WASHINGTON — November 27 will always have a somber feel to it in Washington.
That’s the date, 10 years ago, that Sean Taylor died of a gunshot wound suffered in a home invasion. A new father, a son, a brother and a rare football talent was stolen from his family — both his literal relatives and his Washington friends and teammates — forever.
The Redskins organization and their fans have never been the same since. In his final season, Taylor had five interceptions, a forced fumble and broke up nine passes in just nine games. In his four-year career, he totaled 12 picks and eight forced fumbles, registering at least one of each in every one of those seasons. His impact was undeniable and virtually instant.
Just flip through the gallery above. The blocked field goal return to pull out an improbable home win against Dallas. The scoop-and-score fumble return in Philadelphia to propel the Skins to a playoff berth. The two-interception game in Green Bay that could have easily been a five pick performance against future Hall-of-Famer Brett Favre. We still whoop and holler over that hit on punter Brian Moorman in the Pro Bowl like it happened yesterday.
In a Sean Taylor feature from Thursday's Redskins program, former Bills punter Brian Moorman says his Pro Bowl jersey is the only jersey he has framed frontwards because there is a piece of gold paint from Taylor's facemask in it. pic.twitter.com/4p1QUJYWOH
— Jake Russell (@_JakeRussell) November 27, 2017
That impact was never adequately replaced, both because the Redskins front office has been largely inept for much of the last 25 years and because there simply isn’t anyone like Taylor. His blend of power, speed, agility and ballhawking skills was unprecedented. His rare skill set made him a joy to watch and made him the most popular Redskin during the Joe Gibbs 2.0 era that served as little more than a brief reprieve from hating everything about the organization.
When Taylor died, everything changed. Gibbs retired again, setting in motion the events that led to the ill-fated Jim Zorn era. From LaRon Landry, to Reed Doughty, to O.J. Atogwe, to an elderly Ryan Clark, no one could come close to being productive at free safety, and the defense suffered. Save for an all-around top 10 unit in 2008, the ‘Skins D has never been better than 17th in scoring defense in the years since.
Robert Griffin III is the only player to match Taylor’s popularity in the last decade, and that short thrill ride was replaced by injuries and behavior best described as polarizing. That calls to mind the unsettled nature of Taylor’s death — he never got a chance to either develop into a Hall-of-Famer or fall from grace. His life and career ended abruptly at such a crucial juncture in both.
This is analogous to watching the first 45 minutes of an entertaining, compelling movie and seeing it fade to black right as the main character is emerging from the film’s conflict. There’s no On Demand or Netflix to come back later to see how Taylor’s story ends. It’s frustratingly unresolved, making him football’s version of James Dean.
That unfinished legacy built Taylor into a larger-than-life figure, among fans and present-day players alike. Taylor’s #21 remains the most popular jersey in the stands of any Redskins game, and he’s automatically assumed to be one of the franchise’s greatest players despite the fact he played only 55 games.
ESPN ran a segment Sunday featuring the young NFL safeties that draw inspiration from Taylor and even wear his jersey number in tribute. It’s pretty well known in these parts that D.J. Swearinger — by far the best Redskins safety in the 10 years since Taylor’s death — wears 36 because it’s the number Taylor wore his rookie season, and it meant enough to Swearinger that he was willing to pay for it.
I still remember hearing the news of Taylor’s death like it was last week. I was reporting traffic in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, and was still a huge ‘Skins fan back then. I remember being numb for awhile, but simultaneously heartbroken that his daughter (who is approximately the same age as mine) will live the vast majority of her life without her father because of something so senseless.
The emotion came pouring out during the next game when the Redskins hosted the Bills, a game famous for the ‘Skins starting the game with only 10 defenders on the field and ending with Gibbs illegally calling consecutive timeouts. While that lives in Redskins lore, nothing from that day resonates with me more than the pregame video tribute.
As he had with many Redskins fans at the time, Taylor had become one of my favorite players. When you’re young (I was in my late 20s at the time), losing your favorite player to something other than injury or free agency is incomprehensible. Yet here I was, mourning a man I’d never met, feeling cheated that the possibility of doing so was forever lost.
Just like losing any loved one, Taylor’s death left a hole that can never truly be filled. Though some facets of his legacy are romanticized, it’s irrefutable that Taylor is now and forever missed.
