I blame Angelo Cataldi’s Los Angeles trip for Carson Wentz’s knee injury

Last week, either Thursday or Friday, I had the unpleasurable experience of not having the little device that allows you to plug your iPhone 7 into a normal auxiliary cable. You know what I’m talking about, the little connector doohickey that you lose 800 times a week and makes you CURSE THE GODS that Apple has no idea what their consumers want.

Rather than being left alone with my tortured thoughts for 20 minutes, against my better judgement I turned on the WIP morning show (and secretly hoped it would be in the middle of a commercial break so I would come to my senses and turn off the radio) and was BLASTED by Angelo Cataldi’s shrill voice, cackling about his plans for a trip to the west coast to watch the Eagles take on the Rams in a “complete and utter lock” of a game.

Al Morganti temporarily roused himself from his paint-huffing induced stupor and asked Cataldi if he remembered the last time he actually attended an Eagles game in person.

“Not since the Vet,” Cataldi grunted into the microphone.

Suddenly the injury all makes sense.

You’re telling me Cataldi hasn’t attended a game in person AT LEAST since 2003…and the first game he heaves himself to is the one where the once-in-a-lifetime talent of Carson Wentz shreds his knee and the best chance the Eagles have of winning the Super Bowl since 2004 crumbles into dust?

It’s Cataldi’s fault. He’s a mush, plain and simple, and he should stay out in Los Angeles.

Actually, no, send him somewhere in Middle America. If Cataldi stays out in the west coast those wild fires will never go out and that’s just cruel.

He greased himself up to get into an Eagles jersey for the first time in 14 years, waddled to the LA Coliseum, and had a front row seat to one of the worst moments in Philadelphia sports history.

He’s a mush, plain and simple. Everything he touches (outside of his radio show) turns to absolute shit. He oozes bad luck and garlic from every pore of his ancient body…he is a detestable relic of a shameful time in Philadelphia sports history and his loathsome essence, his AURA, permeates this city like a dense fog.

I’m lashing out, I know I am, and Cataldi makes for a good punching bag.

Join in, Philadelphia, we shall find no better scapegoat.


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