8:58 PM |
I was never a football fan. I hated that men were loud and obnoxious while drinking Bud and watching the big screen, which at that time in my life was the obscenely expensive giant brick of glass, plastic, and mesh, lurking in the corner and cutting off all the natural light in my family room. We couldn't afford anything, but somehow he got his big TV. Maybe my resentment was the start of my extreme aversion to football. I was competing with an inanimate object with tiny men rushing around in it for attention. I don't remember if he finally watched the games in secret or if I went to read in another room.
Then I ran away from home for the first time. Unfortunately, that flight was permanent. I moved to Philadelphia to an elegant Victorian mansion. My apartment consisted of the suite the mistress of house once occupied. Hubby slept in the suite next door. Very civilized, and I'm sure that allowed her to use her electric rollers in peace. Her bedroom became my living room, her dressing room my bedroom, and her bathroom, well, my bathroom. The ceilings were stenciled with amazing silver patterns, roses and cherubs. The morning porch where the butler used to serve her breakfast was fitted with a lovely cherry kitchen. Each room in the mansion used a different type of wood. Mine was mahogany. The huge fireplace shone flames in the trim over the pocket doors at the end of my bed. I would stare at them, letting my thoughts wander. I never did that before. I was always being productive.
When I moved in, I took only the few pieces of furniture I had brought from my childhood home. Fortunately, that home was an Addison Misner creation, and the furniture original high dollar deco. What I needed was a big flat-screen TV. Not that I'd ever watched TV except for Jeopardy and This Old House. At that time, plasma TVs were brand new, and you could only buy them in those fancy stereo stores. I plunked down my $10,000 --yes, $10,000-- and brought one home.
There is something in the water in Philadelphia. Of that I am certain. I found myself irresistibly drawn to the gleaming maw. I became an Eagles fan. Five years later, I found myself wearing an Eagles Santa hat, having a lucky jersey (#36, Brian Dawkins), and hanging an Eagle player windsock outside my kitchen door. I was gifted Eagles hats, Eagles jackets, and as you know, even an Eagles Snuggi. I have an unusual method for watching my games. I have to do it alone. A-L-O-N-E. Don't call me. Don't bother me. And for God's sake, DON'T TALK TO ME. I can text, and often do. Usually to make a pretend bet on the winner and the score. I'm usually pretty good at it. Last year, I called the entire playoffs with the exception of the Super Bowl (can't get too greedy).
I am extraordinarily proud to be an Eagles fan. We are the worst on the globe. There was a game in 1968 in which the fans actually booed Santa Claus. Truly. I am delighted that Matt Woolsey in the 9/1/08 Forbes wrote about "America's Most Die-Hard Fans." Here's a snippet:
When the Philadelphia Eagles play well and contend for the Super Bowl, their fans crowd the stands. When the Eagles play poorly, the team's famously cruel supporters still crowd the stands. Only they boo their players, pick fights and harass opposing fans. Their old field, Veterans Stadium, even had a court and an on-duty judge in its basement during the season.
They've been called passionate and they've been called classless, but if you're selling tickets or merchandise you don't really care. Eagles fans are the most loyal in the NFL, based on attendance variance and ticket sale waiting lists.
According to Wikipaedia (for what it's worth):
Some local media have criticized portions of the fan base, call them "aggressive, drunken louts with a penchant for harassing women."
Uh, yeah. That's part of the fun. Harass away. And who doesn't want a frosty one at the arena? As for louts, well, that's just the way of the general Philadelphia population. You wouldn't want to execute cultural genocide, would you?
Some Eagles fans have been involved in a series of high-profile incidents of rowdy behavior, including:
-- Bounty Bowl II, where a barrage of snowballs and batteries from the stands forced police to escort Dallas Cowboys head coach Jimmy Johnson off the field.
What they're not telling you is that Governor Rendell instigated Bounty Bowl I by betting a fan $200 he couldn't hit a player with a snowball.
-- "all-out debauchery" at the November 10, 1997, game against the San Francisco 49ers, featuring a fan with a flare gun, a large brawl on an upper level, and an Eagles fan being mauled because his friend was wearing a New York Giants jacket; all leading to six arrests and 269 ejections from the stadium, as well as a ban on beer sales for the remainder of the season and the introduction of famous "Eagles Court" in the stadium's basement.
What they're not telling you here is that the 700 level tickets are the most sought after in the city. And isn't it cool that you can be fined or sentenced without the inconvenience of going downtown.
-- cheering after watching Cowboys wider receiver Michael Irvin suffer a career-ending injury that required him to be removed from the field in an ambulance.
Yeah. And we regularly boo our own players.
It is said that the move in 2003 to the new Lincoln Financial Field fixed some of these behaviors. Well, what about the guy who puked on purpose on a little girl?
And you wonder why it's no big deal that we have a convicted felon as a star quarterback? Hey, he's good.