History Of Redskins Name

We all have that one thing from our past we’re not super proud of—like that hairstyle from sophomore year or the time you wore JNCO jeans to a wedding. For the Washington Commanders, that wardrobe malfunction was the name “Redskins.”

For 87 years, it was a name that sat like a stubborn stain on the NFL’s living room couch. Some folks defended it like they were defending their favorite uncle’s corny jokes. But over time, the couch started to smell, and everyone noticed.

The Accidental Birth of a Controversy

Believe it or not, the name started in Boston, not D.C. The team was originally the Boston Braves, sharing name and stadium with the baseball team. But when they moved to Fenway Park in 1933, owner George Preston Marshall wanted a fresh start.

He renamed them the Boston Redskins. The official story? To honor head coach Lone Star Dietz, who claimed Native American heritage. Dietz was a flashy character—imagine a 1930s football version of a snake-oil salesman, but with better sideline hats.

But here’s the funny thing: historians now think Dietz might have faked his background. So the whole name was built on a questionable claim from a guy who might have been pulling a fast one on the league. Talk about shaky ground.

From Pride to Protest

For decades, the name was just there. Kids wore the gear, grandpas yelled at the TV, and nobody batted an eye. It felt as normal as getting a hot dog at a game—salty, familiar, and slightly regrettable after the third one.

Then, in the 1960s and ‘70s, Native American advocates started speaking up. They said “Hey, that name isn’t a badge of honor; it’s like calling a team the “Palefaces” or the “Musty Socks.”” But for a long time, people just shrugged. The NFL kept selling jerseys.

It was like that neighbor who blasts polka music at 7 a.m.—everyone knows it’s annoying, but nobody wants to be the one to knock on the door. Until one day, you can’t hear your own coffee maker.

The Tipping Point

The real shift came around 2013, when President Obama casually said, “I think it’s worth considering changing the name.” That was like dropping a Mentos into a Diet Coke—sudden, frothy, and impossible to ignore.

Suddenly, even the most stubborn fans started to feel awkward. You know that moment when you realize your favorite band’s lyrics are actually about something terrible? That was this.

Local governments, schools, and even the Washington Post started publishing editorials calling for a change. It was less a mob and more a slow, polite chorus of, “Uh, guys? Maybe we should talk.”

The Great Name Change Circus

In 2020, after George Floyd’s murder and a national reckoning on race, the pressure became unavoidable. Corporate sponsors like FedEx, Nike, and Amazon politely whispered, “Change the name or we’ll take our money elsewhere.”

And that, my friends, is how a football team finally listened. Suddenly, owner Dan Snyder—who had famously said he’d “NEVER” change it—pulled a U-turn faster than a kid running from a bee. He announced the name would go.

The internet broke into two camps: those who cheered and those who whined about “politics in sports.” But the team spent the next two years as the “Washington Football Team.” Can you imagine introducing that at a party? “Hi, I’m a fan of the Washington Team. Yes, just ‘Team.’ It’s a work in progress.”

What’s in a Name Anyway?

In 2022, they landed on “Commanders.” It’s clean, boring, and sounds like a government agency that sends you forms in triplicate. But it’s better than the alternative: walking around with a slur on your chest.

Think of it like finally throwing out that pair of jeans with the hole in the crotch. You loved them, they were comfortable, but eventually, you realized you were just airing out your business in public. Time to upgrade.

A Little Perspective

Today, the old name is a relic, like a rotary phone or a floppy disk. Some fans still grumble about “cancel culture,” but most people have moved on. They’re too busy worrying about the team’s quarterback or the price of nachos.

And here’s the kicker: Native American communities aren’t exactly celebrating with confetti. They’d rather have had the team respect their cultures for 87 years instead of just the last three. But change is like a late bus—you’re happy it showed up, even if you’re cold and annoyed.

So next time you see a Commanders cap, remember it’s not just a logo. It’s a story about how we slowly, awkwardly, learned to listen to our neighbors. And honestly? That’s a better legacy than any Super Bowl win.