The name “Redskins” is in the news again. Dan Snyder is donating money to American Indian tribes because that somehow makes the name less offensive, I guess. I’m not going to write about whether or not the Redskins should change their name. Those arguments have been stated and restated. Yes, the Redskins should change their name. It’s racist. There’s really nothing else to it.
And yet — and I’m embarrassed to admit this — part of me doesn’t want the Redskins to change their name. Again, I know this is wrong. But if I’m being completely honest, I kind of like the name. Let me try and explain.
I grew up in Washington. In D.C., football is everything. I mean, it’s not Texas. “Friday Night Lights” could never have been set inside the Beltway. But for whatever reason, people care deeply about the Redskins. I’m not sure why. They used to be good, but in my lifetime watching sports, they’ve been bad. Really bad. In the 13 years I’ve been watching football, the Redskins have won only one playoff game.
(I say 13 years because 2001 is the first season I remember following. I was in second grade. The Patriots beat the Rams in the Super Bowl.)
But the Redskins have sold out every game since 1968, the longest streak in the NFL. And it’s not as if people don’t have other options. D.C. is one of the few lucky cities to be represented in every major professional sport. But the Capitals, Wizards and Nationals are just sideshows to the main act. When they’re good, people pay attention. When they’re bad, people stop paying attention. But the Redskins? People always pay attention.
So, growing up in D.C., I always considered the Redskins my favorite team. It wasn’t even close.
Some of my greatest memories are of Redskins-Cowboys games. 2005 was probably the best season. In the first game between the teams, the Cowboys led 13-0 with less than four minutes to play. The Redskins responded with a 39-yard touchdown reception by Santana Moss to pull within six. Then, on the first play of the Redskins’ next possession, Mark Brunell connected with Moss on a 70-yard bomb to win the game. It was the formula from every cheesy sports movie.
In the teams’ second meeting, the Redskins crushed the Cowboys 35-7. Chris Cooley, a fan favorite, notched three touchdowns. The next day at school, I gloated about the win to the Cowboys fan in my grade to a disturbing degree. That year was awesome.
Another equally memorable but different kind of moment happened a couple years later. In 2007, reports surfaced that Sean Taylor, the Redskins’ starting safety, was in critical condition after a burglar broke into his home and shot him in the leg. Then, all of a sudden, he was dead. Shock doesn’t quite sum it up.
Taylor was indestructible. I remember before games in which the Redskins were overmatched, which was most of the time, I used to strategize with friends about what the Redskins could do to win. Looking back, this was kind of horrible, but step one was always for Taylor to knock the other team’s best player out of the game. Taylor could and would destroy anybody. Just ask the Bills’ punter whom Taylor trucked in the Pro Bowl, of all games.
In the weeks and months that followed his death, the city rallied around Taylor’s memory. Tragedy has a way of doing that. The number 21 became an emblem.
My point is the Redskins mean something to me. It’s not as if the name really has anything to do with this. It’s just a name. If I changed my name to Yeezus tomorrow, I’d still be the exact same person. But after all these years, it would be impossible not to associate the name “Redskins” with everything the team means to me.
That’s a weird thing. I also grew up with the Wizards being called the “Wizards,” but I’d love it if they changed their name. Something about the name “Wizards” is devoid of character, sort of like a TV show dreamed up by an executive to please everybody that ends up pleasing nobody. But Redskins? The name has weight. It has history. It is the team.
I wish this weren’t the case. I wish the part of me that cringes when it hears “Redskins” would crush that lingering positive association like Moss and Cooley crushed the Cowboys in 2005. I wish I weren’t secretly a little pleased when Snyder published his ridiculous defense of the name. I wish when asked whether I want the Redskins to change their name, I could wholeheartedly say yes. But I’m not there yet.
I doubt I’m alone. I think deep down, the people arguing that the name shouldn’t be changed — that it’s not offensive, that it actually honors American Indians — know the real reason they don’t want the name to be changed is entirely selfish. They’re just attached to the name.
James Cohan ’17 wishes whoever named the Redskins in 1933 would have called them something different. Send him new name suggestions at james_cohan@brown.edu.
ADVERTISEMENT
