HEADLINE: "D.C. Police are "cracking" down on speeders. For the first offense, they give you two Redskins tickets. (If you get stopped a second time, they give you two Nationals tickets.)" Q. What do you call 47 millionaires sitting around a TV watching the Super Bowl? A. The Washington Redskins. Q. What do the Redskins and Billy Graham have in common? A. They both can make 70,000 people stand up and yell "Jesus Christ". Q. How do you keep the Redskins out of your yard? A. Put up a goal post. Q. Where do you go in D.C. in case of a tornado? A. To FedEx Field - they never have a touchdown there! Q. What do you call a Redskin with a Super Bowl ring? A. Senior Citizen Q. How many Redskins does it take to win a Super Bowl? A. We may never find out in the 21st century. Q. What do the Redskins and opossums have in common? A. Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.

“He Help Me” recover whispered-slur fumbles

Growing up in sports-enthusiastic Washington D.C., dad occasionally brought me to professional football games at RFK Stadium. The pride surrounding the local Redskins team was infectious and most autumns, it seemed healthier to talk about our cherished pigskin team, more so than it did to speak about political pork-barrel projects. Indeed, one year Richard Nixon even sent in a suggested play to Coach Allen; an optional play, which they ran in the playoffs, for a thirteen-yard loss!

The team had a marching band, some of whom would dress up in Indian garb and make corresponding war-whoops. The loud music ceremoniously drumming into children’s brains led us to believe that most everybody in the Metro area worshiped the competitive Redskins. 

Imagine my shock as a ten-year-old sports enthusiast, when I heard that some Native Americans thought that the term “Redskins” was not honoring Indian’s, but rather derogatory. Then my further dismay when a potential local baseball team started a contest actively searching for new names. I called up to suggest ‘The Washington Crackers’, which mom promptly informed me was also a racist term, this one meant for whites. 

This stuck in the back of my head for years. After I moved out to Idaho with another fair-weather Washington fan, it was hard to determine what new football team to root for. From a geographical standpoint, we determined that the center of the Shoshone Railroad Tracks was trilaterally equidistant between the Seahawks, Bronco’s and 49’ers. 

Nonetheless, my friend remembered what had been drummed in my head as a kid. Deep down, I still held allegiance to the old Washington team, though all the king’s coaches and Jack Kent’s cooked men could not break the curse to make them win again. So one Christmas he bought me a jersey from NFL shops. The order he made was for a jersey with former XFL star Rod Smart’s nickname ‘He Hate Me’ emblazoned on the back. Soon his order arrived. My friend opened the box to inspect the jersey and on the back in three-inch block letters stood out surprisingly, ‘He Help Me.’

So, he called up NFL stores to complain. They told him that it is their official position to not sell any hate-oriented products. Yet right on, the front of the same jersey in ½-inch letters; smaller letters than you would ordinarily expect, there it was; ‘Redskins’

NFL stores eventually replaced the jersey with a different nickname.

In time this policy got so out of whack that fans who wanted to order jerseys honoring New England Patriots defensive back Randall Gay had their efforts intercepted by NFL shops with Internet rejection mssgs that proclaimed, “This field should not contain a naughty word.”

This has changed and Gay is now permitted on official NFL jerseys.
For a while, I believed that those who quarterback NFL shops had adopted a sneaky policy of whispering some dirty racial epithets, rather than shouting them from the grandstands. But then, while tightly pacing along the editorial sidelines and exchanging my Redskins cap for a thinking cap, I encountered this David Yeagley Front Page Magazine article called:

An Indian’s Thanksgiving Proposal

http://www.frontpagemag.com/Articles/Read.aspx?GUID=5A9885A6-A0E1-46B1-BF92-8A02A789C69B

Many Indians feel they’re being “true” Indians when they hate America. To them, any Indian with favorable sentiments toward the country is a “sell-out,” or a weak, damaged Indian. But the opposite is true. Their position of resentment is servile, and though it’s politically lucrative for the leftist, it’s psychologically inhibitive and harmful to Indians. Those who advocate dissatisfaction are doing the real damage.
Certainly, many Indians today have suffered horrible abuse from racial and cultural prejudice. They find solace, therefore, in racial, cultural resentment and hatred. But the plight of these wronged Indians should never be made into a national image, or a cultural model. To broker discontent, to encourage anger, insults the strong. Hatred suffocates every natural aspiration of the heart, and cuts off the avenues of true development in a person. Self-appointed Indian “leaders” who glorify revenge are deluded. Even protesting the “Washington Redskins,” a career focus for Susan Harjo, is merely a self-serving maneuver for profit, and exemplifies a fussy feminist, rather than a true warrior. These kinds of Indian “leaders” are quickly becoming passé, as more young people realize the burdensome and futility of professional discontent.
But how can Indians be thankful for America? America is a fabulous country, but it was indeed built on Indian land, in our faces. Wars were fought, treaties were made (and broken), Indians were displaced, and today many white Americans criticize Indians for profiteering at white people’s expense through the gambling business. How should Indians relate to such irony?
The answer may be in metaphors. Think of America as an abandoned child. The Pilgrims were an unwanted, impoverished waif, a bastard child of Europe, who washed up on our shores half naked, sick, and starving.

America was a helpless babe.
Indians took the child, fed it, cared for it, raised it, taught it how to get along with other people, and the next thing you know, the child began to outgrow us! It was from a breed of giants, of which we knew nothing. The child had the genes of greatness. He couldn’t help himself.
He soon grew too big for us, and began to push us aside. He stuffed us in cultural “nursing homes” (reservations), while he continued to flex his new-found muscles. He soon became a competitor in the world, and finally became the mightiest nation on earth.
As fate would have it, though, he’s now returning to the old Indian homes, and wants to encounter us again. Yes, it’s all about money. Never mind “rights,” and the other American ideals. This latest engagement is a matter of mean dollars.
Has he changed? Have Indians changed? Have either of us learned anything from the past?
I’ve learned that anger is a curse, and it’s often disguised as the pursuit of justice. Indians don’t really envy the white man, but Indians are intensely jealous of one another.
I can’t speak for the white man, but I believe he wants and needs validation from his adoptive father, the Indian.
America desperately wants the Indian’s approval.
America needs our blessing, not our resentment. He may not even know it, but what he really wants is our forgiveness. He wants acceptance, for in all of his greatness, there is great error. We both know this.
He has often wanted us to join him, and when we don’t, he thinks we are condemning him. But this really isn’t so. Indians simply love being Indian. When we don’t seek to emulate him, like virtually every other people in the world, it baffles him, and makes him feel insecure.
He needn’t feel thus. He should simply understand that Indians are content to be Indian. There is no accusation of him in this. He must be content to allow us to be ourselves. We can give him our blessing without imitating him.
I bless the Washington Redskins. Let the white man indulge in his deepest memories of the Indian. Let him celebrate the archetypes within his soul. Let him have his Indian, in whatever way is meaningful. We cannot dictate to his conscience.
People like Harjo confuse the white man, and imprison Indians with discontent. The Harjos represent weakness and slovenly spirits. This isn’t what the white man remembers of the Indian at all. He remembers a strong father, and a great warrior. Let it ever be thus.
Let Indians be proud of our adopted son, and bless him. Never mind the wrongs he did to us. Seeking “justice” takes the “noble” out of “savage.”

Got in Today’s Statesman –letter 8:

http://www.idahostatesman.com/letters/story/290441.html

Brenda Thueson’s original post was:

http://www.idahostatesman.com/opinion/story/264936.html

Dan Popkey’s original story was:

http://www.idahostatesman.com/localnews/story/250654.html

NFL continues fumbling with whispered slurs

Submitted by JBanholzer on Sun, 12/30/2007 - 3:14pm.

Kudos to Dan Popkey for his meticulous research, which he transformed into this sockdolager of an article. I bet there is much more from where this came from. Perhaps Mr. Popkey can turn this saga into a best-selling book, splitting proceeds with The Statesman. However, even if this is the last that we’ll hear from Mr. Popkey, regarding the Larry Craig saga, it is impressive enough.

For readers who don’t see how the story’s pertinence fits in with the Craig chronicle, please look again where Mr. Popkey writes. “Finally, understanding what Larry Craig saw happen to his contemporaries helps explain how he responded to any hint he was gay.”
~
I find it interesting, how Sonny Jurgensen and the Redskins did not respond to requests from the Idaho Statesman for comment on this story. I grew up in sports-enthusiastic Washington D.C. as an innocent kid caught amidst the infectious rooting for our hallowed Redskins. Rooting for the team was a refreshing break from hearing the ceaseless cacophony of politicians’ bloated airs, which was sometimes considered a contributing element to the team’s popularity. Even Richard Nixon once had enough ‘football soul’ to send in a suggested play to Coach Allen- an optional play, which they ran in the playoffs, for a thirteen-yard loss!

Imagine my shock, as a ten-year-old dedicated sports fan, when I heard that some Native Americans thought that the term “Redskins” was not honoring Indian’s, but rather
derogatory.
Then my further dismay when a potential local baseball team started a contest actively searching for new names. I called up to suggest ‘The Washington Crackers’, which mom promptly informed me was also a racist term, this one meant for whites.
Years later, a friend, who knew that I grew up a fan of the team, bought me for Christmas, a Redskins jersey from NFL shops. To the jersey, you could attach any desired name. As a light joke, the order he made, was for XFL star Rod Smart’s nickname ‘He Hate Me’ to be emblazoned on the back. When the order arrived, he inspected the box, in three-inch block letters stood out surprisingly, ‘He Help Me.’
So, he called up NFL stores to complain. They told him that is their official position is to never promote hate-oriented products. Yet right on, the front of the same jersey in ½-inch letters- smaller letters than you would ordinarily expect- there it was the derogatory ‘Redskins’
After replacing my Redskins skullcap with a thinking cap, it looks like NFL shops is whispering racial epithets from behind a dirty alley, meanwhile with fans paradoxically hurling in perfect harmony, uncivil songs in allegiance of their cursed team.

This reminds me; the much-at-stake Dallas / Washington game is now underway. Perhaps today a little more will be revealed about the Redskins curse when the Cowboys come in there galloping upon their Pale Horse. Moreover, how finally changing their name might lift the team’s spirit and place a proper He Help Me guardian upon their quarterback’s shoulder, much as the fans have been praying for.
Few sports fans remember an actual ceremony performed on the team’s hallowed ground by a highly regarded Native American Shaman. This curse, conducted shortly after Coach Gibbs and his team, won the Super XXVI championship, promises to keep the Washington Team apart from another Super Bowl victory, until they decide to improve their disparaging name. This particular curse is very difficult to find on the Internet, because it occurred before most search engines and is greatly hidden among the abundant other curses the redskin’s team and their ticket scalpers have since palely faced.
I wonder how Sonny Jurgensen would comment on this.