Political Divisions in Washington: Can Football Unite the Capital?
Joe Biden and Donald Trump have failed to bring unity to Washington, D.C. However, there is potential for Jayden Daniels to achieve that goal.
TroibNews 
When Donald Trump met with D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser during the transition, the encounter was anticipated to be uncomfortable given his campaign criticisms of her administration. However, during their time at Mar-a-Lago, they found common ground discussing the quarterback of the Washington Commanders.
“He was well aware of Jayden Daniels and why he should be the rookie of the year and possibly the MVP," Bowser later remarked, sharing some specifics from their private discussion.
This month has revived an old Washington tradition: power players and everyday citizens using the local football team's success as a political unifier. Once, the team served as a common interest that could bridge divides in a politically fragmented city, and it seems to be serving that purpose once again.
For those familiar only with Washington post-1992, this dynamic may be foreign. Previously, the team, known then as the Redskins, brought together individuals from various walks of life—shoe-shine workers, federal employees, and politicians from both sides of the aisle. In that era, discussing a star player could ease tensions between opposing factions.
“It was quite incredible in that they had Democrats, Republicans and independents all mixing in the owners box,” recounted George Solomon, who became The Washington Post’s sports editor in 1975, reflecting on the team's past significance. “It was everybody. Media, newsmakers. The city grouped around it.”
In the 1970s, Democratic superlawyer Edward Bennett Williams owned the team and hosted bipartisan leaders in his suite while he confronted the Nixon administration. During the Reagan era in the 1980s, despite the political climate, the president still allowed federal workers to take time off for a Super Bowl victory celebration, a generous act reflecting a shared local culture.
Then, the good times waned. The team faced three decades of mediocrity and diminished political relevance. While it might be coincidental that the era of nasty American politics began in the mid-1990s as the team lost its local appeal, the decline stripped away a significant social connector in a divided capital.
Could the rekindled interest in the football team resurface as an unlikely political unifier?
I pondered this over the weekend while witnessing a series of nostalgic text conversations among my Democratic friends on inauguration eve. Suddenly, on Saturday night, the mood shifted to one of excitement after the rejuvenated Commanders defeated the Detroit Lions, coming closer to their first Super Bowl appearance since George H.W. Bush's presidency.
“My mood is ecstatic,” said Tom Manatos, a lobbyist and diehard fan. Having spent his Capitol Hill career with Democrats, he opted for team apparel instead of MAGA gear at political events. “I was wearing a ton of Commanders stuff, from a pair of Commanders socks to a tie and a lapel pin,” he shared. “It was the best conversation starter. It was everything anyone wanted to talk about.”
“I’m so happy. I’m so excited about it,” said Anita Dunn, a veteran Democratic operative. Although she had let go of her family's season tickets a few years ago, she recently purchased them for her son. “It is a version of a cable green room, a place where people can meet and talk and be excited about something regardless of your politics.”
In a predominantly blue city grappling with apprehensions about federal workers and the pardons for January 6 rioters, the excitement surrounding the Commanders presents a curious contrast, especially compared to the politically charged atmosphere during Trump’s first inauguration. Back then, protests and political fervor filled residential neighborhoods. This time, however, local porches display the revival of burgundy team flags, giving something else for frustrated liberals to focus on.
The enthusiasm isn’t limited to Democrats, though. “It feels like the late '80s or early '90s again," remarked John Noonan, a former Republican national-security staffer who rallied around the team’s success after moving to D.C. “Within a month, the Soviet Union dissolved and the Redskins won the Super Bowl, and I think my life might have peaked.”
Mark Ein, a D.C. businessman involved in last year’s purchase of the franchise, articulated this vision. “Our whole motivation in buying the team is to bring the community back together like no other institution,” he stated.
This effort extends to engage those more familiar with the owner’s box than the stadium's bleachers. With an improved team image, a range of political VIPs have been spotted, including Federal Reserve Chair Jay Powell, then-Secretary of State Antony Blinken, and Trump advisor Jason Miller.
“Our whole ownership group believes that sports is the one thing in society that brings people together, regardless of politics, geography, religion, gender, age, income,” Ein said. “When you’re in our stadium, it’s fully representative of our whole community, and that pertains to fans in the stands and who’s in the suites.”
Ein’s perspective may be self-serving, especially considering the possibility of needing taxpayer support for a new stadium from both Republican-led Virginia and Democratic-run Maryland and D.C. However, despite the commercial interests, the genuine question remains: Can a football team reforge connections in Washington by 2025? There’s merit in exploring this, regardless of previous loyalties to the team.
The team’s rise as a unifying force in Washington was not coincidental. The D.C. area experienced explosive growth in the 1960s and 1970s fueled by government expansion and a new era of political advocacy. During this time, fewer entertainment options meant that newcomers often found camaraderie through the then-Redskins.
With limited ways to follow their favorite teams before the Internet and cable TV, many found their identity as fans connected them to Washington. This included politicians who now pride themselves on having no ties to the city.
The team's success aided this bond. “The coach, George Allen, in the ’70s he would go into [power-lunch spot] Duke Zeibert's and people would stand up and cheer him like little kids,” Solomon recalled. He also shared a memory of Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee's breakfast with Allen, during which the coach sought to print the paper using team-colored red ink on Mondays following games. “That’s how much the coach thought the city cared about the team,” Solomon noted.
In the ’80s, football players became hot tickets in D.C., akin to today’s politically connected Hollywood celebrities. The incidents sometimes made headlines, like the infamous gala in 1985 when running back John Riggins disrupted a formal event by heckling Justice Sandra Day O’Connor and falling asleep on the floor. Yet, he maintained social acceptance despite the incident. “As long as he didn’t [fall asleep] during a game,” Buchwald quoted a fan saying. Years later, when Riggins was performing in a New York play, O’Connor attended with roses, signaling the strong ties between the team and the local society.
The decline of Washington’s football romance was not merely the result of fans turning away from a struggling team. Changes in media allowed newcomers to keep their existing sports loyalties rather than bond with their local team. Cultural shifts also made sports less likely to serve as a common point of discussion among strangers.
These developments contributed to a fragmented society where the transient nature of political professionals connected them less with the city and each other. As a result, fewer members of Congress brought their families to D.C., and partisanship began to shape social interactions.
Though it might seem overambitious to believe a couple of winning seasons could restore the previously genial atmosphere, in a time of intense political strife, any shared ground is a welcome prospect in a city centered on governance.
“For the first time, on Saturday night, when that game ended against Detroit, I felt like the old magic was back for the first time in 30 years,” Noonan shared. “It triggered something deep inside me, a nostalgia that I had forgotten was in my heart and head.”
Thomas Evans for TROIB News
“He was well aware of Jayden Daniels and why he should be the rookie of the year and possibly the MVP," Bowser later remarked, sharing some specifics from their private discussion.
This month has revived an old Washington tradition: power players and everyday citizens using the local football team's success as a political unifier. Once, the team served as a common interest that could bridge divides in a politically fragmented city, and it seems to be serving that purpose once again.
For those familiar only with Washington post-1992, this dynamic may be foreign. Previously, the team, known then as the Redskins, brought together individuals from various walks of life—shoe-shine workers, federal employees, and politicians from both sides of the aisle. In that era, discussing a star player could ease tensions between opposing factions.
“It was quite incredible in that they had Democrats, Republicans and independents all mixing in the owners box,” recounted George Solomon, who became The Washington Post’s sports editor in 1975, reflecting on the team's past significance. “It was everybody. Media, newsmakers. The city grouped around it.”
In the 1970s, Democratic superlawyer Edward Bennett Williams owned the team and hosted bipartisan leaders in his suite while he confronted the Nixon administration. During the Reagan era in the 1980s, despite the political climate, the president still allowed federal workers to take time off for a Super Bowl victory celebration, a generous act reflecting a shared local culture.
Then, the good times waned. The team faced three decades of mediocrity and diminished political relevance. While it might be coincidental that the era of nasty American politics began in the mid-1990s as the team lost its local appeal, the decline stripped away a significant social connector in a divided capital.
Could the rekindled interest in the football team resurface as an unlikely political unifier?
I pondered this over the weekend while witnessing a series of nostalgic text conversations among my Democratic friends on inauguration eve. Suddenly, on Saturday night, the mood shifted to one of excitement after the rejuvenated Commanders defeated the Detroit Lions, coming closer to their first Super Bowl appearance since George H.W. Bush's presidency.
“My mood is ecstatic,” said Tom Manatos, a lobbyist and diehard fan. Having spent his Capitol Hill career with Democrats, he opted for team apparel instead of MAGA gear at political events. “I was wearing a ton of Commanders stuff, from a pair of Commanders socks to a tie and a lapel pin,” he shared. “It was the best conversation starter. It was everything anyone wanted to talk about.”
“I’m so happy. I’m so excited about it,” said Anita Dunn, a veteran Democratic operative. Although she had let go of her family's season tickets a few years ago, she recently purchased them for her son. “It is a version of a cable green room, a place where people can meet and talk and be excited about something regardless of your politics.”
In a predominantly blue city grappling with apprehensions about federal workers and the pardons for January 6 rioters, the excitement surrounding the Commanders presents a curious contrast, especially compared to the politically charged atmosphere during Trump’s first inauguration. Back then, protests and political fervor filled residential neighborhoods. This time, however, local porches display the revival of burgundy team flags, giving something else for frustrated liberals to focus on.
The enthusiasm isn’t limited to Democrats, though. “It feels like the late '80s or early '90s again," remarked John Noonan, a former Republican national-security staffer who rallied around the team’s success after moving to D.C. “Within a month, the Soviet Union dissolved and the Redskins won the Super Bowl, and I think my life might have peaked.”
Mark Ein, a D.C. businessman involved in last year’s purchase of the franchise, articulated this vision. “Our whole motivation in buying the team is to bring the community back together like no other institution,” he stated.
This effort extends to engage those more familiar with the owner’s box than the stadium's bleachers. With an improved team image, a range of political VIPs have been spotted, including Federal Reserve Chair Jay Powell, then-Secretary of State Antony Blinken, and Trump advisor Jason Miller.
“Our whole ownership group believes that sports is the one thing in society that brings people together, regardless of politics, geography, religion, gender, age, income,” Ein said. “When you’re in our stadium, it’s fully representative of our whole community, and that pertains to fans in the stands and who’s in the suites.”
Ein’s perspective may be self-serving, especially considering the possibility of needing taxpayer support for a new stadium from both Republican-led Virginia and Democratic-run Maryland and D.C. However, despite the commercial interests, the genuine question remains: Can a football team reforge connections in Washington by 2025? There’s merit in exploring this, regardless of previous loyalties to the team.
The team’s rise as a unifying force in Washington was not coincidental. The D.C. area experienced explosive growth in the 1960s and 1970s fueled by government expansion and a new era of political advocacy. During this time, fewer entertainment options meant that newcomers often found camaraderie through the then-Redskins.
With limited ways to follow their favorite teams before the Internet and cable TV, many found their identity as fans connected them to Washington. This included politicians who now pride themselves on having no ties to the city.
The team's success aided this bond. “The coach, George Allen, in the ’70s he would go into [power-lunch spot] Duke Zeibert's and people would stand up and cheer him like little kids,” Solomon recalled. He also shared a memory of Washington Post editor Ben Bradlee's breakfast with Allen, during which the coach sought to print the paper using team-colored red ink on Mondays following games. “That’s how much the coach thought the city cared about the team,” Solomon noted.
In the ’80s, football players became hot tickets in D.C., akin to today’s politically connected Hollywood celebrities. The incidents sometimes made headlines, like the infamous gala in 1985 when running back John Riggins disrupted a formal event by heckling Justice Sandra Day O’Connor and falling asleep on the floor. Yet, he maintained social acceptance despite the incident. “As long as he didn’t [fall asleep] during a game,” Buchwald quoted a fan saying. Years later, when Riggins was performing in a New York play, O’Connor attended with roses, signaling the strong ties between the team and the local society.
The decline of Washington’s football romance was not merely the result of fans turning away from a struggling team. Changes in media allowed newcomers to keep their existing sports loyalties rather than bond with their local team. Cultural shifts also made sports less likely to serve as a common point of discussion among strangers.
These developments contributed to a fragmented society where the transient nature of political professionals connected them less with the city and each other. As a result, fewer members of Congress brought their families to D.C., and partisanship began to shape social interactions.
Though it might seem overambitious to believe a couple of winning seasons could restore the previously genial atmosphere, in a time of intense political strife, any shared ground is a welcome prospect in a city centered on governance.
“For the first time, on Saturday night, when that game ended against Detroit, I felt like the old magic was back for the first time in 30 years,” Noonan shared. “It triggered something deep inside me, a nostalgia that I had forgotten was in my heart and head.”
Thomas Evans for TROIB News
