Commanders could cure franchise ills by firing Ron Rivera, elevating Eric Bieniemy

The Washington Commanders should let Ron Rivera go and elevate Eric Bieniemy, for several reasons that make far too much sense.

The Washington Commanders fired defensive coordinator Jack Del Rio last week after a debacle of a Thanksgiving loss to the Dallas Cowboys in which head coach Ron Rivera’s team in which Washington allowed 376 total yards and five touchdowns in a 45-10 disaster.

On Sunday, against the Miami Dolphins, and with Rivera taking control of the defense, the Commanders allowed 405 total yards and five touchdowns in a 45-15 disaster.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, Del Rio’s defense was undone with too much man coverage that gave his defenders too little help against potentially explosive plays, and this version of Washington’s defense looked no different.

Moreover, it would appear that Rivera has lost traction with the idea of situational football.

It’s been a problem all season, and it’s highly doubtful that the Commanders — who are still trying to escape the stink of the Den Snyder era with new ownership — will retain Rivera in 2024. As the team is now effectively out of playoff hope with a 4-9 record, the time may be now to move on.

When you suggest firing a coach, the first and most reasonable question is, who do you replace him with? In this case, there’s first-year offensive coordinator Eric Bieniemy, who was shut out over and over for head coaching opportunities when he was the Kansas City Chiefs’ OC. Giving Bieniemy an opportunity to finish this season out would answer some questions about his NFL head coaching viability that would never happen with his former team.

There’s also this franchise’s frankly disgusting history with race relations. George Preston Marshall, the team’s owner from 1932 through 1969, so opposed the idea of Black players on his team while the rest of the league integrated, he actually got into a protracted battle with Stewart L. Udall, John F. Kennedy’s Secretary of the Interior, over Marshall’s insistence that the then-Redskins would remain all-white.

A monument, and a name: Why the Redskins have two wrongs to right

It was only after Udall threatened Marshall’s ability to build a stadium on public land that Marshall — who once actually said that since other teams had signed Black players, “Does it matter which team has the Negroes?” — finally recanted his position.

Washington selected Syracuse running back Ernie Davis as the first pick in 1962 draft and traded his rights to the Browns for Cleveland first-round pick Leroy Jackson and running back/receiver Bobby Mitchell. Mitchell thrived in his new environment. After catching 142 passes for 1,462 yards and 16 touchdowns through his four years in Cleveland, he amassed 72 catches for 1,384 yards, both league highs, in 1962 alone. He followed that up with 1,436 receiving yards in 1963, another league high, and he led the NFL with 10 touchdown receptions in 1964. His yards per touch averages in 1963 and 1964—20.4 and 21.3, respectively—are excellent indications of the threat he presented as a receiver, rusher and returner.

Despite (or perhaps due to) the integration of his team, Marshall wasn’t above making a noxious point at the worst possible time. At one team meeting during the Redskins’ annual preseason jaunt through the South, the song “Dixie” began to play in the room. The entire team stood for the de facto anthem of the Confederacy, and Marshall tapped Mitchell on the shoulder.

“Bobby Mitchell, sing!”

Mitchell wasn’t just expected to stand and sing there and then—he was expected to do so as the song was played before the exhibition games by Marshall’s own band. He mouthed the words, seething inside.

Now, the Commanders, who have never had a Black head coach outside of Terry Robiskie, who took the interim job for three gamesafter Norv Turner was fired in 2000, have a wrong they can not only right for the moral and ethical good, but perhaps because it makes the most football sense.

A practical solution for an organization that has made precious little sense for far too long.