This is Redskins country, a land where burgundy and gold fly just as proudly as red, white and blue. A land where grown men put on pig snouts and dresses and dance around in front of nearly 91,000 people. A land where coach Joe Gibbs is idolized as a messiah of the football gods.

I didn’t get it.

You see, I’m from Hawaii, a land with zero professional sports teams. A land 2,300 miles away from the nearest NFL franchise. A land so far removed from the U.S. mainland that the Super Bowl always ends before dinner.

Being a football fan was completely irrational. Why become so emotionally invested in something you can’t control? Why hate your fellow Marylanders because they wear purple? Why get involved with something that inspires its fans to amazing new levels of stupidity?

I used to laugh at the funny looking fat men wearing painted letters on their bare chests in freezing weather. I never fully understood their level of commitment to the game.

It never gets below 65 degrees in my hometown. It got down to the mid 40s during my first October here. I got up that day, put on my new matching earmuffs, down jacket, gloves and long underwear and summoned the courage to brave the arctic chill.

Imagine never smelling anything for your entire life, then waking up one day to the scent of cooking bacon. Cold was a completely new experience to me.

After that day in October, the half-naked fans didn’t look so funny anymore. They looked insane.

As much as I didn’t care about football, this is still Redskins country. I was exposed to the game by default. Sundays spent with 30 wingers from Cluck-U, a twelve-pack of Miller High Life, four quarters of football and my three best friends slowly got to me.

Madden NFL 2005 introduced me to its glorious theoretical aspects. I discovered that it’s not a good idea to call a Hail Mary every single play on offense. I realized that nickel, dime and quarterback aren’t coins and refunds. I learned the positions, the plays, the shotgun, wishbone and I formations.

A game that used to seem like ogres fighting over a loaf of bread suddenly became one of subtle strategy and elegant execution.

Football with the Xbox turned off was even better.

I saw the Redskins beat the Cowboys in the last 90 seconds on Monday Night Football. I saw them go from 5-6 to 10-6 to make the playoffs. I saw the promise of a wonderful 2006 season.

I was wrong.

2006 was filled with frustration and despair. It didn’t have a wonderful climax and satisfying resolution like the previous season. Week after week, Sunday came around and the Redskins would lose.

I was looking for the wrong thing. This is a sport. There isn’t always a beautiful destiny in store for the teams and fans. Here the characters are just as often met with success as they are with failure. Football isn’t about clear dramatic arcs and dénouement. It is about the ugliness of hope, superstition and chance. It is about dealing with disappointment and appreciating those lucky occasions when the football gods smile on our sacrifices to their burgundy and gold altar and lend a victory or two.

You can, like Coach Gibbs, sacrifice sleep to review film and script new plays and formations. You can outwork and outperform your opponents. You can leave everything you’ve got out there on the field. But you can still lose. We all know it and we all love coming back to the game every Sunday to see what happens.

This is Redskins country. I get it.

Benjamin Johnson is a senior physics major. He can be reached at katsuo@umd.edu.