To D. C. Outsiders, It’s Capital Punishment : Pro football: New York Giant devotee discovers what it is like to cheer against the team and fans of the only game in town.

WASHINGTON — Living in the nation’s capital and cheering against the ‘Skins is like finding oneself behind enemy lines.

The ‘Skins, of course, are the Redskins, a football team to those in other locales but a kind of autumnal obsession here. When it comes to their fanatical fans, affection is anything but ‘Skins deep.

You hear about this kind of thing, of course, and Alvie, my Bronx-born friend and fellow New York Giant devotee who migrated here in 1983, warned me. But it’s something else to run up against it.

I’ve discovered this since moving to Washington from Los Angeles in late August, bringing along my 20-year loyalty to the Giants, known hereabouts as the despised divisional rivals. Pulling for the Giants amid mild-mannered Ram boosters in Southern California was fun in the sun compared to the feverish trench-combat mentality here.

Sure, Tinseltown loves its show-time Lakers. But this is a seasonal affair that passes over to the Dodgers when the NBA playoffs end. The same is true in New York with its year-round parade of two-team sports attractions. But here, ‘Skins-mania appears to be a year-round affliction.

The Redskins are, after all, all Washingtonians have in professional sports.

Long gone are baseball’s Senators, who often impeached themselves on the field. The original version became the Minnesota Twins, and a latter-day expansion team is now the Texas Rangers. The so-called Washington Bullets and Capitals of basketball and hockey fame, respectively, ply their trades in Landover, Md., a suburb between Baltimore and D.C. And the Orioles nest in Baltimore.

Moreover, in the small-town society that is the capital, many denizens seem to define themselves to some extent by their affiliation, however tenuous, with the team. References to the Redskins seem almost as ubiquitous--if not as obnoxious--as the college-style fight song, “Hail to the Redskins”

So, it was only moments after our real estate broker picked us up that he swung by the million-dollar Georgetown home he had sold to the son of Redskin owner Jack Kent Cooke, better known in Los Angeles as the former owner of the Lakers and Kings, the man who built the Forum.

Then, our mortgage broker proudly informed us that he had handled the closing of a restaurant owned by former Redskin quarterback Joe Theismann, whose motor mouth can be heard commenting on pro football games on ESPN. It’s not only Theismann’s distinctly grating voice that is pervasive; Joe Theismann’s Restaurant is now a chain of Washington area eateries.

From gridiron to griddle, D.C.-style.

The current quarterback, a fumble-prone signal caller named Mark Rypien, also is a television regular. He is seen pitching for a local bank, which actually promises higher rates if the team cashes in on its promise and deposits itself in the playoffs; the return is higher still if its bottom line is a Super Bowl victory.

We experienced all this, mind you, before a regular-season pass, punt or capital gain (they even televise the intrasquad scrimmages, for crying out loud!) had been registered. For one who grew up reviling the Redskins, it felt like piling on.

When the season opened, there were Saturday shows and pregame shows and pre-pregame shows and postgame shows and post-postgame shows. Television news provided bulletins on the game and led with it on the Sunday evening news--”Revolution in Eastern Europe, but first ‘Skins’ highlights.”

The major local newspaper, no provincial shopper, ran pictures and stories on Page 1: Doug Williams, Super Bowl quarterback, to undergo surgery. Dexter Manley, out-of-line end, banned for taking drugs. Art Monk sets team receiving record.

It makes one wonder what coverage these guys get when they win something.

But vengeance came like a quick scoring strike. On Monday night of the first week of the season, the Giants were in town. I bet colleagues, marking myself as a true outsider. At Alvie’s house, we watched the game with near-religious fervor.

When it ended dramatically shortly after midnight--with the “Jints” winning on a last-second field goal, 27-24, Alvie opened his front door and, into the darkness of a chilly September night, bellowed: “Awwwwwright!”

He was striking back for the Sundays disrupted by cheering neighbors.

Next morning, I surveyed the tired, drawn faces in gray suits on the subway with silent satisfaction bordering on sadism. And I collected a free lunch and a few wagered dollars.

But the Redskin deluge continued.

The day after we moved into our northern Virginia home, generous neighbors showed up with flowers and Redskins wine, a vintage unknown in the Napa Valley. The label was a tribute to the club’s silver anniversary season in 1985.

My new neighbor said--too knowingly, I thought--that he, too, had been a fan of the Giants when he moved here 20 years earlier. I wondered about the wine.

Then, I took a gentle poke at the ‘Skins in print, suggesting that I was keeping an eye on the high-occupancy-vehicle lanes--the Washington equivalent of L.A.’s diamond lanes--for a car with a Redskin bumper sticker that was violating the three-person occupancy requirement. That was the one, I vowed, that I’d blow the whistle on.

Shortly thereafter, a ‘Skins bumper sticker appeared in our mail box with a note from another neighbor:

“You may wish to throw any vigilantes off guard by displaying the enclosed bumper sticker, as needed. (Redskin Coach) Joe Gibbs resides one or less miles from here. Eeeek!”

Sure enough, we discovered, Gibbs--whose visibility on local media must be the envy of most senators--lives in a palatial home just down the road.

Wonder if he ever leaves the game plan lying around?

As you can see, I’m trying not to take all this personally. But it was hard to turn the other cheek when a colleague tacked a newspaper headline on the office bulletin board: “Giants Deviate and Win.”

Beneath it, the colleague--undoubtedly a ‘Skins man, though apparently not the one who sports Band-Aids with the team logo--scribbled: “It’s Official--They’re Deviates.”

I could, of course, counter with an apt description of Redskin fanaticism. But, then again, I live here now.

So, as the Giants head into the playoffs and ‘Skins fans ponder a long summer of what-might-have-been, I’ll just continue to deviate from the local party line, demurely.

Anyone interested in a bottle of Redskins wine?