Category: Redskins

Boomer, Commanders, Humor, NFL, Redskins, Sports, Washington DC

C’mon. The Name is Commanders?

Posted on by Bake My Fish

One of my toughest gigs is being a Redskins fan because they have broken my heart since Joe Gibbs left. Ooops, I said it . . . . Redskins. I’m not necessarily pooh poohing dropping the name due to its perceived disrespect of a group of people but, now I have a bunch of jerseys, pajama bottoms, shirts, drinking glasses and other paraphernalia with the logo just hanging around wishing for some use.  The team is now called the Commanders.  Ugh.

There were several other names considered.  Among them were Armada, Presidents, Brigade, Red Hogs, Commanders, Red Wolves, Defenders and the Washington Football Team.  Personally, I favored Red Tails because of its historical significance and the logo would have been cool.  The name didn’t make it to the end and Daniel Snyder stepped in to push for Commanders.  Wait, I thought he was giving the running of the team to Mrs. Daniel Snyder because he is a creep and thought it best to slime himself away from the action.  He still had to leave his stamp on the team by promoting the new name.

Well, the name is here, and we have to live with it. I have to admit the uniforms turned out quite good despite the lame name. Now, if they could just win something.

Growing up a Redskins fan brought with it glory during the Joe Gibbs era. In the 12 years he coached, the team went to the playoffs eight times and the Super Bowl four times, winning three. Jack Kent Cooke allowed him to run the team and it proved to be the best way to win.

The Snyder years have been terrifying.  From Wikipedia: “Since Snyder bought the Washington Commanders, the team has had a losing record (164–220–2 through the end of the 2022 season) and had ten head coaches over twenty-three seasons. Washington has not advanced past the Divisional Round during his tenure. The media allege that his managerial style and workplace culture have indirectly affected the team’s performance during his tenure as the principal owner.  Under Snyder, the team sued season ticket holders who were unable to pay during the Great Recession in the late 2000s, despite his claim that there were over 200,000 people on the season ticket waiting list. Partway through the 2009 season, Snyder temporarily banned all signs from FedEx Field, leading to further fan discontentment. Fans have also expressed discontentment about the game day experience, rising ticket and parking prices, and Snyder’s policy of charging fans for tailgates in special areas of the stadium lot.”

Eventually Snyder will be gone, and he’ll take with him a legacy as a selfish money-grubbing loser. Hopefully, the new owners will let the team succeed without their stifling involvement in the football operations other than that of concerned owners cheering for their team and dealing with the team’s economics.

In any event I can live with the name, Commanders, no matter how stupid it sounds.  I just hate that Snyder lobbied for it and got his way.

I’m just glad they didn’t name the team the Salamanders.

With love,

Bake My Fish

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60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, Bar Food, Bars, Beer, Billiards, Boomer, Cynicism, Humor, Pool, Redskins, Social Commentary, Sports, Taverns, University of Maryland

Peanuts, Pinball and Pool

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Take a gander at the picture of the pinball machine. I loved Eight Ball Deluxe. Walking into a bar, ordering a beer and cashing a few dollars for quarters was a thrill that is now just a memory. You can still play pool in a tavern, but very few have pinball.

I was good, shaking the machine just enough to keep the ball alive and avoid tilting. Sure, there were other people who played better, but on any given night I could rattle the machine, while my beer sat on the little table or nearby shelf waiting for me to lose the ball so it could resume it’s intended duty.

One of my favorite watering holes was Town Hall, just outside the University of Maryland campus. I worked at the school, and after my shift was over, a few of us would stop at the bar, walk through the smashed peanut shells on the floor, scuttle up to the bartender, order a beer, purchase quarters and begin the journey into Pinball Heaven.

Town Hall has been open since 1960. That’s quite an accomplishment for a drinking spot. Those that come and go are usually “theme” bars catering to whatever fad or style is temporarily occupying the minds of its semi-loyal patrons. Dance clubs seem to last the least amount of time, usually laid waste by fights, drug busts, marriage, and the quick aging and waning interest of its clients. But Town Hall has lasted through student migrations, sporting event-driven traffic, all the recessions and economically challenging occurrences during the six decades of its life, and the probable deaths of several of its clientele who just didn’t outlive the joint.

I don’t imagine there was a secret plan scripted by the owners. They just offered cheap beer, a liquor store next door, free peanuts, pinball, pool, Slim Jims, pickled eggs, bags of chips and party mix, standard bar food, those red sausages in the big jar that I only had the nerve to eat once, and an unpretentious atmosphere. It worked.

Despite being within 200 yards of University of Maryland’s main entrance, Town Hall caters to locals. Students really only go there after a football game, basketball game or any other event that brings with it doting parents and seekers of learning, spilling out to quench their thirst after a couple of hours of cheering and jeering; much to the chagrin of the regulars who adjust to the noise, silliness and immature behavior of the privileged bunch who have just invaded their space. It only lasts a short while until the nerds and their entourage decide to shove off for haute cuisine, laced with over-priced, but oh-so-pretty beverages. Once the children are gone, the Slim Jims and suds taste better.

People reading this outside the College Park area most likely are unaware of Town Hall. Some may have stopped by when following their team to Chevy Chase Bank Field at Byrd Stadium (God, that sounds awful), Cole Field House or Comcast Center. If so, you probably didn’t even notice the regulars smoking their butts (when it was legal) and drinking their draft, while arguing Redskins football or some other non-college thing. Don’t worry, they ignored you, too.

For me, it’s now nostalgia. Occasionally I was in the neighborhood on business, but beer, pool and peanuts are not on the agenda. When home, I play pinball on my computer, shaking the machine with keystrokes. Diet soda in a can or plastic bottle is my “draft.”

*Sigh*

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Boomer, Facts, Food, Halloween, History, Humor, Media, NFL, Redskins, Sports

Confessions of a Hallowed Wiener

Posted on by Bake My Fish

My favorite holiday is Halloween. It’s not even a holiday. No government offices close, banks and other companies conduct their normal business, and all schools remain open. Yet, it’s considered to be a holiday. That’s what you think, right? It has that celebratory feel. Maybe we should just label it a Cause for Celebration, since it doesn’t get the official holiday treatment. I’m not even sure I should capitalize Halloween.

Regardless of whatever the plan for decorating my house happens to be, I usually took the day off in anticipation of all the little tykes soon to be scared half-to-death. I probably shouldn’t confess playing hooky on an unholiday. Now that I’m retired, I don’t need to answer to anyone.

Yeah, I’m the guy in the neighborhood children either can’t wait to encounter, or the house they stroll past nervously. The candy I give is the good stuff, but they have to work for it. If it’s a really good night of fright, there was not a lot left over for the office.

My parents started it. It’s all their fault. On Halloween they put on a show. The best year I remember, Mom took out her teeth and played a Witch, and Dad got up on the roof and dropped a sheet-covered broomstick on a rope in front of the kids as they ascended the steps. They gave the best treats, so all the kids wanted to make the stop. That particular year my father was a driver for Rock Creek, and he gave out bottled sodas to the costume-clad loons. Glass bottles. If anyone gave me a glass container of pent-up fizz, it would be tossed in the air to watch it break in front of me. That would be cool. So, my father unwittingly probably contributed to bad behavior. Nevertheless, receiving a sugar-infused soft drink is a nice treat. Fortunately, when my Dad drove for Sinclair Oil, he didn’t give away bottles of gasoline.

So, I was hooked. Now, Halloween can’t come soon enough. I want each year to be more outrageous. The creepy music, screams, shrieks, blubbering, chimes, bells, howls, cackles and other haunting tracks blast out of the upstairs windows, probably making a few neighbors hate 2034.

Although, it is really neat to be the house treat-seekers want to hit before the end of the night, my most successful gig was in 1983 while living in an apartment in Columbia, MD. I had this really hideous, horse-faced mask of Richard Nixon. The picture (not my mask) you see here does not do justice to the fear my face-cover extracted. During that day in the office where I worked at the time, the mask was worn for our Halloween celebration. I popped up from behind a cubicle in front of one of my bosses and got him good. The fright on his face was priceless. And, he was a Republican. If he were a Democrat, he probably would have made a quick trip to the bathroom.

Then that evening, the haunting began. It was a perfect night. Monday Night Football was on, and the Redskins were playing. A bottle of tequila (the last one ever) was my friend, and my children were with me.

We tied a cord to the handle of the door of the apartment and rigged the knob so it could be opened without turning. I stood in the foyer under a green light, with my head covered by the mask and wielding a plastic Psycho-style knife. My kids took turns yanking the door open at the sound of a knock, and I did my best Norman Bates impersonation, while shrieking and thrusting the blade downward. It never failed to do the trick. The only time I regretted the prank was when a father, holding his infant, screamed like a girl, then laughed. The baby did not think it was funny and cried pitifully. Causing seven-year-olds to crap their pants was good. Scarring a child for life is not.

My divine punishment was too much tequila. Eventually, I just pointed to the television and said with an idiotic slur, “Rrredshkinz,” then slowly shuffled sideways into my bedroom, got sick and passed out. To this day my son and daughter rag on me about the episode. “Tequila, you are no longer my friend. Be gone and take that silly worm with you.” One good thing that happened was the Redskins beat the Chargers 27 – 24.

Some people might think at my age being obsessed with Halloween is a bit odd. I’ll never stop. We’ve lived in this neighborhood for 37 years. The kids expect the crazy guy in 2034 to do something goofy and weird. I have a reputation to uphold. Several years ago, while getting my hair washed before the cut, the shampoo girl was talking with me about where she grew up. She was referring to my neighborhood. We started discussing Halloween and she mentioned the fear of walking up the driveway of the house with the loud eerie music, and the man who always dressed up, and usually jumped out from behind something. I probed a bit more, and guess who? We had a big laugh. Endorsement by unsolicited testimonial.

My life is now complete.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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