Culture
Scott Boras defends process after Mets owner Steve Cohen calls Pete Alonso talks ‘exhausting’
NEW YORK — Pete Alonso loomed over the New York Mets’ Amazin’ Day at Citi Field on Saturday without attending the event.
Just before Mets owner Steve Cohen answered a question about where things stand with Alonso, a homegrown star and free agent first baseman, during a panel discussion, a spirited crowd began chanting, “Let’s Sign Pete! Let’s sign Pete! Let’s sign Pete!”
Another chant then started, “Pete Al-on-so!”
Cohen then quipped, “Hold that for the end, OK?”
Cohen followed with a blunt assessment.
“We made a significant offer to Pete,” Cohen said. “He’s entitled to explore his market. That’s what he is doing. Personally, this has been an exhausting conversation and negotiation. I mean, Soto was tough — this is worse.
“A lot of it is, we made a significant offer … I don’t like the structures that are being presented back to us. It’s highly asymmetric against us. And I feel strongly about it. I will never say no. There’s always the possibility. But the reality is we’re moving forward. And as we continue to bring in players, the reality is it becomes harder to fit Pete into what is a very expensive group of players that we already have. That’s where we are. And I am being brutally honest.
“I don’t like the negotiations. I don’t like what’s been presented to us. Listen, maybe that changes. Certainly, I’ll always stay flexible. If it stays this way, I think we are going to have to get used to the fact that we may have to go forward with the existing players that we have.”
The crowd applauded the answer.
GO DEEPER
Teams looking for free-agent bats find that their options are running low
Generally, from a star player’s perspective, a short-term deal can be seen as a concession. Therefore, for three years, there might be a preference from the player’s side to have only player opt-outs and no deferred money. In Boras’ four shorter-term deals after the 2023 season, none included deferred money. On the other hand, from the team’s perspective, they may prefer more optionality on their side.
“Pete’s free-agent contract structure request are identical to the standards and practices of other clubs who have signed similarly situated qualifying-offer/all-star level players,” agent Scott Boras said. “Nothing different. Just established fairness standards.”
Last week, the Mets made a counteroffer of three years to Alonso and Boras. It was rejected.
The Mets withdrew that specific offer after it was turned down, sources familiar with the matter said. However, it’s unknown if the Mets and Alonso have since re-engaged. So whether the door is open under similar or different parameters remains a question.
The crowd at Amazin’ Day started chanting “We want Pete!” as soon as Cohen, president of baseball operations David Stearns and Carlos Mendoza took the stand for a panel hosted by SNY broadcaster Gary Cohen. When the broadcaster began asking a question about Alonso, he referred to it as “the elephant in the room.” Chants of “Pe-te” then continued.
“We all love Pete and we’ve said that many times,” Stearns said, receiving cheers. “As we’ve gone through this process, we’ve continued to express that. And we also understand that this is a business and Pete, as a free agent, deserves the right and earned the privilege to see what’s out there.
“We also feel really good about the young players who are coming through our system who have the ability to play at the major-league level.”
That’s when fans met Stearns’ words with groans and boos.
“We saw that last year. And that’s not always the most popular opinion,” Stearns continued. “We saw that last year and we will this year again.”
Without Alonso on the roster, the Mets would most likely look internally for a solution at first base. Earlier this month, Mets officials told third basemen Mark Vientos and Brett Baty to start taking reps at first base with Alonso’s future and the position for the club uncertain.
Vientos broke out as the Mets’ third baseman last year, supplanting Baty at the position. Scouts said Vientos improved defensively but still has plenty of room to grow. In the minor leagues, he also played first base.
“I love playing third base, but right now my main focus is, ‘What can I do for us to get to the World Series and win a championship?’” Vientos said. “That’s what I want.”
At Amazin’ Day, Baty sported a new jersey number — No. 7. He previously wore No. 22, meaning he needed a new number as soon as the Mets signed Juan Soto. Baty landed on No. 7 because he grew up rooting for José Reyes and Joe Mauer.
Might a new position be next?
Baty recalled Stearns telling him a couple of weeks ago, “We don’t know what’s going to happen,” and to start taking reps at first base. The next day, a first baseman’s glove arrived in the mail.
Unlike Vientos, Baty is a neophyte at first base. He last played first base sparingly as a sophomore in high school. He’s so new at the position that he said he hadn’t even thought about holding runners on or taking throws from pitchers. He said working on his footwork around the bag is the most challenging part.
Baty sees any chance at first base as an opportunity to enhance his versatility as he tries to win a job in spring training. Third base is Baty’s main position, but he played some second base last year in Triple A following a midseason demotion. In previous seasons in the minor leagues, he also played some left field.
“It’s really fun, honestly,” Baty said. “I’ve always prided myself on being as athletic as I can be. And I think athleticism, you can show it off at any position whether it be first base, second base, third base, the outfield, whatever it is.”
Mendoza stopped short of anointing anyone the first baseman. If Vientos slid over to first base, Baty, Luisangel Acuña and Ronny Mauricio, possibly among others, would comprise a competition for playing time at third base.
“We got options,” Mendoza said when asked if Vientos was the team’s first baseman as things stand. “We also got some depth there. We signed Jared Young, who has experience. Joey Meneses is a non-roster invite who has big-league experience. So we got options there. Guys are going to get the opportunity. We will see what happens.”
Meanwhile, Alonso lingers in free agency. Veteran and clubhouse leader Brandon Nimmo, also a Boras client, said he wasn’t too surprised that Alonso remains on the market because he expects his longtime teammate to take his time with the process until he saw figures to his liking.
“I would love to see Pete back with us, but I also understand that I don’t make those decisions; that’s between Pete and our front office,” Nimmo said. “From what I understand, there have been a lot of talks between them. I’m still hopeful that we will sign him. But we’re really happy with what we’ve done this offseason. We’ve made our team a better team.”
Star shortstop Francisco Lindor added, “He should make the best decision for himself, and not feel like he’s rushed into a decision. And I am sure he will. Pete is smart. And he’s going to get the input from his wife and his family and then make the best decision for himself. As he should. He deserves it.”
In the meantime, less than three weeks remain until the Mets begin reporting to spring training.
Required reading
(Photo: Harry How / Getty Images)
SHATTERED: A Memoir, by Hanif Kureishi
In December 2022, in Rome, fate took Hanif Kureishi by the wrong hand. He was sitting in the living room of his girlfriend’s apartment, watching a soccer game on his iPad. Suddenly he felt dizzy. He leaned forward and blacked out. He woke up several minutes later in a pool of his own blood, his neck awkwardly twisted.
Kureishi was 68. He was rendered, instantly, paralyzed below the neck, able to wiggle his toes but unable to scratch an itch, grip a pen or feed himself, let alone walk. Kureishi, who is British Pakistani, is a well-known screenwriter and novelist. His paralysis made international news, and many began to follow his updates on his progress, which he posted via dictation on social media.
Now comes a memoir, “Shattered,” with further updates. The news this book delivers, as regards his physical condition, is not optimistic. He has progressed little. He wrestles mightily with who he is, now that he must rely on others for nearly everything except talking and breathing. His memoir is good but modestly so. It contains a great deal of black comedy but its most impressive emotion is regret — for things undone and unsaid earlier in his life.
It’s hard to get across how counterculturally famous Kureishi was in the 1980s and ’90s. He wrote the screenplay for Stephen Frears’s raffish art-house film “My Beautiful Laundrette” (1985), about a young Pakistani man who is given a derelict laundromat in London by his uncle and hopes to turn it into a success.
That movie arrived in the wake of Salman Rushdie’s “Midnight’s Children” (1981), the most influential novel of the late 20th century. Both were fresh and sharply drawn works about postcolonialism and its discontents, a topic that Rushdie and Kureishi dragged, alive and squirming, to the forefront of the culture. The men became friends.
Kureishi photographed a bit better than Rushdie did. With his lion’s mane of dark curls, he resembled a pop star or a hipster prince more than a writerly mole person. Thus, it is one of the jokes in “Shattered” when Kureishi recalls the time a nurse asked, while plunging a gloved finger into his backside: “How long did it take you to write ‘Midnight’s Children’?”
He replied that if he’d written “Midnight’s Children,” he would not be in the care of England’s public health system.
In a darker parallelism, Rushdie too has written a recent memoir of horror and recovery.
Kureishi wrote the screenplay for Frears’s next movie, the romantic comedy “Sammy and Rosie Get Laid” (1987), and then published his first and best-known novel, “The Buddha of Suburbia,” in 1990. He has since written many more screenplays and novels but none have so captured the conversation.
When the press began to write about his accident, Kureishi says in “Shattered,” he began to feel like Huck Finn at his own funeral. Most of the accounts of his life and career were flattering. There is a bit of that life and career in this memoir, but more often we are in the present tense, as in: “Excuse me for a moment, I must have an enema now.”
Bodily eliminations are a central topic. He learns to get over the humiliation of not being able to cope with these on his own. Caregivers always seem to be feeling around back there. At one point Kureishi cries out to his readers, “I now designate my arse Route 66.”
The importance of touch, of small physical kindnesses, is felt in nearly every paragraph. It has ever been true: Kindness is the coin of the realm, accepted everywhere. Looking back at his life, Kureishi writes: “I wish I had been kinder; and if I get another chance, I will be.”
Remorse runs through this memoir’s veins like tracer dye. Kureishi stares hard at himself; he studies the blueprint of his own heart; he does not always like what he sees. He recalls being spoiled and self-centered and not, for example, welcoming the arrivals of his three sons. He hated taking them to sports events; he was used to doing what he wanted.
While his girlfriend and later wife, Isabella, cares for him in his new state, he wonders if he would have done the same for her. He was often distant, to her and others. His injury has brought him so much good will from so many people; he wonders if he would have reacted similarly.
Kureishi comes to feel “like a Beckettian chattering mouth, all I can do is speak, but I can also listen.” His favorite visitors are big talkers. Speaking takes a lot out of him. He remarks that “becoming paralyzed is a great way to meet new people.”
While he is in rehab, trying to regain motor skills, Kureishi confronts the contingencies of all our lives. Those around him have suffered motorcycle crashes, falls from ladders and trampolines, dives into empty swimming pools, sports injuries, a litany of freak and not-so-freak accidents.
Many incapacitated people, including famous ones like Christopher Reeve, have written books. The paralysis memoir with the most sophistication and sensitivity, that constantly taps into life’s mother lode, is “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” (1997), by Jean-Dominique Bauby. He was 43, the editor of Elle France, when he suffered a brainstem stroke. He wrote his sumptuous book by blinking to select letters while the alphabet was recited to him.
“Shattered” does not reach such heights. We confront the bare wood beneath the bark of Kureishi’s best earlier writing. But he is good and bracing company on the page. His book is never boring. He offers frank lessons in resilience, about blowing the sparks that are still visible, about ringing the bells that still can ring.
SHATTERED: A Memoir | By Hanif Kureishi | Ecco | 328 pp. | $28
GOOD DIRT, by Charmaine Wilkerson
“Good Dirt,” like Charmaine Wilkerson’s 2022 best-selling debut, “Black Cake,” is an engrossing epic that explores how intergenerational trauma shapes and complicates family legacies and bonds. At the heart of the novel is 29-year-old Ebony “Ebby” Freeman, the daughter of one of the few Black families in a wealthy New England enclave. She’s engaged to marry a white man, Henry Pepper, the “rising young star of an old banking family.” Ebby and her parents, Soh and Ed, hope her wedding will eclipse the tragedy that thrust her into the spotlight two decades earlier.
When Ebby was 10, she found her 14-year-old brother, Baz, dead on the floor of her father’s study, shot by intruders who were never caught. Lying next to his body were the shattered pieces of a family heirloom nicknamed “Old Mo”: a 20-gallon stoneware jar crafted by an enslaved potter in the mid-1800s. The crime remained unsolved and made headlines. A photograph of young Ebony in bloodied clothing won an international award, and the media has kept an eye on “the little Black girl who had survived a suburban tragedy” ever since. Grief-stricken, Soh and Ed have remained deeply protective of their only living child well into her adulthood.
Now, the media’s interest is revived when Ebby’s relationship with Henry ends in a devastating, and very public, fashion. Furious with Henry for having “shown the world that Ebony Freeman, try as she might, could not escape the mantle of misfortune that had settled over her,” Ebby flees Connecticut for the French countryside, where she hopes to “stay away for a good long while.” But when her troubles follow her there, Ebby finds a different kind of solace in writing her family’s history, based on the cherished stories about Old Mo her parents and grandparents told her and Baz as they were growing up.
Wilkerson deftly employs a broad chorus of perspectives throughout, with chapters told from the points of view of six generations in Ebby’s family, both enslaved and free; and others in the Freemans’ orbit. Even the treasured jar gets a turn.
We learn that Old Mo’s maker, Moses, carved the initials “MO” under the lip of the jar, presumably in reference to his owner, Martin Oldham, who owned a pottery and brickworks in South Carolina. Oldham looked the other way as the people he enslaved taught one another to read and write, at a time when their literacy was punishable by death. But Oldham is no savior; Moses is not spared slavery’s cruelty or brutality. Still, the Freemans read the “MO” as Moses’ “veiled reference to himself.”
Inspired by a hidden message Moses inscribed on the bottom of Old Mo, his fellow laborer Edward “Willis” Freeman (Ebby’s great-great-great-grandfather) carried the jar with him on his dangerous escape to freedom. In the home Willis later made with his wife and children in Massachusetts, Old Mo became a community repository for secret messages among free and enslaved people — and offered generations of Freemans the reassurance that “good could come of bad, that comfort could follow strife, that looking at their past could help to guide their future.”
In the canon of slavery narratives, which typically take place in agricultural settings, craftspeople are rarely the focus. And yet, as Wilkerson writes in an author’s note, “the mass production of pottery in the American South” was an area of labor that “regularly relied on both enslaved and free Black people.”
Wilkerson also forgoes the familiar in her characterizations of the two Black lineages in the novel: Both the Freemans and the Blisses (Ebby’s mother’s family) have owned land in Massachusetts since the 1600s, and include pioneers in their fields as “farmers, craftsmen, teachers, doctors, lawyers, politicians and investors.” Unlike the Black bourgeoisie of Stephen L. Carter’s novel “The Emperor of Ocean Park,” or the real-life elites in Lawrence Otis Graham’s “Our Kind of People,” Ebby’s people derive their pride from resilience in the face of adversity, not in their exceptionalism or proximity to whiteness.
“This is what it means to be Isabella ‘Sojourner’ Bliss Freeman,” Wilkerson writes after Henry has jilted Ebby on their wedding day:
Daughter of one of New England’s oldest and wealthiest African American families. Top honors at both universities. Attorney and mother. Lifelong volunteer. Champion fund-raiser. Still the only Black woman in her neighborhood, after all these years, with all that this unfortunate statistic has entailed. Alas, Soh needs to be above slapping that superficial fool in his face, because there are people who are just waiting for a sign that a woman like Soh is beneath them.
Ebby likewise is keenly aware of how she’s perceived, the too-fine line between her private life and the public spectacle muddling her grief for both her brother and Henry: “Love leaves a memory in the heart,” she thinks, “even when your head tells you it shouldn’t.”
Wilkerson masterfully weaves these threads of love, loss and legacy through Old Mo’s journey as well as the ongoing mystery of Baz’s murder. The result is a thoroughly researched and beautifully imagined family saga, with a moving and hopeful ending.
GOOD DIRT | By Charmaine Wilkerson | Ballantine | 352 pp. | $30
“This is how we’re gonna get down.”
That’s the phrase Washington Commanders coach Dan Quinn always uses with his players as he begins to lay out a plan of attack for their next opponent.
It’s time to get to work. The message is clear, as is the strategy Quinn, his assistants and players will execute to give themselves their best shot at victory. There are no cakewalks in the NFL, Quinn preaches. Every week, a battle awaits. The game is winnable if everyone executes their portion of the plan, but every contest represents a struggle nonetheless.
“It’s the humility of fighting,” Washington punter Tress Way said in explaining his coach’s messaging. “He’s not prepping us for a week to go out and play somebody and run them off of the field, like, ‘Hey, let’s just go wax these guys and onto the next.’ This is the NFL. Everybody is really freaking good at football. (Quinn) gets us hyper-focused and has this humble approach of how we are going to fight, our exact plan of what we are going to do to win that fight — but you’d better be ready to freaking fight.”
An 11-year veteran, two-time Pro Bowler and the longest-tenured member of Washington’s team, Way has played for four head coaches and has heard more than his fair share of game-planning speeches — the majority of which missed their marks.
Way recognized things had changed for the better the first time he experienced Quinn’s detailed mission statement.
“The way he comes in, being that clear and how he says the words, ‘This is how we’re getting down this week,’ I’m sitting there as the punter in the seats and I’m like, ‘Cool. This is how we’re getting down this week. Let’s do it.’ And you know you’re not doing it anyway but together,” Way said.
“Nobody ever feels like they’re on an island. And that’s why guys have found it so easy to get behind Dan.”
Sunday, Quinn will lead the Commanders against the Philadelphia Eagles in the NFC Championship Game, Washington’s first in 33 years. The Commanders are just one step away from the Super Bowl a season after a 13-loss campaign and yet another franchise reset.
In only a year, Quinn has managed to do something nine full-time predecessors could not: serve as the catalyst for the culture change of one of the most dysfunctional and disappointing franchises in the NFL and turn Washington into a bona fide winner.
More on Commanders and NFC Championship Game
Quinn has delivered change by being a walking, talking example of consistency, accountability, discipline, excellence and authenticity. He took the roster entrusted to him by second-year owner Josh Harris and first-year general manager Adam Peters and, helped by the play of dynamic rookie quarterback Jayden Daniels, made the Commanders one of the biggest surprises of the 2024 season. Washington went 12-5 in the regular season, then beat the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Detroit Lions — the NFC’s No. 1 seed — in the first two rounds of the playoffs to advance to Sunday’s NFC Championship Game.
“Coach Quinn is here just every day, preaching the same mindset, being consistent,” said eighth-year defensive lineman Jonathan Allen, who, like Way, has played under four head coaches in Washington. “He’s been on the same page with Mr. Peters and Mr. Harris, and that’s what it takes to change a culture. From Coach Quinn to Mr. Peters to Mr. Harris — they all have one goal they’re working toward, and that’s the start of any good company, business or team.”
They say the first step to solving any problem is to acknowledge that there is a problem. But when it came to solving the deep-seated problems that have crippled Washington’s football team for the better part of three decades, Quinn preferred to ignore them.
Long before his days as coach of the Atlanta Falcons and defensive coordinator of the Dallas Cowboys, Quinn played his college ball at Salisbury University (then Salisbury State) on Maryland’s eastern shore, two hours from the nation’s capital. His first coaching jobs were at William & Mary and Virginia Military Institute, two schools located in areas full of Washington football fans during the franchise’s glory years. Two-plus decades of coaching in the NFL with San Francisco, Miami, the New York Jets, Seattle, Atlanta and Dallas familiarized Quinn with Washington’s bleak years.
“I knew some of the history,” Quinn said during a recent post-practice interview. “I knew this was at one time a crown-jewel franchise, but they’d been stuck in the mud, and stuck for a while.”
But when Quinn interviewed for and eventually accepted the Commanders’ head coaching position, he didn’t concern himself with the details of previous owner Daniel Snyder’s 24-year reign of toxicity and futility. He didn’t tally the long list of coaches and GMs who’d promised hope, only to leave with the franchise still in shambles.
Harris would sign Quinn’s checks and Peters would work “shoulder-to-shoulder” with him to reinvigorate the franchise. That’s what mattered.
Quinn didn’t dig deep or query players or staffers to learn why his immediate predecessor, Ron Rivera, had failed. That’s because he knew and respected Rivera as a person and coach. But also, all that mattered to Quinn was how the Commanders would operate on his watch.
“I wanted to recognize that regardless of how the team had done ‘XYZ’ before, this is how we’re going to do it moving forward,” Quinn said. “I didn’t want to say, ‘The team didn’t do well,’ because I wasn’t here for that. I knew Ron, so there was zero reason for me to make any judgement on that. But I had ways I knew we were going to execute going forward. … I had really high standards I wanted our players and coaches to have, and I was clear on that.”
Dan Quinn’s Commanders went 12-5 one season after the team suffered 13 losses under a different regime. (Amber Searls / Imagn Images)
Quinn, 54, learned about high standards from his three most influential NFL mentors. He still leans heavily on lessons learned from Steve Mariucci while with the San Francisco 49ers, Nick Saban with the Miami Dolphins and Pete Carroll with the Seattle Seahawks — all three successful yet very different coaches.
Mariucci taught Quinn the importance of maintaining a standard of excellence while directing the franchise built to prominence by Bill Walsh. From Saban, Quinn learned the importance of demanding the same unwavering toughness and physicality in every single practice that he would in games. From Carroll, he learned how to prepare players for Sundays by building competition into everything the Seahawks did on a daily basis.
Despite folding all of those lessons into his coaching philosophies, Quinn has remained mindful to go about the job in his own way rather than trying to imitate his mentors.
“Coach Quinn has been so organic and just himself, and he’s just a guy you want to play hard for,” said Allen, who also played for Saban at Alabama. “He just gets it. He’s one of the guys, but he’s also just a great leader and a great coach to play for. I love it. Whenever you get an opportunity to play for a coach and organization that all they care about is winning, that’s the goal of an NFL player, so it’s awesome.”
As Quinn explained his expectations for his new players and his goals for the team, he also made it clear that for Washington to succeed, some of the loudest voices and strongest displays of leadership had to come from the locker room.
To help fill those roles, he identified three highly successful veterans for Peters to acquire in free agency: linebacker Bobby Wagner, whom Quinn had coached in Seattle; tight end Zach Ertz, who, like Wagner, had a Super Bowl ring and multiple Pro Bowl selections; and running back Austin Ekeler, a second-team All-Pro kick returner in 2024 and member of the NFL Players Association’s leadership team.
“I didn’t bring Wags here to coach,” Quinn said of Wagner, the future Hall of Fame middle linebacker who has consistently ranked among the league leaders in tackles during his 13-year career. “I brought him here to play, but I knew the standards he would have, and I thought he didn’t have to do anything, just be himself turnt up. And I thought the same thing with Zach and Austin Ekeler, who both had really high standards as ballplayers and teammates.”
When he got all of his veterans together for their first offseason conditioning sessions before the draft, Quinn invited a group of Navy SEALs to team headquarters for bonding exercises to help the Commanders begin to develop a strong sense of brotherhood. Quinn then split his players into groups and challenged them to compose a list of standards by which they believed successful teams operate. When the players reconvened, they compared notes and formed their tenets for the season — a list strong on commitment, accountability, dedication, unity and consistency. They called the document “The Commander Standard.”
This, according to Quinn, was how they laid the foundation for Washington’s new culture.
“Culture for a group,” Quinn said, “is all about how they do business together, because it has to be an everyday thing. … Environment is different from culture. Like, I’m upbeat by nature, and if you’re around here, you’ll feel an energy in people, and that’s how I live. I am positive. But that doesn’t make it your culture. The culture is the way you do everything together. It’s the meetings; it’s the discipline at the practice; it’s the way we communicate together and the standards you have for one another. So, sometimes I think people think of a happy place and assume that’s culture. No, that’s our environment.
“But we’re strict about what we do. We correct and teach a lot,” he continued. “I don’t think you have to be an (a–hole) to do it right, but you can’t look the other way either. So if Zach drops a pass, that’s on the tape. Bobby misses a tackle, that’s on the tape.”
And those gaffes are pointed out in front of the whole team, even if they are committed by esteemed leaders.
“That is the consistency any ballplayer or coach would want,” Quinn said.
That consistency further strengthened Quinn’s credibility in a Washington locker room where, in the past, some players struggled to trust and respect coaches and other team officials because of double standards they say they observed.
As the Commanders navigated offseason practices, training camp preseason and the regular season, Quinn’s messaging never changed. As expected, his leaders set a strong tone for the type of work ethic, professionalism and unquenchable thirst for improvement his players adopted throughout the season.
“We have a lot of leaders, but we do it in our own way,” wide receiver Jamison Crowder, a 10-year veteran, said. “I’m more a lead-by-example-type guy, and we have some more vocal, like the Bobby Wagners and the Zach Ertzes and those guys, but we have a lot of guys just helping out young guys with some things to do on the field, off the field, locker room or the training room, whatever it may be, giving them advice. You see that a lot, and that’s huge. Guys see that, and they just kind of follow suit.”
Player leaders certainly have set a strong tone for the Commanders. They have helped them weather adversity, like a lopsided 37-20 loss to the Bucs in the season opener, or the three-game losing streak from Weeks 10-12 that may have fractured previous Washington locker rooms. But players also credit Quinn’s leadership for their ability to pull their way out of that hole and reach the playoffs as a wild-card team after closing the regular season with five consecutive wins.
Every Monday starts the same way for Quinn and his players.
The coach leads a meeting he calls “Tell the Truth Mondays.” During that session, the coach and his charges review their game from the day before. Good plays draw praise. Bad plays draw scrutiny and correction. The coach — and the tape — tell the truth, even if said truths are uncomfortable. Once the session ends, Quinn encourages his players to either savor the win for a few more hours or let themselves feel the anguish of defeat further. Tuesdays are a day off for rest, recovery, family time and the final flushing of any feelings over the previous game’s outcome.
By Wednesday morning, the book on that game has closed. Win or lose, it’s never mentioned again. The attention shifts to the upcoming opponent, and Quinn again sets the tone for how the Commanders will take the next step of a quest that once felt so improbable, but now feels much closer to reality.
After three decades of suffering, change has finally come to the Commanders. Is a trip to the Super Bowl the next step? Perhaps, but Quinn hasn’t allowed his players to discuss that, because the Eagles await on Sunday, and that’s all that matters.
Instead, when the Commanders filed into the meeting room Wednesday morning and took their seats, they heard a familiar refrain.
“This is how we’re gonna get down.”
(Top Scott Taetsch / Getty Images)
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