On Thanksgiving, Lions Fans Give Thanks

“…although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.”

-- Edward Winslow, A Relation or Journal of the Beginning and Proceedings of the English Plantation Settled at Plimoth in New England

Ten games in to the 2012 season, the Lions have won four games and lost six. Jeff Backus’s 186-game starting streak is about to end. Nate Burleson will be in crutches, cheering from the sideline. Titus Young will be in street clothes, inactivated for insubordination. Jahvid Best may never play again.

Corey Williams is iffy, Aaron Berry is in New York, Bill Bentley is on IR, and Drayton Florence will likely be out with a concussion. Two of the Lions’ top three safeties are on IR, and the third (Delmas) likely won't play either. Everything we thought this season would be is lost, or nearly so.

Now, let us fill Ford Field to the rafters and roar thanks for all our blessings.

Last season was the first season I made the more-literal-than-usual Pilgrimage to Ford Field on Thanksgiving Day. I was not surprised to find the atmosphere as it always seemed at home, on TV: an extra-special mood of festivity, a wide-open expression of joy and pride, a welcoming, party atmosphere.

There's something magical about the Lions on Thanksgiving, doubly so when you're there in person. Through thick and thin, and there's been an awful lot of very thin, this game sells out. It’s an annual national celebration of blessings, and no matter how bleak things have been on- and off-field for the Lions, their fans turn out in force to spend all day reveling in the immutable fact that we are still here.

The Pilgrims themselves gathered ‘round with some corn and some eel and some venison and a few pints of homebrew and toasted their incredible luck at just being able to do so. It’s the same with the Lions and their fans: spit on the team, on the City of Detroit, the State of Michigan, on our way of life all you want. Dismiss us, deny us, wish us all to lose our jobs, whatever.

We are still here.

We're here: 64,000 of us, 750,000 of us, four million of us, ten million of us, and we’re all wearing blue and fake turkeys on our heads and we’re going to raise a glass to one another and scream our fool heads off and you can’t deny it. You can’t take it away. We have our team, we have each other, and we are united in celebration of those simple facts; we are still here.

Whether you are there with me and mine tomorrow morning, or at home in the City of Detroit, or at home somewhere else, or visiting Grandma’s House, or even if you’re on the other side of the world: tomorrow we are all together, united in support of our team and each other.

There have been much, much worse seasons than this one. There have been much, much less exciting versions of our team. There have been much, much worse Thanksgiving Day games than this one will be, even if the Texans beat the Lions by more than the three-point spread. It’s not about the winning or the losing, though a win would be wonderful and a loss the final doom of the Lions’ playoff hopes.

Tomorrow, we give thanks for the blessings we have, and the blessings we have are so many: We have a team, we have a stadium, we have food and drink, we have each other, and we have hope. Always, always we have hope.

By the goodness of God, we are so far from want, we wish you partakers of our plenty.

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The Detroit Lions are the Opium of the Masses

“Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.”

—Karl Marx, Contribution to Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right

Faith is a marvelous thing. It comforts those who have no other comfort. It fuels those running on empty. It inspires people to do wonderful—and terrible—things, even in the face of great adversity.

I started this blog because I was trying to do something wonderful. After 0-16, the fanbase had been reduced to two small camps: those who’d never stop caring because they loved the Lions too much, and those who’d never stop caring because they had no idea what else to be angry about on the Internet. I wanted to write to, and speak for, the former. I wanted to teach, and inspire, the latter.

As the self-appointed Flamekeeper, I’ve spent years figuratively slogging through the woods with a laden sled, and literally poring over spreadsheets ‘til I woke up the next morning upright in my chair with my hands on the keyboard. All the while, my general faith that things will turn around for the Lions—bolstered by my specific faith that the Lions have found the right executives and coaches this time around—has kept me going.

This season has been the culmination of everything I’ve worked for, and everything us fans have waited for. No more arguing, no more hypotheticals, no more drama: the Detroit Lions are going to the playoffs. All that’s left is to watch, cheer, and see how far they go.

This is an existential crisis for me. I’m reminded of a passage from Douglas Adams’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy:

"I refuse to prove that I exist," says God, "for proof denies faith, and without faith I am nothing."

"But," says Man, "the Babel fish is a dead giveaway isn't it? It could not have evolved by chance. It proves that You exist, and so therefore, by Your own arguments, You don't. Q.E.D."

"Oh dear," says God, "I hadn't thought of that," and promptly vanishes in a puff of logic.

"Oh, that was easy," says Man, and for an encore goes on to prove that black is white and gets himself killed on the next zebra crossing.

On May 27th, I flatly declared The Lions are Going to Make the Playoffs. On August 18th, I said there are two possibilities for Matthew Stafford this season: injury, or becoming a Top 5 quarterback. When called out for drinking Lions Kool-Aid, I poured another round. I knew, without knowing. I believed. The glory I’ve seen far-off on the horizon since the day Martin Mayhew and Tom Lewand assumed control of the franchise—the day I started this blog—is here.

And the moment itself? Where was I, as the clock on an eleven-year nightmare hit 00:00?

I was at church.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that the actualization of everything I’ve been telling everyone will happen has thrown me. Over the years, I’ve learned very well how to rationalize the difference between my hopes and reality. I’ve learned how to soak up disappointment and despair, use it to adjust my perspective on things, and then wring it out, ready to keep tending the little blue flame.

I have absolutely no idea what to do with this fact: the Detroit Lions will walk into Lambeau Field, and play a game for no higher stakes than what seed they’ll be in the playoffs.

Throughout the previous eleven years there have been many seasons the Lions have won a big game, or a streak of games, at the bitter end of an awful campaign. Every time, it’s been pointed at as the start of something new, a stepping stone for the promising season to come. In reality, it’s often had more to do with the Lions’ opponent sleepwalking through a game they figured they had in the bag.

I don’t know whether the Packers are going to play Aaron Rodgers, or any of their other starters Sunday morning. I don’t know whether the Lions will play the sixty-minute, mistake free game they played against the Chargers, or implode as they did in the first Packers game. I don’t know if the Lions will rise to the occasion and claim a higher seed—and potentially, a much easer path through the playoffs—or show up, punch the clock and go home.

So what now? What now, that I have no idea what the future holds? What now, that my convictions about this season have all been satisfied? What now, that the Lions players, coaches, and staff have shown to the world they can play with anyone in the NFL? What now, that I’ve had my faith—my opiate—denied by proof?

I’ll do what I’ve always done: I’ll cheer with all my heart, and hope to inspire you all to do the same.

This blog was partially born out of a struggle between factions of Lions fans—but now, there are no factions. We’re all just celebrating the Lions’ success together—exactly what I’ve always hoped for. The Lions in Winter’s mission was and is an exploration, and chronicle, of what it means to be a Lions fan—and I can’t think of anything more exciting to explore and chronicle than the Lions’ run to and through the 2011 NFL Playoffs.

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I am a Detroit Lions Fan; I Support Ndamukong Suh

The Lions in Winter is more than a Detroit Lions blog. It’s about more than game previews and reviews, or analysis and breakdowns, or numbers or charts or wins or losses or even my feelings about all of the above. Though much of what you read here falls into one of the above categories, part of TLiW’s mission is to write about Detroit Lions fans: the state of Lions fandom, what it means to be a Lions fan, and what it means to be a fan of anything.

Over at Cheesehead TV, the preeminent Packers blog, writer CD Angeli (formerly of Tundra Vision) wrote a post called “Packers’, Lions’ Destinies Diverge.” As the self-appointed chronicler of Lions fandom, I feel duty-bound to respond.

Angeli effectively brings to bear his memories of the Forest Gregg Era. Gregg took over the Packers in 1984, when Green Bay was coming off 12 straight years without a winning season. Gregg immediately led the Pack to their second and third consecutive 8-8 seasons, but couldn’t break the .500 barrier. In 1986 and 1987 the Pack went 4-12 and 5-9-1, respectively, ending Gregg’s run as Packers head coach.

As Angeli writes, there wasn’t much to root for during those losing seasons except the Packers’ penchant for vicious hits:

As the Packers posted just thirteen wins over the final three years of Gregg’s tenure, Charles Martin delivered the “Body Slam Heard Round Mostly Wisconsin”. Yes, with no chance to beat the Bears on the scoreboard late in 1986, Martin grabbed Punky QB Jim McMahon a full two seconds after the ball was away and threw him into the Solider Field artificial turf, separating his shoulder. It was the beginning of a new approach for the “hard-nosed Packers and their hard-nosed coach”. If you can’t beat them, beat them up.

And, I am humbled to say that, like many Packer fans at the time, I didn’t completely decry the incident. In fact, I kind of celebrated it. I mean, the Bears were cocky, right? And McMahon was a jerk, right? He kind of deserved it. You saw Martin’s face as he was ejected, and there wasn’t a look of outrage or contriteness on his face. He looked almost bemused. And so did many Packer fans, as we found ourselves face-to-face with Bear fans that week in our cubicle, our classes, or our local tavern and let them know we scored a point against them.

Angeli goes on to describe what he calls a “loser’s mentality,” getting in a cheap shot or complaining about the refs because it’s all you can do when overwhelmed by a superior opponent. He correctly notes that the Lions are a much more talented team than the mid-80s Packers, and the Lions don’t need to be dirty to gain an advantage. They can, and should, test their mettle against great teams like today’s Packers while playing clean, fair football.

Ultimately, Angeli lays blame for Detroit’s loser mentality on Lions head coach Jim Schwartz:

Abraham Lincoln once said, “Character is like a tree and reputation like a shadow. The shadow is what we think of it; the tree is the real thing.” I am thankful that Mike McCarthy and Ted Thompson preside over a team that is thoughtful enough to protect both.

And, as the shadow of the Lions’ reputation gets longer and longer, you only need to follow it to the source…and that is the character of Jim Schwartz.

A bit of perspective: in 2008, the Lions capped off a seven-season stretch of going 31-81 by losing every single game they played.

Those 2008 Lions had the worst defense ever assembled. They surrendered over 2,700 rushing yards at an average of 5.1 yards per carry, and over 3,700 passing yards at an average of 8.29 YpA. Opposing quarterbacks had a 25:4 TD/INT ratio, and a passer rating of 110.1. As wretched as the defense was, the offense wasn't much better. The 2008 Lions not only went 0-16, they didn’t even belong on the same field as their competition.

Since then, Jim Schwartz’s Lions are 15-28. Incredibly, that’s a better winning percentage than any of his three most recent predecessors, despite the talent cupboard being completely bare when he took over. The Lions’ statistical Great Leap Forward from 2009 to 2010 was remarkable, and after 2011 there will be a similar jump. When Schwartz was hired, the Lions were the worst team in professional sports, and in Schwartz’s third season they are legitimate playoff contenders in the strongest division in football.

Jim Schwartz is the best thing to happen to the Lions since Barry Sanders—not since Barry left, mind you, but since he arrived.

Angeli’s use of Lincoln’s shadow metaphor is particularly apt; before Thanksgiving  most of Ndamukong Suh’s “dirty” reputation was built upon a shadow. Suh “ripped Andy Dalton’s helmet off,” though it actually popped off in the midst of a legal sack because Dalton didn’t fasten it. Suh “horse collared” Marion Barber, though Suh legally grabbed Barber’s hair only. Suh “forearm shivered” Jay Cutler, though Suh just pushed one flat hand into Cutler’s back.

Perception, though, sometimes becomes reality. In the PR-minded NFL, any negative publicity is reacted against with a knee-jerk gavel and mob-justice sentence. Suh has been branded a “dirty player,” and the Lions a “dirty team,” so officials are cautioned to watch them more closely.  Minor Lions infractions draw flags, and major Lions infractions become talking points for talk radio. The Packers are “winners” who play “the right way,” so their minor infractions are overlooked and their major infractions are lauded as hard-nosed play—Charles Woodson, j’accuse.

By Angeli’s definition, Evan Dietrich-Smith has a loser’s mentality. Faced with a far superior opponent—Suh—Dietrich-Smith did what he had to do to stay competitive: he cheated. He clutched, he grabbed, he flailed, he did everything he could to keep Suh from killing Aaron Rodgers. On the down before the incident, Dietrich-Smith and center Scott Wells resorted to attempting to tackle Suh, both wrapping both arms around Suh’s chest and hanging on for dear life.

I’m not supposed to complain about this. That’s the loser’s mentality, right? The Packers blatantly cheated to hold off Ndamukong Suh, sure, but that stuff happens all the time in football, right? If Suh’s really so great, he should just overcome it, right? Unfortunately, yes: no matter how dirty the other guy plays, no matter how many obvious penalties go uncalled, no matter how many flags are getting thrown at the Lions’ offensive line for much lesser fouls, Ndamukong Suh is—and I  am—expected to keep a stiff upper lip.

This is the funny thing about being a fan—a true fan, a diehard fan, a supporter in the world’s parlance. You wrap yourself up in your team, allow their identity to become part of yours. You feel a kinship with the team and players. When you brand yourself a fan, your team’s successes and failures reflect back on you—both inwardly, in your emotions, and outwardly, in how other people treat you.

When what your team does clashes irrevocably with who you are as a person, it's an awful feeling. It’s the feeling I got sitting in the stands, watching Suh nuke the Lions’ chances of pulling off the biggest Lions win since 1991. It’s the feeling I got when I got home and had to explain the incident to my kids. It’s what makes people call in to sports talk radio and shout “THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” They’re saying, “I can’t accept being a fan of this team anymore, if this team is stands for [fill in the blank].”

After the incident, I lashed out on Twitter, and got dozens of Packer fans filling my feed with comments along the lines of “ha ha, losers weepers.” It was like a flood of 140-character versions of C.D. Angeli’s piece. What could I do? What could I say? I was impotent in my frustration and rage. I am not a dirty person. My favorite players shouldn’t be dirty players. My favorite team shouldn’t be a dirty team. It’s unacceptable.

If I go on a rampage like Suh, I’ll face a backlash of scorn and ridicule like he did. If I say nothing, I have to hear a bunch of crap from Packers fans who are no more righteous in their offended sensibilities than Evan Deitrich-Smith is in his.

Ultimately, this is fandom's great illusion. I am not Ndamukong Suh, and C.D. Angeli is not Evan Dietrich-Smith.  I am not a loser because the Lions lost, and he is not a winner because the Packers won. I have no more business being indignant about the terrible officiating than he has lecturing Lions fans about “character.”

What Ndamukong Suh did WAS unacceptable. It has no place in the game. He deserved the penalty, deserved to be ejected, deserves a big fat fine, and deserved to be suspended for two games without pay. I completely denounce his attack on Dietrich-Smith, and pray he never does anything like it ever again.

But . . . I am a Lions fan. It’s part of my identity. If I can brand myself with the colors of 0-16, I can brand myself with the colors of Ndamukong Suh, for good or bad—and believe me, even with this incident, Suh has done much, much, much more good in his life than bad. I am hurt, ashamed, and disappointed—but I choose to continue to accept Suh and these Lions as my team. Their destiny on the field is my destiny as a fan, and I will support them to it, come what may.

What else am I supposed to do—root for the Packers?

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