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Chris Cooley Released By Washington Redskins

admin August 29, 2012


Who’s awesome, Chris Cooley? You’re awesome, my friend. You are. (Click this photo if you don’t get the reference.)

I don’t normally make two click demands before an article has even started, but please go here for the proper mood music to read this by.

Yesterday, in a move that had been anticipated for a while yet still came as a shock, the Redskins announced they were parting ways with veteran tight end Chris Cooley. It pains me to refer to him as a veteran because Chris is almost two years younger than me and the notion that a man of 30 is washed up has me feeling very mortal and wondering who enjoys the briefer career pinnacle: football players or porn stars. I suppose both last only as long as their knees do.

To those of you who live outside of the DC area, it’s hard to articulate what Chris meant to the fans of the Redskins and the area in general. For a team that has had few highlights in its past 20 years, Chris provided a lot of them. He seemed to defy the stereotypes of the dumb jock, and came off as an intelligent guy you’d be happy to share a beer with. Plus, as a white guy, it was always fun to see another white guy kick ass on the football field. I won’t apologize for admitting that, either. There’s a reason Chris moved a ton of these while you didn’t see pink Portis jerseys flying off the shelves.

I had the pleasure of meeting Chris once at an appearance he made at a restaurant for a sports radio station I was employed by. (Ironically, it was my job to stand between the crowds and Chris, who towered over me.) Despite being concussed and, in general, feeling like shit, he was really gracious to the hundreds of fans who showed up to either hurl merchandise at him so he’d sign it or snap pictures even though every flash probably made his skull scream. He would have been well within his rights to sequester himself from the crowd, but he was a good sport about it all and understood what it meant for fans to have even the briefest of encounters with him. I wish I could say the day ended with Chris saying “Hey, John, I’ve heard your radio show and I’m a huge fan of what you do,” but the fact I never once caught him muttering the words “fat fuck pantload” under his breath while staring in my direction is good enough for me.

So, all the best to Chris, and, again, thank you for being the one damn thing worth watching in a burgundy and gold jersey for more Sundays than I’d like to admit. I hope you go out there and show the world that we dinosaurs in our early 30s can still get it done.

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