For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these ‘I live in Eagles country’.
The Eagles are the football equivalent of George Costanza, they look busy but rarely is anything productive happening. And despite the fact it has been this way since Kennedy was running for President, the Eagles are able to maintain a fan base even the late Ronald Reagan would be envious of.
The Sixers make a run to the NBA finals? Great, let’s talk about the ‘Iggles. The Flyers come back from 0-3 down to beat the Bruins? Great, let’s talk about the ‘Iggles. The Phillies WIN the World Series? Great, let’s talk about the ‘Iggles. It’s the most unnerving communal pledge since Jim Jones played a piss ant emperor to a wholesale madness ending.
The Eagles have done much of nothing over the past fifty years and yet, they will own Philadelphia until M Night reboots Gone With the Wind with a surprise ending in which we ALL wake up and the South has won. Which means the Eagles will always be number one in that town.
Despite all of that absurdity, I didn’t care. It’s not my sport and I don’t live in Philly. I live close enough that it was an annoyance, nothing more.
And then they signed Michael Vick. That got my attention. The team with no rightly claim to a town whose best history is in other sports pulled the only card that could have made me give a damn. Their coach Andy Reid signed Michael Vick and we are all supposed to applaud the second chance given Vick. As if Reid is Father Flanagan and Vick is truly reformed.
Vick could still throw and he could still run, and he gave the Eagles the best chance to win. That’s all this was ever about. Not vindication, not healing, and certainly not redemption. Michael Vick deserves a second chance, sure. And you know what? I don’t care. He’s a bad guy who was sorry about his crimes for the same reason all bad guys are sorry- because he got caught.
Ironically, he plays in a town that would batter him worse than any other if Vick had had the audacity to wear a different jersey. But he’s their guy, hence the collective amnesia. Thing is, Vick is working against his own football past. Pockets of brilliance and a whole bunch of ordinary. And he’s in a town that has shown less in the Super Bowl than Janet Jackson. Look it up.
Dream Team? Who do they think they’re kidding?