It’s been a week and a half since the Eagles won the Super Bowl. The sun is shining just a bit brighter, the grass is just a bit greener, and the horse manure caked into Broad Street tastes just a little bit sweeter.
Nobody is complaining, everyone is getting along, the Flyers and Sixers are a combined 8-0 since the Eagles finally brought a Lombardi back to Philadelphia.
This city is jubilant, we’re all in great moods…does it feel wrong to anyone else?
I’m not saying it’s bad to be feeling this way, it just doesn’t feel RIGHT for Philadelphia.
I guess 35-years of living in a city that is constantly pissed off and depressed at its sports futility seeped into my aura, seeped into my BEING and now anything else just feels wrong.
The parade was great. The videos on twitter of happy people spilling into the streets, getting along, dancing with police officers keeps a permanent smile plastered on my face….and it just feels weird.
Is anyone else feeling this way? I said this on Twitter last night as I struggled to find anything to write about for The Coggin:
It’s 100% true. Happiness and jubilation is the death rattle of content. Nobody wants to read about happiness.
I can’t even muster up the energy to care about Markelle Fultz right now. Sure, right now his shooting motion looks as fluid as those guys in the Seattle fish market hucking 50 pound tuna steaks at each other over dimwitted tourists, but who cares?
The Eagles won the mother fucking Super Bowl.
I’m sure something will come along to stoke our collective fires and remind us of our seethingly angry roots, but until then we’ll have to get used to living in Xanadu and actually having things go our way for once.
The Eagles won the MOTHER FUCKING Super Bowl.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some horse shit and an uppity Ritz Carlton hotel canopy.
(If you want to keep the good times rolling click through the Fanatics Super Bowl banner and buy Eagles merch, you leeches)