Blog
Just Quieter: The Commanders Lose in London, and It Felt Like a Win
On Friday I wrote it down: Commanders 20, Colts 17. I also promised that if I was wrong, you'd hear about it Monday, just quieter. It's still Sunday. I couldn't wait. So here it is, at a respectable indoor volume: Colts 30, Commanders 13. And here's a sentence I never expected to type about a 17-point loss on another continent before lunch: it kind of felt like a win.
The morning went exactly as planned, which almost never happens in this house. It rained. Friends came over. The "something fatty involving eggs, sausage, and biscuits" turned out to be a casserole, a fantastic one, with sausage and enough cheese to concern Wilford Brimley. And for the first stretch of the game, the Commanders were winning in London, 6-0. I'd like that entered into the record next to the last one.
Next Man Up, and Then the Next One
Then Marcus Mariota went down on a sack on the second drive and didn't come back. Dan Quinn said afterward it looks like an MCL. The room didn't panic, which tells you how far this fanbase has come. It was next man up, said out loud, by several people, with casserole in their mouths. Mariota has been that guy all season. That salt-and-pepper fox has done everything this team has asked of him since Dallas, and I hope this is the short version of that injury.
In came Athan Kaliakmanis, the third-string rookie, whose last name I have now typed four different ways. For the rest of this post he's Athan, because I refuse to fight the keyboard again. He went 15 for 33 with a pick, which is a rookie line. But in the third quarter he hung one up for Treylon Burks for 47 yards and a touchdown, and it was 17-13, and an entire living room full of cheese-filled adults was on its feet before noon. Athan did everything he could. That kid has a lovely backup job waiting for him somewhere in this league, and I mean that as the highest compliment I know how to give a quarterback.
About the Flags
I don't usually go here. I'm going here. Washington was flagged 10 times for 84 yards. Indianapolis was flagged once, for five. Ten to one is a cocktail recipe, not a football game. Two first-quarter trips inside the 20 that ended in field goals did plenty of damage on their own, and I'll own those. But a game doesn't come out ten to one by accident. When the penalty sheet looks like a typo, a fanbase gets one paragraph. This was mine.
I know I said one paragraph. Ten to one. That doesn't happen like that. Okay. Done.
Although. It's possible I've been blaming the wrong people. Shout out to my dad and my brother Josh: last Sunday the three of us were in the building together, and Washington beat the reigning Super Bowl champs. This week we watched apart, and look what happened. I'm not saying it's our fault. I'm saying the three of us together are undefeated this season, and I'm not saying it isn't.
Why It Felt Like a Win
Because a rookie nobody had heard of made it a game with the backup's backup. Because Jayden is closer to coming back than he was a week ago. And because the early kickoff delivered exactly what I promised it would. Somewhere around the second half, somebody broke out a card-based drinking game called the Longest Yard, and by the final whistle everyone in the house was feeling a little bit special. The game ended around one, our friends saw themselves out, and the nap that followed was the best thing anyone in a burgundy jersey accomplished all day. Good times were had by all.
The Group Chat
Shout out to Jason and Chris, the other two-thirds of my Commanders group chat, who suffered through every snap of this one with me. The night before, Jason said he was pretty sure we'd lose, and also pretty confident we'd beat the Giants next week, and called the whole thing "mental jujitsu." Chris picked us to win because "it'll be a home game." Three minutes after kickoff, Chris filed an amendment: he'd forgotten about Daniel "Mike Vick when he plays the Redskins" Jones. Jason, this one's yours. Enjoy it. You also put the Giants in writing, so I'll see you next Sunday.
But the best thing anybody said all weekend happened the night before, when Chris found a YouTube video asking why no culture on earth eats owls. His summary: they're apex predators, and by the time you work your way up the food chain, there just isn't much owl. That turned into a full debate about the best bird. Jason disqualified eagles because "the football team makes me hate them," then told a true story about a bird that caught a fish out of his backyard pond, got jumped by an eagle, and dropped the fish right back in the water, "so everyone won." Chris, speaking for the fish: "Honey, you would not believe my day." Nicole and I woke up around four in the morning, read the whole thing in bed, and it absolutely cracked us up. By breakfast, Jason was suggesting we should've just become the Owls. Washington Owls. I'd buy the hat.
During the game, Chris also pointed out that the Colts' head coach looks like Andrew Luck in a Scooby-Doo costume, and I'm sorry, but now you can't unsee it either. And by the end, all three of us landed in the same place: the kid wasn't the reason we lost.
The Rest of the Weekend
We have a lot of friends with a lot of different allegiances, and this was a rough week to have any of them. Florida went to Missouri and lost 45-17. Virginia went to Tallahassee and lost 38-7, with Florida State sacking us 10 times and its quarterback running for five touchdowns. On Friday I said I don't have feelings about Florida State anymore. Florida State, it turns out, has feelings about us.
The bright spots, such as they are: Jason's Buckeyes went to Iowa and won 31-14, so of course the one guy having a nice weekend is the one guy who'll remind us about it. And our Browns friends, Sarah and Daniel and the LAW, are 3-1 and sitting on top of the AFC North, and they've earned every minute of it. As I type this, the Raiders and Chiefs are playing, and at this point somebody in our orbit deserves a win today.
And Then, Next Week
Three things in four days: Weird Al on Thursday, Syracuse under the lights on Saturday, the Giants and their brand-new J.J. McCarthy at home on Sunday. We're 1-3, the quarterback room is held together with tape and casserole, and I'm weirdly optimistic. Twenty to seventeen was wrong. I'll have a new number for the Giants, and you'll hear it at full volume. Hail.