As published in The County Times (countytimes.somd.com)
By Ronald N. Guy Jr.
At some point, the sun set. The exact moment is foggy, shrouded by years
of ineptitude. Such details are
irrelevant. What does matter is that,
for a time, it was bright – squint, reach for some cheap convenience store
glasses, blinding bright. Sundays would
come and good times would roll. Stressed
vocal cords required days of recovery. The
stadium was packed by the blessed souls in attendance (there was a decades-long
season ticket waiting list). Games were
appointment television for those lacking a ticket to ride. Fans of division rivals were sent home in
shame and with a regrettable beer buzz on the regular. It was a destination town for players, a
place they longed to be; the team turned the marginal into solid contributors
and the good into masters of their craft.
The organization was run with class and ranked among the league’s very
best. Characters with character filled the
locker room. Supporters felt like more than
just fans; we were part of something – our region, our town, our team. A family.
And then?
Darkness. The sun dropped below
the horizon. The light faded. The beautiful colors glistening off the
clouds disappeared. Coaches
departed. An owner passed away. Cornerstone players moved on without
comparable backfills. The head coaching
gig felt like a series of temporary hires.
Big name players came to get paid, not to perform. The losses mounted. The business ethics disintegrated. The passion faded. The ticket waiting list disappeared. There was no apparent accountability on the field
or within the organization. There was no
legitimate ability to imagine anything beyond mediocrity. There was, after three decades of rot, no
hope…for the Washington D.C. football team.
About six hours northwest of Southern Maryland, there’s
a place that’s like ours used to be. The
journey there wraps around D.C., heads up the I-270 corridor, snakes through
Hagerstown into southwestern Pennsylvania and due west on the PA turnpike. After a short drive down I-376, it appears:
Pittsburgh…Black and Gold country.
There, the beloved Steelers are in the midst of recording another
winning season (they haven’t finished below .500 since 2003!) and are firmly in
playoff contention – again and, seemingly, as always. The fanbase is passionate. The stadium is packed. There is a palatable energy exuding from the
franchise, into the city’s pores and through a nation of fans across the
globe.
But there is a fly in the ointment. The Steelers are hardly winning in style this
season and, by any objective measure, haven’t been Super Bowl contenders in
years. The alibies are sound. The late-career version of Ben Roethlisberger
was choppy, and transitioning from a Hall of Fame quarterback is often
difficult. Accelerating Pittsburgh’s
fall from the league elites was Antonio Brown’s disturbing career self-sabotage
and Le’Veon Bell ruining a budding legendary Steelers career in a bizarre
contract squabble. Regardless, for a
city that is accustomed to winning titles, frustration has grown with the good/not
great Steelers of recent vintage. And
now there’s this: the once whispered calls for head coach Mike Tomlin’s job are
now aired openly.
Such are the quibbles of the uninitiated to the depths
of NFL despair.
Removing all emotion, it’s remarkable what Tomlin has
done in Pittsburgh in recent years. The
gap between roster talent and on-field results is significant – the latter
being greater than the former. But the
importance of Tomlin to the Steelers transcends the overachievement of his
teams. Tomlin inherited a unique,
winning culture in Pittsburgh and has dutifully sustained it. When faced with adversity, he defiantly refers
to “The Standard” – a level of expected performance regardless of
circumstance. Tomlin maintains a link to
the franchise’s decorated past and is a cornerstone for a brighter future. He’s a foothold for the organization: an
example for new arrivals and a conscience for veterans with wavering
commitment.
Lose a foundation like Tomlin, and it becomes easy, perhaps inevitable, to remain adrift. Same applies in any professional setting. Same applies in life. Without a North Star, so to speak, it can all go dark – trust me. If you can be a beacon like Tomlin, do so; if you find one, grasp it tightly.
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