My son sends along a non-political item that he asked me to post. A remembrance of teams past, if you will. Enjoy.
It's something I was born into. Sundays in the fall were for watching Buffalo Bills games. I remember very clearly all of their Superbowl appearances, remember acutely the crushing sense of loss that accompanied them, the all-encompassing grief of seeing my heroes defeated, first by the honorable and great 1990 New York Giants, last by the quagmire of moral turpitude that is (and has been for a long, LONG time) the Dallas Cowboys. I admit, for years I gave up on them. After 1993, watching Buffalo play was just painful, especially in '96, when Jim Kelley, Thurman Thomas, Andre Reed, and Bruce Smith (among many others) were coming to the end of their careers, and not at all gracefully. Gone were Cornelius Bennet and Don Beebe, gone to Atlanta and Green Bay respectively, where the latter finally got his Superbowl ring. Gone was the great Bill Brooks, who stepped into Andre Reed's capacious shoes in 1995 as Jim Kelly's go-to guy, to retirement. Crumbling was the house that Marv Levy built in Orchard Park, NY. Since his retirement at the end of the 1997 season, Buffalo fans have been constantly taunted with the promise of new greatness, only to be violently thrown from our seats by one idiotic decision after another within the program, screaming and sometimes crying.
They call the Dallas Cowboys of that era "The Dynasty," but ask anyone from western New York who grew up in the early 1990s who made up the dynasty, and you won't hear the names Emmet Smith or Troy Aikman uttered. You'll hear the names of the men listed above, along with dozens of others. Steve Tasker, Frank Reich, James Lofton, Pete Metzelaars, Phil Hansen, Steve Christie, and yes, dammit, Scott Norwood (you're still the best, Scott), just to name a few. Those were good days, simple days, when I was young and didn't care about salary caps, multi-million dollar paychecks, or who was taking performance-enhancing drugs. Days when I didn't know what a "rebuilding season" was. Maybe all of those things were there, but I didn't care. I liked Jim Kelly and Thurman Thomas and Andre Reed and Bill Brooks because they made touchdowns. I liked Cornelius Bennett and Bruce Smith and Phil Hansen because they made the other quarterbacks eat turf. To the rest of the world, they were almost heroes, but to me, four consecutive AFC championship rings and giving hope and the principles of perseverance and dedication to a generation of youngsters makes you all heroes.
So now I sit back, more than a decade later, catching what games I can on AFN (the American Forces Network) as I sit in a tiny trailer in Iraq, rooting for Indianapolis and Cincinnati and Chicago because I see sparks in those teams of what Buffalo used to be. However, as the song goes, the first cut is the deepest. When it comes to being lucky, they're cursed. When it comes to loving me, they're worst; but when it comes being loved the Bills are, and will always be, first.
Oh, and the other reason this season is disappointing: I don't care how damn good he is, Terrell Owens is a jackass. How ironic that Dallas picked him up…those two deserve each other.