The following newsletter solely contains the personal thoughts of Phoenix part-owner Johnny Goodtimes and does not necessarily reflect the views of the Phoenix organization or the AUDL. If you enjoy this email, pass it along. If you you were sent this email but aren't already signed up, be sure to sign up here.
I went to a memorial service for my favorite High School English teacher, Mrs. Annis, this past weekend. She was the best kind of teacher: one who told it like it was, who told you how pleased she was when you did your best, and called you on your shit when you slacked off. I grew up in the South, where people are unfailingly polite and fairly predictable, and she was neither, and I loved her for it. She had a sarcastic sense of humor, an ability to see the absurdity in things, and she knew how to channel my class clown energy into my writing.
One of the people to speak at the service was a relative of hers named Tobin. I didn't catch the exact relation. Like many English teachers, she was a savvy poet, and he read aloud a poem she had written to him when he turned 20 years old. (He was now in his 50s.) It was a lovely poem, and the final stanza caught my attention enough that I asked him afterwards if I could write it down:
New lands await the already seasoned young traveler.
A glance back at past endeavors met
At this milestone's door
Expectant eyes search
Beyond…
Welcoming the climb anew.
I loved the words, and I loved the thoughtfulness it took to write that poem to a 20-year old relative as he stood on the precipice of manhood. And maybe I have truly gone off the deep end, but I also had that a random thought that lodged in my mind: playoffs. Am I crazy? Don't answer that. But I loved the poem, and I loved that teacher, and I felt a sort of wink from her as I heard the poem. Of all of my teachers, she's the one who would have found it most hilarious that I had gotten involved in this crazy ultimate scheme. I can just hear her now, her head cocked to the side, a look of total confusion on her face “What in THE WORLD are you doing with yourself? Frisbee???”
But hearing the poem this past weekend, with such a clear analogy to our current situation, felt like an ethereal message. It was a reminder to take pride in our accomplishments this season, at this milestone that everyone worked so hard for. And to take stock in this moment, as we search beyond, and welcome a whole new season; playoff season, the most exciting and invigorating time of year in sports.
The playoffs are Christmas for sports fans. We all go to sleep with visions of sugarplums dancing in our heads. There are 13 teams left, and while the goals of these teams are different, the dreams are all the same: to hoist the trophy. For some teams, like New York and Carolina, the dreams and goals are the same. For others, like Indy and us, the goal is to win a playoff game and anything other than that is gravy. Don't get me wrong; I would desperately want to beat New York if we beat DC first, and I think we can beat New York. We played them close twice.
But let's be real: even at this point we're playing with house money. Nobody picked us to be here. On the Swing Pass podcast before the season, Daniel Cohen picked us to go 4-8. And when we started 0-3 after that heartbreaker to Montreal, it seemed like 4-8 might be an optimistic outlook. Yes, the team looked better this year, but at the end of the day, we were still the same old Phoenix. Nobody was talking playoffs after that 0-3 start.
“We've lost three games by a total of four points. We are right there. Once we win that first one, we will start rolling and rolling and rolling. So please keep coming out, we're gonna make the playoffs, we're gonna do great.”
I was a more Jim Mora than Tom Glass after the Montreal loss. “Playoffs? You kiddin' me? Playoffs? I just hope we can win a game!” I'm a cynic: this ain't horseshoes, and being close don't count. And now we were facing a back-to-back in Canada, one of them against a Montreal team that had just beaten us on our home turf. Here came yet another rebuilding year for the Hotbirds.
We went up North and smoked Montreal. I mean absolutely dismantled them. The James Pollard to Mike Arcata pass at the end of the third has now entered the realm of folklore. But a loss the next night would drop us to 1-4 and still on the outside looking in. I wrote about that game, and about the Matt Esser grab, in a previous newsletter. And we all know the rest. The team started rolling and rolling and rolling. Tom was absolutely, completely on the money. 6-3 to finish the season, and very well could have been 8-1. Two of those three losses were by one point at the buzzer.
Both to DC. Who we will play on Saturday. A team we should have beaten at least once and maybe twice. A team that we get a very rare third chance against on Saturday. A team we haven't beaten in over 5 years. A team that we couldn't possibly be more evenly matched up with. The words “Instant Classic” keep entering my mind.
The story writes its damn self. It's been a hell of a season, and now it's playoff time, baby. We welcome the climb anew.
