Hope Only Goes So Far

The desperate plight of the Detroit Lions fanbase

If you want to know how insufferable being a Detroit Lions fan is, consider this: at eight years-old, my peers and I were already numb to the franchise’ ineptitude. At a baseball practice in third grade, one of my teammates told a joke that went something like this.

In hindsight, it’s alarming that an eight year-old was joking about child abuse. Aside from that, the joke is surprisingly sophisticated for a child with limited brain power. For whatever reason, I’ve always remembered that moment. I suppose it’s stuck with me because it was the first time I experienced someone my age reprimand the Lions’ losing reputation. Even though our childhood coincided with the most successful decade in the franchise’ history (the ‘90s), along with the Apex of its greatest talent (Barry Sanders), we were too young to have any recollection of their success. In spite of it, we had already incorporated the fanbase’ overarching cynicism into our daily convserations.

At the turn of the century, my football obsession corresponded with the Lions’ downward spiral. From the year I turned eight years-old (2000) until I finished my Freshman year of college (2011), the Lions went 11-straight seasons without making the playoffs; highlighted by becoming the first 0–16 team in NFL history. Essentially, my hometown football team was nonexistent for the first 18 years of my life. And yet, their incompetence occupied every waking minute of my growing sports passion, because football is king, regardless of the reality that the Lions were as good as dead.

My generation’s innocence was displayed during the Lions’ ascendence at the beginning of this decade. In 2011, after making the playoffs for the first time since 1999, we were convinced that the previous decade was an outlandish millennial blip. If the franchise were to ever change course, the time was now, we told ourselves. Our fathers and grandfathers insisted we tread lightly, for the franchise had a habit of teasing its fans. Even so, there was no downplaying their new wave of young talent. With the league’s best receiver (Calvin Johnson), the most dominant defensive-lineman (Suh), and a potential Pro-Bowl Quarterback (Stafford), all under 26 years-old, the Lions, for once, were carrying themselves with a swagger that was absent during previous eras.

During the next four years, we found out that even youth isn’t ammune to the toxicity that comes with generations of losing. We weren’t cursed, for that label would require legitimate contention; Arguably far worse, we continued to demonstrate an unprecedented skill of predictability. In other words, whenever things were going good, Lions fans expected the worst. Almost always, the Lions delivered.

In 2013, the Lions were 6–3 and in first place in the NFC North, going into Week 11. They ended up finishing 1–6 and missing the playoffs. The following year, the Lions found themselves at 7–2 heading into Week 10; with a two-game lead on the Packers. Fittingly, the NFC North title came down to the final game of the regular season. The Lions lost in Green Bay. Last year, we were in first place by two games going into Week 15. We blew our lead, forcing a de-facto NFC North Title game against the Packers, at home, in Week 17. Once again, we lost.

Sure, the Lions choked. Most distressing, though, is that the conclusion to these three seasons didn’t catch the fanbase by suprise. You can’t be disappointed if you see what’s coming around the corner. Each year, we did. Which makes you wonder — at what point do Lions fans give up?

The Lions, for many, are defined by their recent habit of faltering down the stretch, along with their sheer mediocrity. For diehards, this is just a reoccurring part of the team’s unfathomably bleak history. In the last 60 years, the Lions have zero Super Bowl appearances, three division titles, and one playoff win. SIXTY years; ONE playoff win. Rooting for the Lions isn’t just choosing to invest emotional, mental, and sometimes, physical, energy on a losing team, but knowing full well that there’s no hope at the end of the tunnel. Essentially, it’s an addiction; in that we know the harmful side affects of the drug that is the Lions, yet we keep coming back.

I suppose that football’s dominance in American culture makes it impossible to completely sever ties with a team, no matter how long the suffering has gone on. For a league predicated on parity, each August brings with it a feeling of hope. Well, hope only goes so far. And for the Lions fanbase, our faith is running thin.

The Browns, Bills, and Vikings are oft-considered the most tortured NFL franchises. Considering that torture stems from heartbreak, then the Bills and Vikings’ combined 0–7 Super Bowl record is a fair factor for determining which fanbase holds the most-suffering title belt. With that said, the Browns and Lions have never made a Super Bowl. Worse yet, while the Browns can reminisce on a five-year period in the ’80s, when the team won four division titles and made three AFC Title games, the Lions aren’t as fortunate. Which begs the question — can the Lions even be considered tortured? If not, what are we?

What Lions fans are, I suppose, is pathetic. We’re gullible enough to keep convincing ourselves that this time will be different. We’ve done this for 60 years now, and the outcome hasn’t changed. That being said, the fanbase’ passion hasn’t diminished. You could even argue that it’s intensified over recent years. Although we berate the team for frequently teasing success, by way of playoff appearances and choking away division titles, it’s simply a defense mechanism to prevent ourselves from being let down. For as much as an irredeemable fanbase can deserve credit, Lions fans should be lauded for our ability to endure such suffering without ever parading a woe-is-me disposition.

We conform to self-deprecation. It’s the reason that no one is harder on the Lions than us; and why we criticize ourselves and each other, for being foolish enough to keep strapping our faith to a team which has done nothing but give us reasons for why we should move on. After witnessing the Red Sox and Cubs end far longer title droughts in recent years, how could you give up and risk the chance that you miss out on the ride. Inevitable, a Lions championship is not. But with one playoff win since 1957, we have to start somewhere. Even if this isn’t the year, you’d be hard pressed to find a single Lion fan who would chose to live a life without a horse in the race, over one in which losing is nearly a foregone conclusion. What are the Lions? Predictable. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with that.

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