First, an ending of sorts. Washington Commanders tight end Zach Ertz walked off Lincoln Financial Field, the home of the team that drafted him. He held up the sign language symbol for I love you to the crowd and twisted tightly the muscles on his face, it seemed, in an effort to keep from crying. (Philadelphia Eagles fans hanging over the edge of the stands, contrary to popular belief, were incredibly well behaved.)
Respite arrived in the form of a bear-sized human in a green Eagles Starter jacket. Fletcher Cox, Ertz’s former teammate, emerged from behind a collapsible yellow barrier and swallowed Ertz in a gargantuan hug. For a few moments, there was no need to say anything or go anywhere.
It was just after 6:30 p.m. ET, just after the fall of glittery green and silver confetti and the blaring of the Black Eyed Peas. Ertz was the last of a string of Commanders veterans to walk off the field toward a black poster board sign in the visiting team’s locker room that they would all sign, in gold sharpie, for one last time. It read: WE WILL OUT HIT EVERY TEAM WE PLAY. Without Ertz (12-year veteran, age 34, one-year, $3 million contract), without Austin Ekeler (eight-year veteran, age 29, two-year, $8 million contract), without Bobby Wagner (13-year veteran, age 34, one-year, $6.5 million contract), one of the most stunning championship game runs in recent NFL history would have been impossible. They brought far more than competence and the ability to keep a rookie quarterback within the guardrails. They facilitated their dreamer of a second-chance head coach, knocked out the seemingly infallible Detroit Lions in the divisional round and, prior to a 55–23 loss to the Eagles here in Philadelphia, helped reawaken a long dormant fan base.
Some test flights implode right there, on the ground. This one nearly made it to the moon in one shot.
If this was it for one, some or all of them, helping lift the sullen Washington franchise may be among the largest bullet points on their résumés. Seeing them all trudge off, a mixture of mangled relief, deep sadness and disbelief would have been heartbreaking.
“The NFL is kind of a brutal thing,” Ekeler said. “Only one team can end the season.”
Of course, that’s until we factor in the beginnings. Or at least what only seem like beginnings. Jayden Daniels sat with his back pressed up against a wall of black cinder block, scrolling through his phone. A staffer was waiting nearby to wrestle him out of his pads which, more than an hour after the game, remained glued to his shoulders.
A few moments earlier, he had attempted to put into words the strangeness of this night, one of the first times during this starlit season in which he was powerless to change an outcome or avoid the inevitable. Here was someone with an entire lifetime of football ahead of him, unlike some of his teammates who waited until the very last minute to cross over from grass to concrete, like extras in Field of Dreams headed toward the cornfield. Daniels set NFL rookie quarterback records for completion percentage in a season, rushing yards, postseason passing yards, postseason passing touchdowns and the franchise rookie passing record. He’ll cap it off in a week by winning the NFL’s Offensive Rookie of the Year award.
And, yet, “Obviously, it sucks,” he said. “Excuse my language, but it sucks.”
Daniels relayed that his head coach, Dan Quinn, always the optimist, made sure to tell everyone about the good. To savor this time they still had together. To enjoy being around a group of people that changed something; a team hardened in cement and left for dead. Quinn himself lingered on the walk between his postgame press conference and the locker room, the only sound being the loud clapping of hands on backs as he hugged each and every player that crossed his path.
Daniels said he appreciated the group of veterans who made the rounds consoling, hugging or in the case of Ertz, just enjoying being a part of those postgame moments, reliving plays and moments; preserving those flashes of time.
“I’m taking this loss pretty hard, but having these guys around, it means a lot,” Daniels said.
Before the might of the Eagles took over, before Saquon Barkley began backbreaking yet another opponent, Daniels drove the Commanders straight down the field on an opening drive that was a dizzying mix of tempo, perfectly designed plays that paired his most dependable receivers on slogging linebackers and the QB’s own runs to evade pressure. Just briefly, this was a vision of the team that walked a tightrope into the postseason. It was a vision of the Hail Mary Commanders. It was a vision of success, of a new normalcy in D.C., of the nascent stages of real, relevant football life unimaginable even months ago.
These are the moments Quinn will want them to hold onto. These are the moments this unorthodox blend of old and young, beginning and end, helped create. The rest, as Daniels said, is part of his next mission. To “never feel this way again.”
This article was originally published on www.si.com as Commanders’ Starlit Season Ends in Hugs and Hung Heads, as They Often Do.