Hate is a Beautiful Thing

Washington Commanders

I like to consider myself a pretty decent guy. Probably not in the top-ten all time, but certainly ranked higher than Hitler or the guy who thought it would be a good idea to sell baskets to wives of unsuspecting men at outrageous prices so they place them in every room of the house. One of the stipulations of being a Decent Guy is to pass along all that decentness to my kids. It’s rather easy, actually, if you try to avoid the ‘Do as I say, not as I do’ situations. Those just create too many unanswerable questions. One thing that is forbidden in my house is hate. In fact, I don’t even let my kids say the word. Hate has led to some pretty bad stuff in the history of the world, in my opinion, so I don’t see any need for it. However, whenever the subject of hate comes up with my kids, and I tell them ‘Don’t hate!’, I feel an immediate sense of guilt and hypocrisy. Why? Because I, myself, do in fact, hate. I hate the Dallas Cowboys. I’ve tried to analyze my feelings, persuade myself that it’s just a very intense dislike combined with some gastrointestinal discomfort. But to no avail. It’s pure, unconcentrated, turn-your-stomach hate. I’m a rather calm person, but when I see that ugly star, or hear a fan claim that they’re ‘America’s Team’, my blood begins to boil. If I were to quantify the true measure of a fan, I would say it is the hatred one feels for the team’s rivals would be a good indicator. I’ve heard of fans brag that they’ve gotten autographs from players on teams that they’re supposed to hate. Why? Why even bother? If I were to meet Roy Williams, I would probably be more inclined to kick him in the shins and make lewd references regarding his mother than to ask him for an autograph. As far as I’m concerned, I’d be perfectly happy if he broke his ankle and couldn’t play football anymore. It’s nothing personal, it’s just hate. I’ve heard some Redskins fans say things like, ‘My wife/girlfriend is a Cowboys fan and…’ What?!? I can’t understand how a relationship like that even begins. The allegiances of a prospective mate should be one of the first questions out of your mouth. I, myself, actually considered postponing my nuptials when my soon-to-be wife admitted she rooted for the Broncos in the ’87 ‘Bowl because a boy she liked was a fan. If for some strange reason the relationship continues, I can’t understand how it doesn’t end up in some bloody finish with cops setting up a perimeter and negotiators trying to talk someone out of their house. And you know what? I want Dallas fans to hate us too. For a long while, I don’t believe that hate existing on the dark side, precisely because the Redskins were so awful for so many years. I mean, can you hate the Cleveland Browns? Not really. The best you can do is pity them, and I think for a long time, that’s all we got from Dallas fans. Last year, after the stunning upset in their own house, and then a good butt-whoopin’ in ours, I could feel the burning hatred from the other side. It was nice, like a warm blanket on a cold Sunday afternoon. Finally, my hatred would not go unreciprocated. We talk about how Joe Gibbs has been assembling a team of True Redskins, and let’s face it, you can’t be a True Redskin without some hatred in your heart for that star. Go on, Joe, say it and mean it, don’t apologize for it, Cowboys fans are ugly. It has nothing to do with how they look, it’s what’s inside that counts. If Rebecca Romijn declared she was a Dallas fan, she’d drop below Rosie O’Donnell on my ‘hotness’ list (which is pretty far down there). So, for me, I may just have to amend my ‘no hate’ rule to allow the Cowboys (and Yankees while we’re at it) to sneak in there. The baskets, however, must…

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