made quick work of the rest.  I hopped into the front seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.  Local AM sports talk radiated out of my speakers, and the dashboard informed me: “OUTSIDE TEMP 22”.

I gave the throttle a few quick blips, then rubbed my hands together while I waited for the coolant temp needle to budge.  The sports talk was centered entirely around Michigan State basketball, and for that I was thankful.

You see, it was one year ago that I found myself in this same position—only then, winter’s grip on my car, and my spirit, was much tighter.  The temperature was eight below zero, I’d spent ten minutes chipping the ice off my car, and the radio had spit venom about the Lions just having completed history’s first 0-16 NFL season.

The dizzying range of emotions—dejection and determination, hopelessness and hope—that I went through that morning inspired me to grab a Blogspot account and put it all “on paper”.  This year?  It’s almost the opposite.

The Lions are better this season than last.  They’ve won two games, and have taken many others deep into the fourth quarter.  They’re also further along in the franchise-building process: they have a quarterback who’ll be their starter for the next few seasons, and a rookie has developed into a starting-caliber player at every level of the defense (line, linebackers, secondary).  They have a few veterans who’ve played well this year, and will be back next year.  Most importantly, the head coach and coordinators will be coaching these same systems throughout next year—ensuring continuity for the first time since 1997-1999, when Sly Croom handled the offense, and Gary Moeller assisted Bobby Ross with the defense.

Though Ross, of course, stepped down in the middle of the '99 season, those three consecutive seasons included the Lions' last two non-losing campaigns, as well as their last playoff appearance.  I'm not suggesting the Lions should clear their travel calendars for January 2011—but the complete lack of continuity, of building, of progress is at least partly to blame for the Decade Of Failure.

Simply knowing that this franchise has a direction, regardless of what direction it is, is comforting.  We know exactly what will happen this offseason: the Lions will add talent to what they already have.  There will be no addition by subtraction, no change for change’s sake, no “looking for a spark”.  Indeed, that’s the best part: there already is a spark—it just has to be fanned into a fire.

While I cannot pretend that anything I say or do will ever cause the Lions to win or lose a game, what I can do is keep the flame of fandom burning.  Believe it or not, that will be just as harrowing of a task as it was last season.

You see, a week from now, the waiting will be over—and the “getting on with our lives” will begin.  Unlike the 2008 campaign, where incredible passion about the new front office and furious speculation about the coaching search frothed and surged within hours of the final gun, 2009’s ending will be a languid drift into permanent sleep.

It’s often been said that fan apathy is far more dangerous than fan anger.  Will the fans won’t come back, after having checked out for so long?  The 2009 home opener sold out; everyone wanted to see the New Lions with their new coach and their new quarterback in their new uniforms with the new logo.  It’s hard to imagine the Same-as-Last-Year-But-Better-We-Hope Lions having the same draw.

So enjoy this last round of cider, folks.  Let’s swap a few more tales before we again don our hats and boots and gloves, and trudge back out onto the barren tundra.  Maybe some folks will even stick around through the lean, bitter months.  We can tend the little blue fire together.  We’ll pack up snow to protect against the wind, and we’ll keep plenty of sticks on hand to fuel the flames.  I can’t promise it’ll be fun, but it’ll be more fun than doing it alone.

For now, though, let’s just enjoy what’s left.  Let’s hope the Lions give the Bears all they can handle.  Let’s hope they go out on a win.  Let’s cheer on every Lion, young or old, starter or backup, on a multi-year deal or  on the back of a bus ticket.  Let’s see if these men can stoke the blue fire for us one more time, before Winter descends on us with everything it’s got.

Read more...

three cups deep: eating crow

Today I eat a foul meal, indeed.  After looking over the data, seeing a decisive systemic advantage for our Gridiron Heroes, and hearing that Matt Stafford took part in Wednesday practices, I bravely predicted a victory over the Packers.  I don’t think I need to describe the agony that Sunday’s results inspired--Neil over at Armchair Linebacker already sauced my crow plate with his own, unfailingly lyrical, take.

Adding insult to injury, I posted yesterday that I'd be Tweeting throughout the game--then either Twitter, or every Twitter client I could get my hands on, went down.  I also ran a quick pre-game errand that ended up not being quick at all, and so I listened to most of the first half on the radio.

There's something about following a game on the radio or internet that makes a blowout loss much worse.  Without the ability to see what's happening, to understand why, you really feel like the Football Gods are simply smiting you:

Daunte Culpepper drops back to pass . . .

Please don't be intercepted please don't be intercepted please don't be intercepted please don't be intercepted please don't be intercepted

. . . and it's picked off! He threw it RIGHT TO Cullen Jenkins!

DAMN!  DAMN!  DAMN!  DAMN!  DAMN!  DAMN!  DAMN!  DAMN!

It’s infuriating.  It’s nauseating.  It’s even emasculating--like your strength and pride as a fan is being taken from you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

The Packers' emasculation of the Lions was swift and surgical, indeed.  Rogers exploited the Lions’ horrific secondary for an opening-drive bomb, Culpepper threw a horrific pick with his first pass attempt, the Pack cashed in, and the game was over with 7:25 left in the first quarter.  The numbers will show the Packers didn't play a very good game--13 penalties for 130 yards!—yet, the Lions were absolutely powerless to keep pace.

After the initial salvo, the Lions' D actually stiffened up.  The Lions had three offensive possessions in between the second TD and the Packers' next score, a Crosby FG.  If they'd turned those three possessions into just 10 points, we are talking about a COMPLETELY different ballgame.  Of course, they didn't, and so we are talking about a vicious loss that "feels" even worse than it looked--and it looked bad.  On Twitter, I called it the Lions' second "GPS Game" and, well, now we know exactly where the Lions are.

Well . . . we know where they're at without Matt Stafford.  Without Calvin Johnson.  Without Sammie Hill, DeWayne White, Jason Hunter, or Ko Simpson.  Isn't it interesting that already, these players are the difference between competitiveness and 2008-level play?  Stafford is already an immediate upgrade over Culpepper; there can be no debate about that now. Megatron we know is Megatron, and White's been solid when healthy, but Sammie Hill?  Jason Hunter?  Ko Simpson?  A fourth rounder from an NAIA school, a street free agent, and a guy who would have been cut if not traded for; they're already major contributors, missed dearly when they're gone.  It brings home exactly how bankrupt the Lions' roster was when Mayhew took over.

One phrase I've heard quite frequently this season from Lions fans, bloggers, and reporters: "I know there are no moral victories, but . . . ", with the "but" preceding, you know, why this past loss was a moral victory.  There is nothing like that here.  This was a brutal, punishing, vicious, demeaning defeat.  It stopped the momentum from the Steelers game dead.  It sheared the the little green rosebuds off the black and thorny stems of seasons past.

. . . and now, nothing.  Bleakness, emptiness; a bye.  As snow, probably, begins to fall outside our windows on Sunday, this loss will simmer, stew, marinate.  There's nothing to look forward to: no early previews of the upcoming opponent, no breathless injury report updates, not even "so-and-so looked good during jogging today".  No, my crow will be slowly braised, for two weeks, in a bitter broth of injuries, ineffectiveness, turnovers, and defeat.

Ugh.  After that, there's no way I can suck down a third cup of office sludge. I'm going out for espresso.

Read more...

holding my nose . . . and my breath

When the announcement came down that Matt Stafford would be the Week 1 starting quarterback, I reacted with mixed emotions.  I was pleased because I thought it was the right decision, for now and for the future.  I was excited because I was pumped to see the kid play right away.  I was relieved because I wanted the ridiculous QB "controversy" to die as quickly as possible; I knew that after a couple of games with Stafford at the helm--and, especially, after the first win--all the arguing would settle down.

There was a part of me, however, was overjoyed to be able to cling to a small hope: that Daunte Culpepper would never take another snap for the Detroit Lions.  That he'd never do that ridiculous "rolling" thing in Honolulu Blue ever again.  That this would be our lasting memory of Culpepper in a Detroit Lions uniform:

I often get questioned about this . . . why all the vitriol?  Why all the scorn and derision?  Why am I, Mister Let’s Look At The Bright Side, downright angry about Daunte Culpepper playing for the Lions?

It goes back to my roots as a Lions fan, really. Of course, I hated the Vikings in general. But I especially hated how the national media seemed to have an undying love for the Dennis Green-era Vikes, annually anointing them the "sexy pick" for the Super Bowl.  From around 1997 to about 2007, the Vikings put up amazing offensive numbers, played mediocre football, and were constantly worshipped as an great team. To my eyes, Daunte Culpepper was merely one of several flawed quarterbacks who lined up under a perennially excellent offensive line, threw to two superlative receivers, lit up the stat sheet, won little plastic football trophies for legions of nerds*, and played amazingly mediocre football.

The Rise of the Overrated Vikings occurred while I was in high school, and the pigskin places of the nascent World Wide Web were just firing up their servers.  On chat rooms, email lists, USENET--and eventually Web forums and message boards--I fought the good fight, railing against Culpepper, his supporters, and his smoke and mirrors.

It was so obvious!  So transparent!  Daunte Culpepper was out there winging it, accumulating many yards and touchdowns--but his inefficiency, inability to read defenses, and knack for making rotten mistakes at the most critical times had his team playing .500 ball.  Just like Randall Cunningham, Jeff George, and Brad Johnson before/alongside him, Culpepper put up incredible numbers, but never won anything.

Culpepper became, to me, the avatar of all I disliked about sports, everything bad about fans and analysts and boo birds and bandwagon jumpers. Everything easy and cheesey, "BOOM!" and Budweiser, fake tans . . . and twins! about football.  I've never, ever, been one of those "sports is for the cretins" types, even in my most intellectual of "intellectual phases".  But the constant praise of Culpepper as some sort of megastar, unstoppable force, or--heaven help us--MVP smacked of meatheads praising a meathead; of cavemen watching a caveman and his big cannon arm spray that rock around to whoever comes up with it, and going "OOG WIN FANTASY LEAGUE! OOG VOTE DAUNTE PRO BOWL!

It's easy to see why I, the self-appointed keeper of the spirit of Lions fandom, would be just a little bit put off by my chosen team signing Jabba the Daunte off the street, and putting him on the field just a few days later. It's easier to see why I absolutely did not want him under center for The New Detroit Lions.  Schwartz has said he's made a point of changing practically everything about the Lions, down to the pictures on the walls.  He’s wanted nothing the same between last year and this year, nothing any returning player could point at and go, "Oh, that's still here? Heh, this place'll never change".

Well, come Sunday, there might be a 6'-6", 250-plus-pound leftover from 0-16 calling signals for the New Lions. The Captain of the Failboat might be at the tiller as we sail towards a battle with the reigning World Champion Steelers. Ugh, it's all so wrong to me.

Okay, time to look at the bright side.  Daunte has proven that the last five years have changed him; instead of being reckless with the ball to generate points, he's now a walking check-down.  Maybe eliminating turnovers will be enough to keep the Lions in the game.  Maybe Kevin Smith returns to form, and the defense comes up huge.  Maybe, just maybe, the Lions win despite who's under center . . . as always, no matter what, I'll be cheering my guts out for them to do so.

*I'm a fantasy football nut, and nerds are my brothers-and-sisters-in-arms!

Read more...

Victory!

Whew!  I just finished unloading the oaken kegs of cider from my creaky old 1934 Ford stake truck, and it’s going about as fast as I can tap it!  Backs are being slapped, songs are being sung, and the big flue bonfire’s roaring.  In between recounting tales of watching and listening to the game and re-enacting favorite plays, drop me a line with your questions, comments, tales of joy, and unwarranted braggadocio: email thelionsinwinter@gmail.com, Tweet/DM @lionsinwinter, or just comment on this thread!

Read more...

how sweet it is

Panic. White-knuckled, full-body panic as the Redskins drove for the game winning touchdown. So conditioned to failure, so used to heartbreak, so prepared for defeat. It was going to happen, I was sure of it. Frantically, my subconcious began running scenarios, trying to imagine exactly how the Lions were going to blow this game. I knew they would lose again, and it would crush me again. All I wanted to know was how, so I could start bandaging the 20th straight blow to my spirit.

Sometimes, I wish I had the jaded heart of the bandwagon jumpers. The fools who turned off their TV/radio/internet feed after halftime, when the Redskins overpowered the Lions like an older brother who just decided to start playing "for real". The tools who, come December, will be sporting all their Lions gear and trying to high-five me like we're united in fandom. The ones who've never felt the urge to run for the door before this team discovers yet another way to lose.

As the clock ticked off the closing seconds, and Redskins chucked the ball around, I still thought it could be snatched away. I'd still thought I'd be spending another evening looking at the bright side; another night of taking the positives. Another Monday at the coffee pot, weakly grinning at my co-workers' playful jabs; another thousand words written about how things are probably getting better.

It may sound silly, but I didn't feel like victory was secure until the ball landed in Ladell Betts's hands. I knew that every damn Lion on the field was faster than him; at that point victory was inevitable. That pure, sweet moment of elation was the emotional cash-in on almost two entire years of suffering. My BlackBerry exploded with calls and texts and Tweets and emails and everything else. The sports bar I was at erupted in cheers and claps and whistles.

I received much dap for my Stafford jersey. Several folks asked me where I got it; one even asked me how much I paid. It was already starting! I had a grin on my face that absolutely could not be erased. On my way out, I stopped at the restroom, and encountered an absolutely plastered Browns fan--one of almost twenty who'd gathered at this particular establishment. He congratulated me on the win, then mentioned he was this close to buying a Favre jersey and becoming a Vikings fan.

I wish I could say I gave that man a rousing speech about fandom and loyalty and respect, about how joy when your team wins is fraudulent unless you steadfastly greive when your team loses, and about screw the stupid Vikings anyway. But, of course, I didn't. Besides not being anywhere near sober enough to take the message to heart, such a "fan" will always be that kind of fan. No sense wasting good breath after bad . . .

The Lions, and Lions fans, are getting a lot of love right now nationally for not being an 0-19 team anymore. Well, they're right. We celebrate this victory tonight--and then the Lions are merely 1-2. Celebrate, Matt Stafford. Celebrate, Calvin Johnson. Celebrate, all you Lions who've never tasted victory before. Celebrate . . . and then get to work. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of the season.

Read more...

in the bleak midwinter

. . . in black and white.

When I walked out the door into the early morning darkness, the wind was a stinging, bitter smack to the face. After a warm and lovely holiday weekend, where most of the near-foot of accumulated snow and ice melted off, last night Winter came roaring back. A silvery sheen of frost and ice glazed over everything, including my car. After cranking the engine, I began the routine: hacking, scraping, brushing, and scouring the exterior glass—while my car desperately tried to maintain a series of small fires inside a solid metal block chilled to a temperature well below freezing. With the grueling work done, I collapsed into the driver's seat. It was then that the voice on the local sports talk radio station smacked me in the face with an even colder reality: I'm a Lions fan.

On this morning, the morning, the morning where the Lions are now officially the worst team in the history of professional football, I have never been more ashamed, despressed, dejected, and disgusted to be a Lions fan. And yet—I am suprised and pleased to discover that I am still a Lions fan. Despite the snow and wind and bitter, bitter cold, a little blue flame still dances and flickers on the ashes of what was once a roaring fire. So . . . now what?

Since literally before I can remember, I have been a Lions fan. When I four, I went as Billy Sims for Halloween, despite the fact that his knees' connective tissues had long since frayed to nothing. I cherished my little Hutch-brand Lions #20 jersey. Of course, when the Lions eventually drafted Barry Sanders, it was like the best Christmas ever in the middle of April—suddenly instead of being the guy who can't afford a new jersey, I could rep the man who I knew would be the greatest Lion of all time. In 1991, I was ten years old, I nearly broke my thumbs pointing them up for Mike Utley. When the Lions pasted the Cowboys to advance to the NFC Championship, I was delirious for a week. Even getting slaughtered by the Redskins in that championship game 42-10 couldn't entierly erase my joy. The roar, my friends, was RESTORED—and the Lions were a team to be feared!

That was—oh, my God—seventeen years ago. Being a Lions fan has been an excruiciating, tortured, squealing-brakes slide towards this freezing black nadir ever since. The Lions went from being a three-ring-QB circus act surrounding a sublime headline performer, to an explosive offensive team that lost a lot of big games but never failed to entertain, to a painfully mediocre franchise run to be profitable and not to win, to a grand experiment where a "football man" with no management or administrative experience was given the reins to a billion-dollar organization, to Jay Leno's nightly national punchline, to this: the Run to None, 0-16, the worst of all possible seasons, the Lions branded forever as the sorriest excuse ever to pass as an NFL football team.

Head Coach Rod Marinelli: a man who I am convinced—more than any other coach since maybe Vince Lombardi—not only believes, but lives and breathes every single word he says about honesty, integrity, character, effort, and motivation—is fired. He will land somewhere as a defensive line coach, and do an outstanding job. His defensive coordinator and son-in-law Joe Barry, whom Marinelli would rather be fired with than fire, goes with him. The rest of the motley crew, including Joe Cullen, the man who drove through Wendy's drunk and naked and kept his job, Kippy Brown, the wide recievers coach-cum-"passing game coordinator", are gone—save only Jim Colletto, the offensive line coach in offensive coordinator's clothing, who's been . . . de-moted? Re-moted? to OL coach, RB coach Sam Gash, and WR coach Shawn Jefferson.

COO and interim President Tom Lewand—the man who built Ford Field—is now the permanent team President. Assistant and interim GM Martin Mayhew—a former player with a law degree—is now the permanent GM. If you discount everything they did for and with deposed CEO Matt Millen, these two have fairly compelling resumés. Mayhew had the second half of a regular season, the worst possible time of year for a GM to show his stuff, to show his stuff. In that time, he consummated a jaw-dropper of a trade that has netted the Lions the 1.17 and 3.17 for a WR who has mostly coasted on YouTube clips and a gift for gab for the last two seasons. He also signed Duante Culpepper to do one thing—keep Drew Stanton off the field—and at that he was entirely successful. He also comes with a ringing endorsement from the best in the business, Colts GM Bill Polian.

Those who were hoping that William Clay Ford, Sr. (the man I like to call Big Willie Style) would either launch a month-long campaign to hire a brilliant young personnel man from some other organization, or park a Brinks truck full of gazillions of dollars in the driveway of Scott Pioli, haven't been paying attention to how Big Willie Style rolls. Like Marinelli, the only quality WCF possesses more of than stubbornness is loyalty. Ford was never going to "clean house"; he did that when he brought in Millen and it got him this. WCF looks backwards, not forwards—and what he sees in Lewand and Mayhew are two men who have performed very well for him, and together they are going to start a search for a new coach.

So . . . now what? Literally any direction from this point forward is up. Yet it seems like after three years of "stirring the concrete", while the foundation has not been laid, the hole for it has been dug. The deadwood has been cut (or traded) from the roster, many valuable role players have been found and polished, and the team looks like exactly the team Rod Marinelli wanted to build: Fifty-three men who all work hard, love the game, fight for sixty minutes, and Pound the Rock. The problem is, they suck. For everyone who's ever said, "I'll take 53 Wes Welkers on MY team", well, behold the results! Without superlative talent at key positions, without rare combinations of size, strength, and speed up front, without at least mediocre scheming, gameplanning, and adjustments, in the NFL you are bringing a knife to a gunfight. It is an absolute testament to Marinelli's coaching ability that this team fought tooth and tail to the bitter, bitter end. So what do you need to do? Add talent. This roster is full of guys you'd LOVE to have, just one notch down on the depth chart. Leigh Bodden would make an outstanding #2 corner. Paris Lenon can back up SSLB and MLB with equal aplomb. Mike Furrey is an absolute mismatch against any nickel corner. Dewayne White would be a monster SSDE, Jeff Backus is a Pro Bowl guard, etc. etc. etc. It seems like this team simply needs to add a few frontline starters in a few key positions, and they'd be competitive. And look at this draft! The Lions will have their pick of the litter at 1.1, and still have two more picks in the following 32. Three more in the two rounds after that—that's five picks in the first three rounds! As the staggering contracts of Joey Harrington, Charles Rogers, Mike Williams, and Roy Williams roll off the books, there will in fact be plenty of cap room to try and plug some holes. And yet, and yet . . . 0-16.

In a league where parity has been the watchword since the late, great Pete Rozelle took the reins and made the NFL into the all-consuming national obsession it is today, the Detroit Lions have failed to win a single game. There is absolutely no excusing or dismissing that fact. At 0-1, it was surprising. At 0-3, it was shocking. At 0-6, it was infuriating . . . somewhere in between there and here, the mind numbed. The senses failed. The apathy set in. A fanbase that had doggedly supported their team for exactly 75 years, with the last 50 of them a nearly unbroken string of futility and mediocrity, finally began to abandon ship. The Lions have played their home games this year entombed in a hollow jewel of a stadium. The atmosphere has been that of a memorial service; fans were showing up not to cheer, but to mourn the passing of something dear to them. Some have 'written off' the Lions, some 'are done' with the Lions, many more have sworn off spending any more of their hard-earned dollars supporting Ford's folly, and a few have even decided to find "new favorite teams". I don't blame them.

But me? I'm a fan. I was born a fan, and I will die a fan. The hooting and derision of the American sports culture has set my resolve. I'm sick of getting snickers on the football-y corners of the Internet. I'm sick of getting reaction takes when I wear Lions gear around town. I've thought about starting this blog for years, but this morning I knew that today was the day. I've pulled my hood tight, I've loaded up the sled with wood, and I've got fuel and spark to spare. I'm going to reclaim my Lions pride. I'm going to fan that little blue flame into the great big bonfire it ought to be, and nobody's going to be prouder than me when thousands are once again carrying torches to rally behind this team.

Read more...