Sports’ Biggest Trainwrecks: Hail No!

Moving.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!

There ... that about captures it. So I've been slowly relocating from one apartment to another. This last week, the week of the Big Move, has sucked.

Not a Dave Wannstedt kind of sucked, but sucked nonetheless.

I'd call the Dolphins a disaster, but I'm afraid the PC police, who, after 9/11, declared games were not battles/wars/skirmishes and athletes were not soldiers/warriors/mercenaries, will hunt me down and show me a picture of what was formerly known as a Floridian trailer park: "You want a disaster? Try four hurricanes in two months, buddy..."

Oh, what the hell: they're a disaster. Choosing between Jay Fiedler and A.J. Feeley is like deciding between spoiled or powdered milk -- one might be good with the right ingredients, while the other will just turn your stomach. Think of it this way: Ricky Williams has been smoking pot and living in a tent for the last month, yet he's only scored 32 less points than the Fish.

Of course, after it became apparent Ricky would be taking hits instead of ... er ... taking hits, expectations for the Dolphins changed in a big way. Sure, you can mock them, but not without a twinge of pity. They lost their star, through circumstances beyond their control.

The Redskins, by comparison, gained their star in the offseason. Clinton Portis? Puh-lease. Compared to Washington's biggest star, he might as well be Johnny Hector.

No, the most prominent name on the Redskins' roster is listed after all the uniform numbers: coach Joe Gibbs, who rode back into town looking to reverse the fortunes of this once-proud franchise. So far, he might as well have been Barry Gibb -- the Skins are 1-3, have looked remedial at times on offense, and, based on how he's worked the clock late in the game, good 'ole Joe has the time management skills of a college sophomore on lithium.

Now, 1-3 in the NFC is not the end of the world; only six out of 16 teams are over .500 right now. But it feels like it if you pinned your hopes on a Pigskin Savior who so far it doesn't seem like the Second Coming.

Redskins fans are, as we've always said in the hallowed halls of SportsFan Magazine, a cult. Once you've consumed the burgundy and gold Kool-Aid, you're in and in for life. You learn all the words to "Hail to the Redskins." You buy the car flag. You don't mind when the evening news fails to present out-of-town scores, but offers a five-minute segment on where LaVar Arrington rents his DVDs.

Some of my Redskin friends are taking Gibbs' slow start in stride. It's his first season back, they say. Give him a few years, they say. Parcells has to die some time, they say. (Okay, I haven't actually heard any of them say that last one ... but lookin' in their eyes, you can feel it.)

Yet there are other Redskin friends who are taking this a little hard. Whose expectations were, shall we say, lofty. I can't imagine thinking about Super Bowl reservations and then two weeks later watching your team bent over by Jeff Garcia. (No, I'm not going to elaborate.) Some fans are coming to the realization that, should Gibbs fail to produce in his second term with the team, the Redskins really don't have anywhere to turn. I actually had a Skins fan spell out a "Plan 9 from Outer Space" scenario in which they would reanimate the corpse of George Allen, and then if he flops, Vince Lombardi. (I actually think that's a grand idea ... until Zombie Lombardi goes rogue and eats Chad Morton's brain during halftime, that is.)

My question is: why have expectations? The Redskins' last Super Bowl was in 1992. The franchise has been one high-profile disappointment after another since then. Don't these people know that cynicism and anticipation of calamity are a fan's best friends?

Take me, for example. A Nets fan. One of, what, 300 in the world? I've written before about my journeys with Clippers East. For a few years, things got really good, didn't they? A pair of Eastern Conference championships, and one NBA Finals against the Spurs that at least wasn't embarrassing. In the process, the team became one of the most exciting in the game; Jason Kidd was elevated to a Mark Messier-type hero in the New York media; Kenyon Martin went from problem child to man-child; and Richard Jefferson became rising star.

But were my expectations high, even during this last run? Hell no. I had seen too much catastrophe, too many Dennis Hopsons, Rex Walters and Yinka Dares (RIP) to accept what I was seeing as anything but an aberration, like a funny episode of "Yes, Dear." I knew it was just a matter of time before it all went in the toilet, and sure enough comes the dawn of the 2004-'05 season.

Kenyon? He's in Denver, traded for a gaggle of draft picks that might hold some promise ... if this wasn't the franchise that drafted the aforementioned Sirs Hopson, Walters, and Dare (RIP)

Starting two-guard Kerry Kittles? Gone, to the Nets West. His replacement figures to be Ron Mercer, which would be great news if this was 1998 and New Jersey was the University of Kentucky.

Jason Kidd? Seriously cheesed off about this whole mess, and out until '05 with offseason knee surgery (just in time for the trade deadline.) Luckily the Nets won't miss a beat, as they replace Jason Kidd with Travis Best (BWAHAHAHAHA!). Oh, and let's not forget Alonzo Mourning, back again for another three or four games until his kidneys explode.

Soon, these Nets won't be my problem anymore: they'll be Brooklyn's. And by the time they leave Jersey (with an average attendance of under 50), the Knicks will probably be a premiere team again. Which means, borough or no borough, the Nets will get about as much press coverage as the P.S. 123 intramural team.

Sports fans are, by behavior and reputation, pack rats, and I'm no different. While in the process of moving the last few weeks, I discovered I had about 10 different Nets t-shirts from various stages of their recent postseasons: Division titles, Conference titles, Finals appearances, and a few player-specific shirts. I've done more purging than packing, and I sacrificed most of those t-shirts to the goodwill bin at my local church. Gear I proudly wore during my team's recent (hell, only) run of success will now probably be the cutting edge of homeless couture in Montgomery County, MD.

Memories are fleeting. Unless you're a dynasty, success is transient, and damn hard to recapture when it's gone.

In a few years, that might be more than apparent to Redskins fans.

Freddy A-Don't

Get it? "A-Don't" instead of "Adu?" Get it? GET IT?!

As Major League Soccer reaches the end of its regular season, an evaluation of 15-year-old(-ish) Freddy Adu's first year with DC United seems appropriate.

It's just that I have no idea how to evaluate it.

Let's assume that all the United, MLS and soccer fans wanted out of Adu was some impact on popular culture and the American media. Done and done. The United have averaged 23,030 fans on the road this season; the league average attendance is 15,246. Meanwhile, Adu has joined athletes like Tony Hawk who might fly under the radar of the over-40 crowd, but who are iconic to millions of TRL-aged fans.

So if you think of Adu strictly as a curiosity, the unicorn at the circus, there's no question he's filled that role and the league is better for it.

It's on the field where Adu's performance can be called into question. He's 10th on the United in minutes played. He has just 5 goals and 1 assist this season. He's shown flashes of brilliance, but they've been few and far between -- the nightly news isn't exactly leaving room on the highlight reel for Adu, although it might have had he performed better.

But what about that performance? Eleven points puts him fourth on the team in scoring in his rookie season. All reports point to the fact that he's been getting better with each game. Hell, just the fact that he was able to function at all with the weight of the sport on his shoulders should count for something.

Yet if LeBron James -- the NBA's over-hyped rookie phenom last season -- came out and averaged nine points-per-game instead of 20.9, we'd have labeled him a flop. Adu's numbers are pedestrian, his impact on the team's regular season fortunes minimal. From a statistical standpoint, he's been somewhat of a dud.

But something tells be the stats MLS cares about aren't 5 goals and 1 assist...

Greg Wyshynski is also a weekly columnist for SportsFan Magazine. His columns appear every Saturday on Sports Central. You can e-mail Greg at [email protected].