pain in the iggles
26 November 2007
Here’s a look into my thoughts on Sunday night, November 25, 2007:
11:18:04pm: "OK, so it’s 2nd-and-4. We’re down 31-28 with over 4 minutes left. We’re at their 29 now, so worst case, we’re walking out of this drive tied 31-31. I can’t believe we’re playing so well – this may be the greatest day of my life!"
11:18:13pm: "I wish I was dead."
11:19pm: [blankness]
11:20pm: [pain]
11:21pm: "Seriously, I wish I was dead. I don’t want to be alive right now."
11:22pm: [vomiting; not physically, but in my soul]
11:23pm – present: [numbness, occasional boner because of unrelated stimuli]
************
I did not take a single call nor answer any text messages during for the first 56 minutes of last night’s Eagles-Pats game, though they were pouring in from friends, both Eagles fans and non-Eagles fans alike. I wanted a beer, but since I wasn’t drinking from the start of the game, I didn’t dare get one. I moved from my spot on the couch only when I had to go to the bathroom – and did that only when it became abundantly clear that that pint of Ben & Jerry’s "S’mores" I ate before the game was going to reappear, either on the toilet or on my couch.
What I did, however, was forget for a moment that I am a Philly sports fan, and therefore should be intimately familiar with what "worst case" means. What I wrote above was not a thought I had in hindsight; right before Feeley threw that drive-killing interception, I actually thought in my head that the worst thing that could happen – after karma had been on the Eagles’ side all night, after how well they were moving the ball on that drive – was that the drive would stall there on the 29, hopefully after some time had passed on the clock, and Akers would come on to kick the 46 yard field goal. Not a chip shot to be sure, but it just felt like things were finally – finally – working for the Birds, a feeling that is so fleeting for any Philly sports fan that when moments like these present themselves, we grab them, hold onto them for dear life, and, in the process, usually smother them to death.
So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when Feeley threw the ball five yards over Kevin Curtis’ head and into the arms of Asante Samuel, effectively ending the game. Hope, meet Philadelphia Sports. To paraphrase the Man in Black, "Now Hope’s gon’ die."
After the game, I took a xanax, grabbed the book I’m currently reading, and headed into the shower to sit there, balls naked, showerhead aiming at my feet and tub draining so that I didn’t get wet, to read, to reflect, and to come up with some sort of plan to make my life better. And while this is typically how I end every night, last night’s fantasy shower was particularly gloomy because, well, the Eagles had just lost a winnable game that easily would have made the season (not just for the Birds, but for the increasing number of NE/Boston-haters around America).
[I won't beat this point to death because I'm complained about it endlessly on here, but why does God torture Philly sports fans? More specifically, why does God torture me? Can I just get one championship, one stinking championship? Really? I mean, look at Boston - formerly championship-starved, now with an embarrassment of riches. Just...come on.
But do you know what the ultimate joke is? I've been begging my whole life for a Philly championship and I'm going on record right now and saying that this year, the Philadelphia Flyers are going to win the Stanley Cup. Do you know why the Flyers will win the Cup this year? Because right now, I know less about hockey than I did when I was an infant and was not even aware of the sport's existence. The only way I could name three current Flyers is if I was speaking gibberish French and accidentally spewed out something that sounds similar to some of their last names (brierevoogagnetoilupul). This is how God treats people who live/grew up in Philly and like their sports teams.]
After having some time to think about it, and in no small part because of all the aforementioned boners, I’m not as devastated by the game as I was when it was over. Personally, I think the plan when the Eagles got under the Pats’ 30 should have been Westbrook-Westbrook-Westbrook-Westbrook-Westbrook until the drive either stalled or they reached the end zone. But Andy Reid said they took a shot at that point because they had been playing aggressively all game long, and playing aggressively got them to that point. I think this makes sense. Also, he’s the coach and I ate a pint of ice cream during the pre-game show. Actually, Andy Reid probably ate a pint of ice cream during the pre-game show, but whatever – he’s still the coach.
And you can’t fault AJ Feeley for his picks. He played well and, without sounding too sappy, bravely. The offensive line was unfuckingreal. J.R. Reed made some big hits and seemed to be all over the ball; he and Lito kept Randy Moss in check. Jim Johnson and the front seven kept the pressure on Brady, which was nice (I can’t recall rooting for someone to get hurt quite like I was rooting for Brady to get hurt last night; part of this is because he’s just so damn smug, part of it was my own self-loathing for being so helplessly attracted to him).
Ultimately, it’s another loss in what looks like an increasingly lost season. But for once, I’m going to betray my Philly roots and try to focus on the positive. I expected a blowout and to be masturbating to RedTube halfway through the second quarter, and instead I got the most entertaining and compelling football game I’ve seen since last year’s playoffs. So that makes me…happy.
(At least until next Sunday.)
11:18:04pm: "OK, so it’s 2nd-and-4. We’re down 31-28 with over 4 minutes left. We’re at their 29 now, so worst case, we’re walking out of this drive tied 31-31. I can’t believe we’re playing so well – this may be the greatest day of my life!"
11:18:13pm: "I wish I was dead."
11:19pm: [blankness]
11:20pm: [pain]
11:21pm: "Seriously, I wish I was dead. I don’t want to be alive right now."
11:22pm: [vomiting; not physically, but in my soul]
11:23pm – present: [numbness, occasional boner because of unrelated stimuli]
************
I did not take a single call nor answer any text messages during for the first 56 minutes of last night’s Eagles-Pats game, though they were pouring in from friends, both Eagles fans and non-Eagles fans alike. I wanted a beer, but since I wasn’t drinking from the start of the game, I didn’t dare get one. I moved from my spot on the couch only when I had to go to the bathroom – and did that only when it became abundantly clear that that pint of Ben & Jerry’s "S’mores" I ate before the game was going to reappear, either on the toilet or on my couch.
What I did, however, was forget for a moment that I am a Philly sports fan, and therefore should be intimately familiar with what "worst case" means. What I wrote above was not a thought I had in hindsight; right before Feeley threw that drive-killing interception, I actually thought in my head that the worst thing that could happen – after karma had been on the Eagles’ side all night, after how well they were moving the ball on that drive – was that the drive would stall there on the 29, hopefully after some time had passed on the clock, and Akers would come on to kick the 46 yard field goal. Not a chip shot to be sure, but it just felt like things were finally – finally – working for the Birds, a feeling that is so fleeting for any Philly sports fan that when moments like these present themselves, we grab them, hold onto them for dear life, and, in the process, usually smother them to death.
So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when Feeley threw the ball five yards over Kevin Curtis’ head and into the arms of Asante Samuel, effectively ending the game. Hope, meet Philadelphia Sports. To paraphrase the Man in Black, "Now Hope’s gon’ die."
After the game, I took a xanax, grabbed the book I’m currently reading, and headed into the shower to sit there, balls naked, showerhead aiming at my feet and tub draining so that I didn’t get wet, to read, to reflect, and to come up with some sort of plan to make my life better. And while this is typically how I end every night, last night’s fantasy shower was particularly gloomy because, well, the Eagles had just lost a winnable game that easily would have made the season (not just for the Birds, but for the increasing number of NE/Boston-haters around America).
[I won't beat this point to death because I'm complained about it endlessly on here, but why does God torture Philly sports fans? More specifically, why does God torture me? Can I just get one championship, one stinking championship? Really? I mean, look at Boston - formerly championship-starved, now with an embarrassment of riches. Just...come on.
But do you know what the ultimate joke is? I've been begging my whole life for a Philly championship and I'm going on record right now and saying that this year, the Philadelphia Flyers are going to win the Stanley Cup. Do you know why the Flyers will win the Cup this year? Because right now, I know less about hockey than I did when I was an infant and was not even aware of the sport's existence. The only way I could name three current Flyers is if I was speaking gibberish French and accidentally spewed out something that sounds similar to some of their last names (brierevoogagnetoilupul). This is how God treats people who live/grew up in Philly and like their sports teams.]
After having some time to think about it, and in no small part because of all the aforementioned boners, I’m not as devastated by the game as I was when it was over. Personally, I think the plan when the Eagles got under the Pats’ 30 should have been Westbrook-Westbrook-Westbrook-Westbrook-Westbrook until the drive either stalled or they reached the end zone. But Andy Reid said they took a shot at that point because they had been playing aggressively all game long, and playing aggressively got them to that point. I think this makes sense. Also, he’s the coach and I ate a pint of ice cream during the pre-game show. Actually, Andy Reid probably ate a pint of ice cream during the pre-game show, but whatever – he’s still the coach.
And you can’t fault AJ Feeley for his picks. He played well and, without sounding too sappy, bravely. The offensive line was unfuckingreal. J.R. Reed made some big hits and seemed to be all over the ball; he and Lito kept Randy Moss in check. Jim Johnson and the front seven kept the pressure on Brady, which was nice (I can’t recall rooting for someone to get hurt quite like I was rooting for Brady to get hurt last night; part of this is because he’s just so damn smug, part of it was my own self-loathing for being so helplessly attracted to him).
Ultimately, it’s another loss in what looks like an increasingly lost season. But for once, I’m going to betray my Philly roots and try to focus on the positive. I expected a blowout and to be masturbating to RedTube halfway through the second quarter, and instead I got the most entertaining and compelling football game I’ve seen since last year’s playoffs. So that makes me…happy.
(At least until next Sunday.)
