Really thought you’d built something, didn’t you, Detroit Lions? The uniform change, the positivity, the belief, the empty catchphrases, whatever they were. Thought you’d shed that old Honolulu blue-and-silver skin and become something new, something better, didn’t you? Were sure you’d left the decades of “Loins” behind, huh?
And now, do you long for the anonymity of continued incompetence? Will you yearn for the days when every other football fan heard your name mentioned on some show or read it on some site and thought, “Oh, right, the Lions. I remember that they always suck.” Will you look longingly for the day when everyone who didn’t follow sports still knew that “Lions” was a synonym for “ineptness?” When you were a given and it was simpler?
It was easier in the shadows, wasn’t it? But now it’s out there for all to see. All those plays, all those games that define your fandom but you could keep confined within Lions lore, that was ok. But this NFC Championship collapse, this is everyone’s. You forgot the notes at the school talent show. You puked on Broadway. You fell into the tuba at the Oscars. What was once a shared joke and commiseration just in Michigan is now the world’s to enjoy. Were you really ready for your closeup?
You’ll be back, you say. This is just the start of something, you’ll tell yourself. But you know the truth. This was it. Come a season, or maybe two, Dan Campbell’s shtick will wear thin with players. Salary crunches will come. Jared Goff will never be like this again (even though he’s basically the same). The cards fell your way this time, you went all in, not realizing one of the hearts you thought helped constitute a straight flush was actually a diamond. Probably won’t come around again.
Ben Johnson will leave for a head coaching job somewhere, and the next guy won’t be as good. There’ll be one bad injury somewhere ruining one season and a strange underperformance from a couple people the next. Someone will hold out, someone will get franchised, and that all-for-one spirit will fade. It happens to every team.
You’ll tell us that this season was special, and, indeed, in Lions terms, it was. You’ll remember the two home playoff wins and smile fondly. And, hell, if the Lions had just shown up to Santa Clara and lost normally, maybe that glow would be brighter and longer. Because the Lions would have gone a full season without going #LIONS.
But they didn’t. They threw away the biggest surprise in recent NFL history. Or more accurately, they dropped it to the ground or let it bounce off their face mask. Goff was what he’s always been, a QB capable of great things when everything lines up for him, and pissing down his leg when they don’t. Campbell’s constant lying his nuts on the table eventually gets splinters in them. It’s one thing to be Mr. 4th-down-don’t-mean-nothin’ in Week 9. It’s another half-step from the Super Bowl and up two scores with the possibility of being up three. Down 10 and with all three timeouts, and just after the two-minute warning, they could have kicked a field goal and not had to onside kick before possibly getting the ball back with one more chance to tie it. Everyone who’s ever played Madden knows this. Campbell stuck out his chin one more time. Balls get you so far and then they get you killed. A brain isn’t a bad thing.
It was better in the background, Lions. Better when you were a foregone conclusion. Better when you were just a narrative that everyone knew and no one watched. But now that’s over, and you’re much bigger losers now. Now everyone will know that ball hitting Kindle Vildor in the face for the biggest play of the Niners season is what defines “Lions” now, what defines Lions history.
Aidan Hutchinson’s eye-black is stupid. The Yzerplan will never work out. All the Tigers’ prospects either have or will flame out. Both of Colt Keith’s ACLs will catch fire on Opening Day. The Pistons are the Pistons. Mike Ilitch was a slumlord and his children are idiots. The only thing New Yorkers and Chicagoans can agree on is your pizza tastes, and has the consistency of, used tampons. Your downtown renaissance is never coming. And now you have this. Wear it well, because you’ll never shirk it. You can’t run from who you are.
Daniil Medvedev couldn’t outrun his own gas tank
It can be fascinating watching Daniil Medvedev strategize and shift and adjust for the opponent across the net. His brain as much as his skills have seen him stop Novak Djokovic’s historic run in 2021 and reach five other Grand Slam finals. It may have been even more fascinating to watch him plan for his own body, even if it came up short, as Jannik Sinner came back from two sets down to win his first Grand Slam, 3-6, 3-6, 6-4, 6-4, 6-3.
Both Medvedev’s quarterfinal against Hubert Hurkacz and his semifinal against accused domestic abuser Alexander Zverev went five sets, and he spent eight hours combined on court in just those two matches. Whereas Sinner hadn’t lost a set other than the tiebreaker he dropped to Djokovic in the semis. The freshness advantage was certainly Sinner’s.
So Medvedev did the opposite of what he always does, and that was go for everything, seemingly trying to close out the Final before his legs could figure out they were tired. And he was all over Sinner in the first two sets, as Sinner tried to figure out where this guy came from and where the guy who would stand 10 feet behind the baseline and grind out points over and over again went.
Medvedev, much like he did against Hurkacz, was up on the baseline for returns and smothering Sinner. Instead of merely placing his groundstrokes wherever in the court he wanted them, he was slapping his forehand and even occasionally taking his backhand up the line instead of the surefire crosscourt that is the hallmark of his groundwork. His first serve was untouchable (he won 85 percent of the points on his first serve in the first two sets). It all worked a treat, to the point it got him within six points of his first Aussie title.
Ah, but the gremlins of fatigue and history can’t be suppressed forever. Medvedev blew a two-set and a break lead to Rafal Nadal on this very court not so long ago in another Final. Those eight hours on court the previous two matches would come calling for their debt before too long. Suddenly, the first serve wasn’t popping like it did. Suddenly, it was much more inconsistent. Those decisive groundstrokes that were winners before were a heartbeat off in timing. Suddenly, Medvedev just couldn’t quite get there.
And Sinner did the opposite of what he normally does. He dropped back on Medvedev’s serve. He hit top-spin loopers to bring the ball up higher on him. He extended points just for the sake of it to kill the body and watch the head die. He waited patiently for openings and mistakes.
His boomstick of a forehand was mostly kept in the holster in the name of patience, though wearing down Medvedev methodically instead of by large chunks could be seen as even more devious.
Sinner had promised this since the end of last season when he beat Djokovic twice. He hinted at it at the 2022 US Open when he took Carlos Alcaraz to the very depths. He had the most momentum coming into this tournament and no one was able to stop it. Medvedev came close, six points away close. But when the tank is on E, it’s on E, and that’s always the final statement.
