The Eagles sent the Green Bay faithful packing to their houses made of cheese curds and beer brats with a stunning 34-27 victory that may or may not send old Uncle Coggin to an early grave.
Ten seconds was all it took to completely believe the Eagles were destined to give up yet another fourth quarter victory to SCREAMING at Nigel Bradham to get the fuck down and not fumble the game winning interception as salty Aaron Rodgers looked on in disgust, perhaps thinking back to fonder times when he still spoke to his extended family.
It was a season saver. 2-2, onto the bloated, rotting corpse of the Jets next week, and they’re rolling.
Random game thoughts after the jump:
Does the F-Lot Crew still have that coffin from two weeks ago? I wouldn’t mind laying down, closing the lid, and sleeping forever after watching the Eagles fall to 1-2 on the year after dropping yet another winnable game to the Lions.
This is a new segment at the Coggin. The Blame Game. Let’s throw some blame around for who was most responsible for a putrid loss, let’s get it all off our chests today, and let’s start things FRESH tomorrow for the inevitable heartbreaking letdown we’re bound to experience at Lambeau this Thursday.
Let’s throw some blame around after the jump.
My god, what a 24-hours it’s been. Fame, fortune, women, power, and the cocaine. MY GOD THE COCAINE. I’ve been yakked out of my gourd with fine Bolivian nose candy since Thursday morning as I’ve REVELED in the fame that creating a new MLB statistic brings you.
Last night’s Braves/Phillies matchup featured two starting pitchers so inept they combined for a rare DOUBLE VELASQUEZ, something you’ll be telling your grandkids about one day.
The “Velasquez,” ladies and gentlemen, is sweeping the nation.
I’m not a stat guy. Never have, never will be. I go by my GUT and by my highly trained EYE to make decisions on the players I watch. Oh, your starting pitching has a high VoRP, but a below average WARP, so he’s not very effective? I could have told you that by just hearing the smack of one of his pitches as it hits a weathered, oiled catcher’s mitt on a bright summer’s day. That’s baseball, sonny, not nerds with their slide rules and protractors measuring launch velocity and bat angles.
But one stat I can get behind? One that all of baseball should recognize as a sign of extraordinary FUTILITY for starting pitching is the “Velasquez,” a statistic of my own creation.
We like to truly delve into the philosophical questions of our age at the Coggin Toboggan. What do sports mean to you? What do we get out of them on a metaphysical level? Which Philadelphia announcer would be able to hold onto the WWE’s 24/7 Championship Belt longest if push came to shove?
If you’re not one of the cool, well-adjusted kids like I am and don’t watch WWE programming on the regular, let me explain the 24/7 Championship Belt to you. It’s a championship that is defended 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and serves mainly as a comedic set piece for the professional wrestling juggernaut.
We are officially in the doldrums of summer. The Phillies suck (again) after one fun series with the Cubs before completely shitting the bed against the pathetic Padres, everyone is online arguing about bad chicken sandwiches that will give them type 2 diabetes and my Twitter account is being harangued by people who think “Friends” was just as good of a show as “Seinfeld.”
This is indeed a dark time right now. Still three more weeks until the Eagles and the grim specter of another Flyers season is looming in the Autumn wind to depress us all yet again.
We need to do something big. Something splashy. Something OUT OF THE BOX to infuse this city with some energy.
You know what that means….it’s time to arbitrarily rank baseball movies because I have nothing better to do with my life!
July 22, 2019…a date which will live in infamy. A date where so many innocently logged onto social media and found themselves in need of a new pair of pants.
A day which will be remembered by all as the date the Ben Simmons jump shot video hit the internet and showcased the $170 million man working on the most obvious weakness of his game and displaying what looks to be a much more confident touch on his shot.
My god. His shot is like the sun…it’s so bright and dazzling you can’t stare at it directly or you’ll be blinded from its beauty.
And yes, I know Markelle Fultz did the EXACT same thing last summer and we all went crazy for it. But this is different. How is it different? Fuck you, that’s how.