One of the coldest days of January gets even harsher. The Detroit Lions, the NFL’s version of Charlie Brown trying to kick a football, were the NFC’s one seed. The city of Detroit was buoyant with high hopes. Fans had no stress about the game’s outcome. The Divisional Round versus the Washington Commanders would be easy, a stepping stone to greater success. After all, this was supposed to be our year.
It’s not.
Early in the fourth quarter. The game is no cakewalk. Detroit trails by ten points. The biggest throw of the season is inexplicably drawn up for receiver Jameson Williams, a player not known for his decision making, e.g., renowned for knuckleheaded choices like proudly eating McDonald’s cheeseburgers topped with ice cream.
Washington intercepts the throw. Detroit’s dream is disrupted. The game is not over, but it is for some fans.
Rational perspective gives the Lions a chance, but Lions fans aren’t rational. Not at this moment, not when intoxicated by Detroit’s first home field advantage throughout the postseason. Winning was supposed to be inevitable. Did someone forget to inform the Commanders?
Fans file for the exits. Super Bowl hopes become eagerness to beat traffic. I sit in the nosebleeds, watching fellow fans pull on their puffers, side-step to the aisle, and exit. These fans literally and figuratively turn their backs on the best team Detroit’s had since the 1950s.
I hate seeing other Lions fans leave early but understand why they do so. Those of us who have spent a lifetime dedicated to this team deserve to recoup as much of their investment as possible. The Lions didn’t get the job done. This has always been the case. Why is losing an issue now?
Heartbreak. It stems from high hopes. This fanbase has limited experience with expectations. Getting out of the cellar made reaching the top seem inevitable. It’s not. The reality check is a painful playoff departure. Even if this is as good as it gets it’s still better than it’s ever been.
Losing hurts. Detroit emphatically knows this, but I was still stunned after losing to Washington and wept after losing the 2023 NFC Championship. How can I, a diehard Detroit Lions fan, be so heartbroken from playoff defeats? For most of my life I would have killed — or at least pawned my gold chain — just to get here.
A playoff loss is a privilege. I got exactly what I wanted and still felt disappointed. Can you believe I have to eat complimentary Buddy’s again?
Fans must adjust to a paradigm shift: The Lions are a model franchise. The team evolved, but we haven’t. Loving the “same old Lions” made us who we are. Constant losing taught resilience, reinforced optimism, and prepared Detroiters for anything life can throw at us except this: the Lions being good.
A new season dawns Sept. 7. Optimism within the fanbase is higher than the average attendee of Movement Festival. The Lions could conceivably win the Super Bowl. I consider how seeing my team finally win would change me, but the kid who watched the 2008 Lions go winless pipes up: “Hey… I think you should enjoy this. Also, will you save me a trip to Windsor and buy me some Stroh’s?”
Joe Maroon
The new Detroit Lions season starts Sept. 7, with the home opener against the Chicago Bears set for Sunday, Sept. 14.
The thrill of rooting on a good football team has made us fans fixate on a potential outcome instead of enjoying the thrill of progress. I want to see a Lions’ Super Bowl victory more than anything. I’d trade anything for it — except the journey of getting there.
These are the salad days. Instead of focusing on how things could get better, why not dwell on how far this franchise has come? This fanbase has lived through Matt Millen, Matt Patricia, and multiple seasons derailed by players wearing controversial Halloween costumes. We deserve to savor this. We need to.
This chapter has altered the Lions but shouldn’t change the attachment Detroiters have to them. Regardless of how last season ended, any fanbase should be thrilled with a 15-3 season. The problem isn’t the team, it’s us. We need to evolve, Lions fans.
Don’t worry. It’s possible. As a matter of fact, I’ve done it before.
I am an addict in recovery, now entering my tenth year of sobriety. I didn’t know how to stop drinking. I don’t think anyone does, but I changed my relationship to the world. Values shifted, priorities changed, and the type of stable individual I avoided now greets me in the mirror.
My favorite sobriety tool is making a calendar and scheduling my week. I list daily tasks with responsibilities orienting around the sacred part of my calendar: Sunday afternoon. This game day emphasis is the only thing about me that hasn’t changed. I visit the sports bar religiously. Not regularly, religiously. This comparison may come across as trite but I’ll put Barry Sanders’s miracles on par with any deity.
Addicts face tests: weddings, holidays, or other private milestones. Most addicts have a few months under their belt before exposure therapy but not me.
Let’s go back to week one of the 2015 season. I’ve been sober for exactly six days. I pace outside the sports bar, wanting to watch the Lions but terrified of my booze-infused game day ritual.
Having almost drunk myself to death, I had to get sober but didn’t want to lose my identity and friend group, a fate worse than death.
I longingly eye the bar’s entrance. My friends were inside, my team was too. For someone from a broken family this was my closest approximation of home. I couldn’t numb my emotions. Time to feel my feelings and confront them. Routine that once brought comfort now petrified me.
I went inside, ordered a Coke, and watched my team. It was fine. It was fun. I returned the next week, continued for the following decade, and made it a teetotaling tradition.
It’s different watching sober. I still sing “Gridiron Heroes” after touchdowns and get yelled at by bartenders for picking up my friend John to celebrate big wins, but the day unfurls on a slower time axis, a portion of a cherished whole. I walk to the bar, call my Mom at halftime, and repeat the same jokes each week. You would think going to a sports bar would make sobriety more difficult but that hasn’t been my experience. I’m just like any other fan except I can drive a car afterwards.
Lack of substances affirmed my love of the team and illustrated how little winning or losing had to do with it. A season’s peak isn’t baked into the outcome but the broader experience. I love a Jahmyr Gibbs touchdown, but my favorite memories aren’t any highlight plays but tapestries woven over the course of a season.
That isn’t to say there aren’t rewards. A win leaves me bubbly for days, drifting through the work week like a cartoon character smelling a delicious aroma. But the defeats? Sobriety makes them easier to accept.
Courtesy of the author
The author at Ford Field.
Watching this team is what I do for fun. It’s a simple idea borrowed from blue-collar forefathers. The motivation of having my shit together enough to enjoy football has helped traverse some of temperance’s biggest challenges. I have my problems but never on Sunday afternoons.
A key difference is that the loss became the only negative consequence I had to deal with. Now sober, my post-game activity became pickup basketball. Exercise chases away the negative emotions of a bad Lions performance and operates as the victory cigar of a good one. Lions losses always hurt my feelings so I used my schedule to reframe them in a healthier manner.
People will notice me not drinking and ask, “Is it hard?”
It was at first. I gave up a destructive but “dearly held” habit. I didn’t want to sacrifice a favorite activity and social circle as well. I didn’t. Enjoyment grew and so did my friend group. I had more fun watching this team than ever — and then they started winning.
It’s not so hard anymore. This team isn’t the cause of emotions but a lens that helps me understand them. Years of sobriety? A winning team? A key factor behind my enjoyment is knowing how bad I had it earlier. The Lions would always lose and I would numb the emotions with alcohol. Letting the team determine my emotional state caused frequent downward spirals as well as holes in my drywall. All because I “needed” to see my team win.
Now? I want a win but don’t need it. Watching the Lions is the primary activity. They’re an entity I enjoy spending time with. Simply put, they’re a source of joy. I perk up at the site of Honolulu Blue like a toddler eyeing an ice cream cone. Why would I let something as negligible as their performance change that? The Lions don’t bring me joy because they win. They bring me joy because watching reminds me who I am.
I’m sober. I’m a Lions fan. These facets intermingle as part of my personal journey but might possess broader lessons for or a fanbase still adjusting to success.
I do not control the outcome of Lions games. [Author’s note: Please don’t tell my lucky shirt I wrote that.] I greet them like a family member — which makes sense given that they’re always a part of Thanksgiving no matter how many times they ruin the holiday. This team — in good times and bad — is what makes me happy.
“Grit” is this franchise’s defining ethos. The word’s embroidered on Dan Campbell’s hat and equally apparent in seeing this franchise conduct business. What is a willingness to go for it on fourth down besides a microcosm of trust? Working with addicts, I see this trait as the key ingredient in success. Stacking the good days, navigating adversity, and honestly assessing our shortcomings are key components to a successful recovery journey. The days might not all be good but the life they comprise will be.
Fandom’s no different. The last two seasons have contained some of the most difficult losses I’ve experienced but I look back on these as the best seasons I ever had. I want a Super Bowl at the moment, but in hindsight? I feel only gratitude.
I believe that’s the task facing Detroiters — at least those dedicating hearts and minds to the Lions. We want a Super Bowl but need to reframe the present and appreciate how good we have it. There’s Goff, Hutch, MCDC, and Amon-Ra. This is the team we dreamed of. Winning the Super Bowl is still the destination but the real reward is the journey. At least that’s my experience.
A new season is upon us, Lions fans. Time to count our blessings and enjoy every moment… until the final whistle.
