graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Football Season Ends in Tragedy, Like All Others Before It I've been a bitter, bitter woman. Last week, after the T.O./Drew Rosenhaus debacle of a press conference, I went on a writing tear. The sports media around the country was relentless in their battery of the Philadelphia Eagles and I snapped. Like Michael Douglas in "Falling Down," I snapped. I wrote tirade after tirade to syndicated columnists, addressing their coverage painstakingly, point after point, as if they had insulted my firstborn. The T.O. debacle sent me over the edge. Truly. It seeped into my work and I completely flipped out - on coworkers who interrupted me as I patiently streamed live press conferences from the organization online, on machinery that jammed as I tried to get my work done quicker, faster, so that I didn't miss any news - just in case there was a reconcilation and miraculously, T.O., Andy Reid, McNabb, B-Dawk and Hugh Douglas joined hands in the Linc press room and sang Kumbiah(sp?). In short, I flipped my lid. And then the big night arrived. Eagles v. the Cowboys. I harbored a distant hope that the Philly boys could pull it out. Like a true Philly fan - always desperate for a win at any costs - I found myself silently uplifted at the advantage we had against a grieving Bill Parcells. Sick. It's a sickness, being a Philly phan. Truly. But Bill Parcells is an asshole, and I found comfort in that. Everything was going so well. Well enough that I called my brother in Philly with 6 minutes to go and I said, "you know what the problem is with being a team that plays a 60 minutes game? Being a team that plays a 60 minute game against another team that plays a 60 minute game." And 3 minutes later, viola. I could barely believe my protracting pupils. Those gd Cowboys stole game with 3 minutes to go. I was enough sick enough to hold out hope that Akers could make a 61 year field goal with 5 or 6 seconds on the clock - that's what it means to be a Philly phan. Desperation. False hope. I saw Donovan get hurt and I'll tell you something - I hate the Cowboys organization from the very pit of my soul. Always have, that's what you DO as an Eagles fan. I saw Donovan go for the tackle - and I leapt up and screamed "NO" in my quiet apartment. "Not my QB! NO." He was the only one there to make the tackle and he knew it, so he went for it. He threw everything he had in it. In my mind, I see it in slow motion, even though I know it happened in real time. He knew that was the last run he'd make for the season, but it was also the most critical run he'd have all season. Ironically, it was the end of our season. But back to the Cowboys. I hate 'em but I'll say this about them. Whoever that player was who guarded the playmaker - I don't think it was Roy Williams - but whomever it was, he blocked McNabb with the uttmost respect. He almost grabbed him and laid him down. And that sums up the career of Donovan McNabb more than anything else. More than his Syracuse career, more than his NFC wins, more than his silence and gentlemanly conduct in two years of constant T.O. harrassment. That block and tackle was a gift, because those boys know how badly he's been hurt and playing with intense pain for the Philly fans. That's respect for great player. I turned off the TV and I was disappointed. Our season was over with this division loss and it was obvious Donovan was injured. I went to bed confident that I saw the last game he'd play this year. I woke up this morning and I waited for the announcement, depressed, at work. The announcement came just like I thought it would, cloaked. Injury report doesn't come out for another day or two so they aren't going to confirm anything but Andy Reid said it - "I wouldn't bet on it" - referring to McNabb playing on Sunday. And then I remembered something: I'm an Eagles fan. It wouldn't be right if we weren't disappointed it. Being an Eagles fan means you go the precipice of glory with your team and you die with it on the field. Lombardi has never been ours. And it probably won't be until one of us steals it. So I moved on today. How 'bout those Flyers? 9:06 p.m. - 2005-11-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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