Tag: football

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Rooting for the Underdog

When you’re young, you imagine yourself winning a Nobel Prize, writing a bestselling novel, or penning the next great American song. Then life happens—you wake up one day and find yourself flipping hamburgers at Burger King. Somewhere along the way, you pivot from being the dreamer to cheering for the dreamers. You become a fan, hitching your self-esteem to the fortunes of a sports team.

I was born into a family of winners. The Yankees had just finished winning five straight World Series, and the New York Giants were NFL champions. By birthright, I should have basked in dynasties forever. But as I got older, both franchises slipped back toward mediocrity.

Then came San Diego, 1979. I was an intern at the VA hospital when the Charger Girls made a visit to cheer up patients. Let’s just say the uniforms left an impression. Later that night, after a series of code blues (possibly fueled by a collective octogenarian cortisol surge), I found myself captivated by the Chargers.

They were led by head coach Don “Air” Coryell, a visionary who believed in the forward pass when everyone else was grinding out two yards and a cloud of dust. I was in Pacific Beach when Dan Fouts and Kellen Winslow battled the Dolphins in that double-overtime playoff classic. Even Howard Cosell’s toupee seemed altered by the drama. But then came the AFC Championship in Cincinnati. The temperature hovered near absolute zero, and Fouts’ throwing hand must have felt like gripping liquid nitrogen. Another dream frozen.

Years rolled by, and the Chargers remained football’s Sisyphus—preseason darlings, postseason heartbreakers. Raiders, Broncos, Chiefs: the tormentors never changed. My kids climbed aboard the same rollercoaster, caught between optimism and despair.

There were highs: LaDainian Tomlinson breaking the rushing record. And there were lows: LT injured in the playoffs, Phillip Rivers throwing for miles in the first three quarters only to sputter in the fourth (sleep deprivation courtesy of his nine children, no doubt). And then there was the day I took my kids and a good friend to a Chargers playoff game against the Jets. The Chargers were heavy favorites, the Jets were starting a rookie quarterback named Mark Sanchez—and yet San Diego managed to miss three field goals and hand the game away. Sanchez, who basically had the job description “don’t screw it up,” walked out the hero. The long drive home felt like we were leaving a wake, only quieter.

Fast forward to last Thursday night against the Chiefs. The Chargers had lost 11 of their last one-score games. My sons, now with 30 years of futility under his belt, turned to me. I told them mine was going on 50. Yet somehow, Justin Herbert scrambled for a last-second first down and the Chargers won. For one night, euphoria reigned.

Could this be the year? Could the Chargers finally shed their underdog skin?

And if so, maybe—just maybe—this will be the year I finally win that Nobel Prize and write a hit song.

Stay tuned.

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Life Measured in NFL Memories

The tears were streaming down my face in 1963 as my father ushered us into his Oldsmobile and drove to my grandmother’s house in Brooklyn in stone-cold silence. My beloved New York Giants had just lost the NFL Championship to the Chicago Bears, ending a run of Championship games and to enter last place purgatory for years to come. “How could they lose with Sam Huff, Jim Katcavage, Y.A. Tittle, and Frank Gifford on the field,” I stammered, squeezing my Kyle Rote autographed football ever more tightly in the back seat.

Emotion and memory are forever linked in our national psyche and football has a tight grip on both. The exact street where I stood 1/2 century ago when I learned the Giants drafted the running back, Tucker Frederickson and later traded for QB Fran Tarkenton are branded into my senescent consciousness. Later, in college, watching on a black & white TV and manipulating the rabbit ears to get a clearer picture, I saw Roger Staubach come into view. My roommate, entered the living room after an all night Bridge tournament, told me to spread the rabbit ears wider, declared his intent to abandon professional card playing for a try at a veterinarian school at precisely the same moment that Staubach defeated the Miami Dolphins 24-3 in Super Bowl VI. 

Living in San Diego in the late 70’s and early ’80’s, I was caught up in Charger frenzy. Orchestrated by Coach Don “Air” Coryell, QB Dan Fouts, and receivers Charley Joiner and Kellen Winslow needed a minimum of 40+ points a game to have a chance to win. The Miami-Charger overtime gem in 1981, viewed in a bar in Pacific Beach with a gaggle of inebriated surfers, was an all time football high. I was hugging total strangers exhaling Miller High Life fumes and loving it. One week later the Chargers succumbed to Cincinnati in the infamous Ice Bowl and I fell into a deep fan abyss.

Football frenzy was destined to envelop my children. My older son was born on a day the Giants won. We exulted in the Giants two Super Bowl wins in the 21st Century and held on tight through Chargers wins and losses. My sons were there for the Charger playoff win over Indianapolis Colts, LaDanian Tomlinson’s record breaking rushing yardage game and the excruciating loss against the Jets in the 2010 first round playoff. 

As I tune into Super Bowl LVI this weekend, I will remember the rabbit ears, my father’s recall of QB Norm Van Brocklin and Elroy “Crazy Legs” Hirsch of 1950’s Ram fame, the players of my youth and hope that the current and future players held in esteem by my children and children’s children will bring them the joy of the NFL fan.