DanDrasticHill

Link?

I think it's fair to say SB victory is the gold standard of success for coaches, players, and franchises. That said, a simple test is to compare the SB winners only, side by side with the original chart. If the OP's proposition is correct, you would expect victors to show this effect even more, i.e. with a lower or at least similar average number of years to reach the SB than SB losers. On the other hand, if the victors' average is higher and/or shows a wide variance, that would contradict the thesis. It's a very small sample size but you could also compare first playoff appearances with a much wider sample.

Absolutely hilarious, thank you for sharing!

I went to Toronto for a high school field trip and got a fake ID. They told me to make up a name and I chose Dan Hill. I have no idea why. A bunch of my friends also got IDs and showed them off to our teacher. I lied and said I didn't get one. When we got back home, the teacher immediately went to everyone's parents and told them about the IDs. I was the only one who kept mine. I used it for years, eventually getting banned from just about every bar and liquor store in my hometown. The last time I got denied was a week before my 21st birthday at a total dive liquor store in a horrible part of town. The reason? The ID had finally expired. Once a bartender looked at the ID and said, "That's clearly fake but I don't care. What do you want?" I still have my Dan Hill ID. So many memories. Blurry ones.

Haha that is excellent - thanks for sharing!

I wrote this short story in 2017 about the infamous Bills-Cowboys MNF game in 2007. At the time, the Bills had a new coach and general manager and were about to begin the season that would end the Drought. Less than a year later, they drafted Josh Allen. I like to think this recap purged my Drought demons. As I looked over some Bills news today, thinking about how different things are in 2022, I thought it would be fun to go back and read this story. I laughed. I cried. So I thought I would share it here. Go Bills! It's been a long, long time. It had already been a long time, ten years ago. So to be awarded a prime-time Monday Night Football slot seemed a good omen. I'd only ever been to one other Monday night game, a total dud during a blizzard back in 2000, the troubled times. This looked to be our chance to get on the big stage and show the NFL and the world that the Bills were back. A New Hope permeated the pregame atmosphere. I've seen a lot of big Bills games go sideways, but I believed this one would be different. It was October 8th, 2007. My birthday. The RV lot, always a reliable indicator of Bills fans' expectations, had been full since Saturday morning. We felt our peculiar brand of hope resurgent that season. We even deluded ourselves that head coach Dick Jauron's temerity indicated a superior intellect, Trent Edwards' conservative passing was a sure sign of budding Tom Brady-esque greatness, and Beast Mode's many transgressions, sneaking his own booze into Chippewa clubs and running over Canadians, were just lovable trademarks of a cheeky scamp made of pure heart, guaranteed a 2,000-yard season. There were warning signs. There always are. On the very first play of the regular season, reserve tight end Kevin Everett went head first on a tackle and didn't get up. He broke his neck. We didn't know that in the stands but we knew it was bad. Never before or after in my life have I heard the terrifying silence of 70,000 people. Medical professionals raced around him. Someone murmured Everett might be dead. A limp cheer arose as his prone body was strapped to a stretched and loaded into the ambulance*. (*On a somewhat happier side note, I also attended the season finale that season, memorable only for the fact that Kevin Everett walked – incredibly, walked – onto the field at halftime. The quick thinking of the Bills' medical staff was credited with preventing permanent paralysis, or even death. The technology they used reportedly had been developed with the help of a grant from Ralph C. Wilson – the Bills' founder and Hall of Fame owner.) Two losses later, in evil New England, starting quarterback JP Losman went down on a vicious hit from Vince Wilfork. Buffalo quarterbacks of this era had a knack for absorbing nasty and sometimes dirty career-ending hits without getting so much as a roughing penalty (Trent Edwards also had his brain melted the following year and was never the same). Wilfork may have been fined. Who cares. Pre-brain melt Trent Edwards came in and gave us a reason to believe again. He'd looked good the week before, snatching a victory from the jaws of defeat for our first win of the season. Now, we were sure, on the big stage, he would prove his mettle. Joe and I discussed this in the parking lot while we tailgated. We were excited. There hadn't been many reasons to celebrate for us during the early '00s. The last really great game we'd seen together was in 2002 when the Bills trounced the Superbowl Champion Patriots in the home opener 31-0**. (**To be a Bills fan is to learn to spot the warning signs. That victory, fun as it was, surely had been ill-gotten. The Bills signed Lawyer Milloy, long-time safety for the Pats, a few days before the game and presumably learned the entire New England game plan. It sure looked that way during the game, and even more so when the Pats destroyed us in the season finale with a bookend score, 31-0.) We buzzed walking into the stadium. Monday Night! The electricity. The thrill of it all. Media everywhere. Fans jumping off tables into other tables lit on fire! Cover bands blaring horrible music while grandmas wearing awkwardly tight jeans bump and grind. We loaded up on $8 draft beers and descended to our seats, watching the players warm up. When we got there all of our excitement drained. Directly behind us stood two fully decked-out Cowboys fans. As any Bills fan would, we immediately realized that we now had another game on our hands. We had hoped to sit back and enjoy the game surrounded by like minds, but now we'd have to trash talk through the whole thing. They started it. Loudmouth said, "You guys look like two kids who came downstairs on Christmas and found no presents under the tree." Wingman laughed at that and they high-fived while Joe and I rolled our eyes. "We'll see who's laughing in ten minutes." "Ooooooooh," they chortled and high-fived some more. They had some serious bromance happening. Joe launched into a diatribe on Tony Romo, a soft spot for them. But the Cowboys fans were ready. "Who's the best quarterback you guys ever had? Jim Kelly? He was no Aikman." Of course, Loudmouth went right to the Super Bowl era. The tortured ambivalence of every Bills fan as regards this era is well known. To speak the words W.R. in the Ralph is forbidden. Wingman ran with it. "Aikman sure had his number. Man those years were so great. Not so great for you guys, though, huh???" They laughed, they hugged. Man love. If you're a Bills fan you probably know not to get into a stats battle, you will surely lose. I've always despised Troy Aikman. I despise the Cowboys because of him. I love the Bills because of those years, my formative fan years when our worst enemy came from Dallas. I chose to ignore the Cowboys fans and point to the scoreboard. And point I did. The Bills held the lead most of the game, something Loudmouth and Wingman weren't expecting. In fact, the Bills played a relatively fantastic game and were in control through three quarters. Now, as any Bills fan knows, that pretty much guarantees a Bills loss. But the Cowboys fans didn't know that and audibly debated packing it in after the 3rd quarter. We taunted them mercilessly but with tact. They had thrown down the gauntlet, and they knew they had to take it. And they didn't have much to throw back at us. It seemed to be a night to be a Bills fan. At the end of the 3rd quarter, the score was 24-13. For most normal NFL teams that would be a safe lead to protect. But the usual cabal of Dick Jauron, the refs, and Jerry Jones would ensure that would not be the case this Monday night. The Cowboys fans had learned to respect our squad. They saw their team – one they thought was pretty darn good – getting handled in three phases. They looked at the Bills and for the first time saw a really good team. Our relations improved as they acknowledged this, a backward way of apologizing for their initial brashness. "That Trent Edwards," Loudmouth conceded, "He's actually pretty good. You guys found something there." "Thanks, man," Joe answered diplomatically, "That's all we were trying to tell you! The Bills get no love in the media, but we've got a team!" "They've definitely played great so far." Wingman sealed our fate with this statement. Through a combination of bad calls, inept defense, and sloppy play, the Cowboys chipped away at the lead. A field goal, then a touchdown, then a missed two-point conversion. The Bills' defense inexplicably went into the infamous Prevent defense and stayed with it as the Cowboys mounted the comeback. Dick Jauron went catatonic, near a stroke and unable to carry on. The refs seemed to be in on it too, extending Dallas drives with phantom penalties on the Bills and real penalties for the 'Boys uncalled. I'm not one to ever blame the refs. But I have to be honest. I've seen some strange things in my many years as a fan and season ticket holder. I imagine everyone gets their fair share of bad calls, but somehow the Bills seem to only get those bad calls with the game on the line. I'm not going to argue here for the trajectory of the ball in 1999 (no need to argue, it was a forward pass), or the skate in the crease, or the many other horrors perpetuated on long-suffering Buffalo fans by refs. Suffice it to say the Cowboys fans, Loudmouth and Wingman, were the ones who pointed it out. After one phantom flag on a long third down, Loudmouth shook his head and said, "Damn, man, that was a really bad call." The many unlawful steps of the comeback tempered their enthusiasm. There was our defense, of course, too. Joe and I were beside ourselves, screaming at a brittle Dick Jauron standing twenty feet away to stop playing the Prevent D. Our corners played twenty or thirty yards off the line when Dallas only needed about the same to get into field goal range. To say it was mind-boggling insults the expression. This was absolute and undeniable Treason. We screamed, we gnashed our teeth, we jumped up and down. Corpse gray Dick Jauron just shuffled along with that permanently vacant expression on his face***. (***When we hired Jauron someone made a song about him for a local radio station. The melancholy but predictable melody – which just repeated his name endlessly – may have expressed an understanding of Dick Jauron truly profound, prophetic and unmatched to this day. How could something be so vanilla and yet so awful at the same time? Never play not to lose, kids. If you play, play to win.) Loudmouth and Wingman, already quieted by the bad calls and uneasy momentum swing, were similarly bemused. Joe and I would shout, stop running Prevent! And they would agree. "Yeah man, why are they running that garbage? They dominated us for three quarters running the base D. Why would they switch to Prevent? This is awful!" This is how bad it really is. You can't even come to the Bills stadium as an opposing fan and enjoy giving us a beating. Because it's not enjoyable to beat someone who isn't trying, or has forgotten how to try, or is held down by the man, or just gives up out of sheer boredom. That's not inspiring. It's not even entertaining. It's the look on Dick Jauron's face. It's so meh that it can't even be meh. There is no word for this utter lack of spark. We all felt it. After another egregious penalty, Wingman grew serious. I heard him whisper, to no one in particular, "Man...these guys are getting jobbed." "Yeah, they really are." Even Loudmouth had grown wistful. They took no joy in it. On the final drive, the Bills still held the lead, but we all knew what was coming. Tony Romo easily threw a couple of sideline passes, moving the chains while the Bills defenders stood forty yards down the field in the end zone. Did they not realize they were only down by two? Did Jauron somehow run the numbers and come up with something else? We'll never know. What we do know is that as time ran out, the Cowboys kicked a long 53-yard field goal for the win. The refs weirdly started the clock running with two seconds left so the kick was difficult to execute. To Dallas' credit, they pulled it off. Joe and I sat down for the first time. Our Cowboys fans, Loudmouth and Wingman, didn't gloat. I'm not sure they were even happy. They sat with us in contemplation. Loudmouth, no longer loud, said, "Man, you guys really should've won that game." "We know." They had become Bills fans, no longer able to enjoy the sport in a conventional sense. They seemed worried about us, as if we might not pull through after this one. Because, how could we? "To say you guys got robbed isn't even enough. It's like, we had no business winning that game." "We know." Joe shrugged. "It's my birthday," I said. They each planted a hand on my shoulder with genuine compassion. Loudmouth bowed his head and said with all sincerity, "I'm so sorry, man." I've been to all the classic Bills letdowns over the past twenty years. That Jacksonville opener, I was there. The Pittsburgh game, when all we had to do was win to finally (this was 2005) make the playoffs and got trounced by their backups? I was there. Every New England game. During this era we sometimes went to a very dark place, joking that a move to Toronto might not be so bad. On October 8th, 2014, my birthday, the NFL approved the sale of the Bills to Terry and Kim Pegula, owners of the Buffalo Sabres. We've continued as the meh of the NFL. The playoff drought continues, the last playoff win happened in 1995. I no longer have season tickets. I don't follow every player movement and create my own depth chart, optimized based on my observations. I don't see the good in players and ignore the seeds of failure. I can't claim to be a cynic, only uninformed. Back in 2002, after the Bills trounced the Patriots in the opener, Joe and I, along with our buddy Gunther, played a Pats, Jets, and Dolphins fan in a game of three-on-three tackle football in the parking lot. We were on a high, but the game was brutal. Each side delivered some punishing shots, but it never escalated to blows. Good sportsmen around, we'd only pat each other on the back and say, "Nice play." It came down to the final play – the Pats fan's ride had to leave. With a knotted score, we needed a big play for the win. Joe and Gunther streaked and I heaved a deep arching pass to Joe's outside shoulder. With coverage tight, Joe had to earn the ball. He went up, fought for it, and came down in a heap with the Jets fan and Dolphins fan piling on. I knew it was all good when Joe sprung up and held the pigskin in the air before a celebratory spike. I ran down the field and we call came together and shook hands, covered in dirt and sweat, blood and bruises. There were no harsh words, we all wished each other the best and moved on with our lives. There have been plenty of times when I've seen us fans at our worst, to be sure. But times like these make me happy to have been a citizen of the NFL. And maybe now, 20 years removed from a playoff spot, the Bills are the beloved underdog. And that makes them America's team. So this is our year. Go Bills! August 26, 2017