The memories remain etched in my mind, vibrant and alive even after 42 years. Now, with Jayden Daniels leading the Washington Commanders through a surprisingly successful season, the enthusiasm of a historically frustrated fan base is reignited with each daring fourth-down decision, every thrilling last-minute victory, and the refreshing touch of new owner Josh Harris.

As the Commanders prepare to face Philadelphia this Sunday in the NFC championship game, it’s a momentous occasion, marking their first journey to this pivotal stage before the Super Bowl in over thirty years. They may not be the favorites in this matchup, but perhaps this aligns perfectly with their underdog spirit.

Back on that memorable January day in 1983, there was also little expectation for victory. My father managed to secure two tickets for just $20 each— a staggering contrast to today’s prices for standing spots at Lincoln Financial Field. He chose to take his enthusiastic 8-year-old sport-loving son to witness the Commanders challenge Tom Landry and the Dallas Cowboys for a coveted Super Bowl berth.

That day holds a special place in my heart. The sight of snowflakes welcoming us to RFK Stadium, the unwavering chants of “We Want Dallas,” and the resounding voices of 55,000 fans singing their fight song—these were experiences that shaped my love for the team. We sang with fervor, especially after Darryl Grant’s late interception return sealed the victory and our chance to compete for the Lombardi Trophy.

At that time, Washington football was deeply woven into the fabric of our lives. Legendary players such as Joe Gibbs, John Riggins, Joe Theismann, and Art Monk represented more than just a team; they were cultural icons in the nation’s capital. During their era of five NFC title games and their four Super Bowl appearances, the connection to the team felt almost familial.

I fondly recall having spaghetti dinners at halftime while my grandmother served her delicious homemade sauce. The television volume was often lowered so the sounds of Frank Herzog, Sonny Jurgensen, and Sam Huff narrating the game could be heard. My father frequently voiced his frustrations with the officiating, while my mother would hold her breath during tense plays—a tradition that endures to this day. The success or failure of each game would set the mood for our entire week.

As a child, I assumed this was how things would always be, as it was all I had ever known. But as time moved on, the business side of football started to intervene. In the late 1990s, the team left RFK Stadium for a sterile concrete venue in Maryland. Daniel Snyder, a lifelong fan turned billionaire, bought the team in 1999, and soon after, the glory days faded into a series of disappointing seasons.

Through the turmoil, my mother remained a loyal fan. I, however, grew disenchanted and ultimately distanced myself from the team, channeling my passions into becoming a sports writer. This career choice originated from that unforgettable day long ago, one which allowed me to chase the thrilling highs I experienced as a kid when the stadium erupted in celebration.

My father passed away in the spring of 2010. Our relationship wasn’t as close as I would have liked it to be during his final years, and that’s a mutual responsibility. Our conversations became less frequent, and our shared love of football was seldom mentioned. What was there to discuss? The ongoing challenges with coaching, public relations disasters, and the struggles of each season?

A few days after his passing, my sister and I visited his home, where my grandparents suggested we take what we wished. I picked up a cross necklace but soon discovered a small drawer containing the two tickets from that iconic 1982 title game. I held those tickets tightly, reminiscing about that glorious day and all the joyful Sundays that followed—the victories, the fight songs—when everything briefly seemed perfect.

Though the cross has vanished over the years, I have safeguarded the tickets. Recently, I took them out of an old trunk and reflected on what my father would think of this team’s current performance and their resilience. He would surely admire Daniels’ skill and worry about the defense, just as I do.

This Sunday, I’ll be watching the game with his 15-year-old grandson—a boy he only met once. I look forward to sharing the experience and afterwards calling my mother to discuss it all. Regardless of the outcome, I hold a sense of gratitude. It’s not merely because the team has regained some respectability, but because it has reignited a connection—restoring hope and joy for an entire generation who feared they may never experience it again.

Hail to victory. Finally.