What the hell was that?

After the Eagles fucked away a 17-point lead against the Panthers three weeks ago, Doug Pederson proclaimed the pressure was off his team.

Imagine how little pressure this team feels right now.

Oh me oh my. What the hell did we all watch last night? More important, WHY did we all watch that last night? If we had paid closer attention to this team, to the smoke and mirrors it had displayed during their four wins, we surely would have noticed that the air was dewy sweet with the potential for a massive letdown.

Please go someone else if you want any type of analysis from this game. Stay here if you want to listen to pure, unadulterated bitching.

Look over here! It’s Brandon Graham stripping Tom Brady in the Super Bowl! Remember that? Hey look at this, it’s the Lombardi trophy! Awesome, right?! No no, don’t look over there at the patchwork secondary, the questionable coaching decisions, or Darren Sproles taking up a roster spot all year to get free healthcare….look back over this way, it’s another replay of the Philly Special! Remember that? Philly Philly? Too cool, right?

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The 76ers City Edition song that is in no way similar to the Simpsons Monorail song

In honor of the 76ers City Edition merchandise release today, I’ve carefully crafted a “Music Man” type chorus number to commemorate the awesome new 76ers gear for sale.

This number just came to me out of the blue. It’s catchy as hell and in no way resembles the famed Monorail song from one of the greatest Simpsons episodes ever written.

Enjoy!

Coggin: Well, sir, there’s nothing on earth

Like a genuine,

Bona fide,

Electrified,

City Edition

Merchandise release!

What’d I say?

Ned Flanders: City Edition!

Coggin: What’s it called?

Patty+Selma: City Edition!

Coggin: That’s right! 76ers City Edition!

[crowd chants ‘City Edition’ softly and rhythmically]

Miss Hoover: I hear the prices are awfully steep.

Coggin: No my dear they’re very cheap.

Apu: Is there a chance the shirt could rend?

Coggin: Not on your life, my Hindu friend.

Barney: What about us brain-dead slobs?

Coggin: You’ll be given cushy front-office jobs.

Abe: Were you sent here by the devil?

Coggin: No, good sir, I’m on the level.

Wiggum: The ring came off my pudding can.

Coggin: Take my pen knife, my good man.

I swear it’s Philadelphia’s only choice…

Throw up your hands and raise your voice!

All: City Edition!

Coggin: What’s it called?

All: City Edition!

Coggin: Once again…

All: City Edition

Marge: But Markelle Fultz is still all cracked and broken…

Bart: Sorry, Mom, the mob has spoken!

All: City Edition!

City Edition!

City Edition!

[big finish]

City Edition!

Homer: City Ed… D’oh!

 


Please don’t sue us, Simpsons producers.

Click the banner or THIS LINK to check out the 76ers City Edition collection.

NBA City Edition Collection

Help us solve a case of mistaken identity, free Chick-Fil-A, and the 2008 Philadelphia Eagles

I was reading Drew Magary’s Deadspin Funbag today and was delighted to see this featured email from fan of Drew’s who detailed a rather odd moment of his life at a Philadelphia Chick-Fil-A.

Here is his email. You can also read Drew’s entire Funbag article here:

Jason:

The year was 2008. I was living in Philadelphia, and would sometimes frequent the Chik Fil-A near my apartment. One day I’m in line, and as I step up to order, the manager, a little squirrely fellow, steps out from the kitchen and starts asking me questions and making weird exclamations like “You guys think you’re ready this season?”, and “Westbrook is looking sharp!”. I gathered he was talking about the Eagles, so I just sort of shrugged and mumbled “yeah” a few times, as I’m not one for small talk. Then he asks me if I’M ready for the opener against the Rams next week. I give him a quizzical look, and he COMPS MY MEAL, telling me he’s a big fan.

I’m super confused, but don’t say anything and take my chicken club, eight piece nuggets and diet Dr. Pepper to a table to eat my solitary meal. At this point I’m sure this guy thinks I play for the eagles. I’m a pretty big guy, (6’4’’, 300lbs) so I guess it’s a semi reasonable mistake to make. At no point did he call me a specific name, or directly acknowledge I was a pro. So I figure, I’ll take this meal and lay low for a while on the Chick Fil-A.

Then, as I’m finishing my meal, the manger comes over with this serious look on his face. I thought he came to his senses and I was busted. My heart was in my chest and ready to shoot out of my mouth. He sits next to me, and says very softly, how sorry he is to make a scene, and that he shouldn’t have done that, and he is sure that I didn’t appreciate all the extra attention he brought me. I tell him it’s not a big deal, and that he’s the first person to recognize me, and I appreciate the meal. A smile breaks across his face and he takes my soda and says “how about a refill on that Dr. Pepper??” and bounds back to the kitchen. I get up to follow him a few moments later and as he hands me back my cup, the whole kitchen joins in on the E-A-G-L-E-S chant as I walk out. What I felt that moment was a curious mixture of shame, embarrassment, humor, and confusion.

I returned several times to that specific Chick Fil-A, and the manager would always come out to shake my hand, and ask if I wanted a milkshake. Which of course I did. Am I a horrible person?

That may be the finest story I’ve ever read. Pardon me while I wipe a tear away from my eye and thank heavens that such GOOD can exist in the world.  I can assure you Jason, without a doubt, that you are not a horrible person. You are the world’s greatest hero.

Someone once said I looked like Zach Galifianakis but I didn’t get any free Chick-Fil-A out of it.

It’s a wonderful story, but damnit I needed answers. How many times did this happen? What does Jason look like? I reached out to Drew, who graciously sent Jason an email on my behalf.

Jason and I had an email conversation about his experience and who he thought the befuddled manager mistook him for.

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It’s election day! But who should you vote for?

Election day is what separates this fine country from all the others in the world. It’s what this country was founded on, your right to cast a vote to decide who will lead us into the promised land. Why, our electoral process gives millions of inbred middle-American morons a voice to elect a senile, blustering, embarrassing reality TV star to the White House (ok…it may have its flaws).

But, who should we vote for, Uncle Coggin? There are so many candidates, so many fancy ballot questions that those fat cats in Washington make so hard to understand, why, I don’t know where to start!

Well I’m here to steer you through the rigorous voting landscape and offer my humble opinion on who and what you should pull the lever for today.

So please, sit back and let a middle school drop-out guide you into that voting booth, nuzzle up to your body, wrap my arms around your waist and kiss at your soft, luscious neck while we play out our sensual role in democracy.

Don’t come a knocking if that voting booth is rocking.

 

 

 

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10-years ago today I missed the Phillies parade because I’m a complete jackass

10-years -ago today Chase Utley dropped an F-Bomb this city had been looking forward to for 28 years. “World champions……WORLD FUCKING CHAMPIONS!”

10-years-ago at the same time, instead of being shitfaced drunk with my loser friends and going insane in the streets of Philadelphia, I was wearing a pair of old ratty khakis, a $20 polo shirt, and wondering if the shards of my computer screen would mercifully slice through my jugular after I smashed my head through the machine.

Yes. I had to work the day of the Phillies parade, the first championship I had witnessed in my then 26-years of existence because I was far too much of a pussy to tell my boss I wouldn’t be working that day.

In the words of Robert Durst, “WHAT A DISASTER.”

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Let’s take our anger as a city out on the new 97.5 Fanatic show logos

Editor’s Note: I wrote this three weeks ago after the Eagles lost to the Titans. It never got published, but because the Eagles are terrible and sports in this town are a huge pit of sadness, it’s still appropriate. Updated to include the latest Eagles loss. Enjoy.

Things, well, they’re not great right now in Philadelphia. The Eagles are fumbling their way back to ineptitude as Doug Pederson’s deal with the devil expired in the offseason. The Flyers are terrible, the Phillies have a meathead, new wave hippie manager being investigated by the FBI for human trafficking (or something like that, I haven’t been paying attention) and we’re all about to reach our breaking point unless something galvanizes us as a population.

The City of Philadelphia needs to come together, needs to find a target on which to dump gallons of seething anger on; a patsy to absorb the caustic ire bubbling over from hundreds of thousands of fans.

The Eagles are 3-4. Jay Ajayi tore his ACL. Bill Simmons still has his health despite all of our prayers to the contrary. Every city has its limits, and we’re rapidly approaching ours.

We need a punching bag. If only something inconsequential and blatantly terrible could debut during this time of need, something we could rally against and funnel all of this seething hatred towards.

If only….

Oh dear god. Thank you Fanatic, this will do quite nicely.

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Does the Eagles Super Bowl win help with this season’s ineptitude?

I didn’t feel like writing anything today about the Eagles collapse against the Panthers, because what more can be said that hasn’t already been said? 17-0, give up 21 points in the fourth quarter, Wentz misses a wide-open Smallwood to move the chains at the end, fumbles, game over. 3-4 on the season. Fine. Whatever.

Then I saw this.

Everything wrong with Philadelphia sports fans summed up nicely by two moron sports talk callers. Nicely done, gentlemen.

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Down with the boo in Philadelphia

Last night, Markelle Fultz bricked his first shot…and his second…and had his third shot blocked….and absolutely bricked his fourth shot in front of 20,000 rabid fans hoping to see some glimpse of promise from the touted prospect during the 76ers home opener.

I watched from my couch, cringing, waiting for the fickle fans to cascade the struggling shooting guard with boos, to let their frustrations out on the 20-year-old.

It never happened.

Instead, 20,000 fans cheered heartily when he made his fifth shot of the night, upping the volume with every point he scored, and going absolutely BALLISTIC when he finally made a three-point shot deep into the fourth.

Listen to the house come down when he drains this shot.

Awesome. It’s almost like cheers for a 20-year-old struggling with both his confidence and his shot are better than drunken morons booing him during the second game of the season. Who knew?!

They’re doing for Fultz what they did for the terribly slumping Pat Burrell in 2003. They recognize that the effort is there, and they’re pulling for their guy. Burrell came out of it and is BELOVED in this city, there’s no reason Fultz can’t as well.

But but but but Coggin, I hear the five of my dedicated readers saying, it’s our right to boo as fans! How will we let our teams know when they’re under performing, when they’re playing poorly, or when we’re displeased with the effort?

Now now, I’m not saying the boo should be abolished. But maybe, just maybe, it’s time for Philadelphia to finally *GASP* not be brain-dead idiots when we decide to boo.

It’s a tall order for a lot of you, but I know we can do it. Booing is a mental crutch for this city. Lets start walking again. We don’t need it.

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50 predictions for the 2018-2019 76ers

Like Allen Iverson driving to TGI Fridays on half-off double margs night, I am beyond excited. The 76ers are BACK BABY and hold more promise than any other year that I can remember.

Sure, we were excited for the 2001-2002 season after their improbable run to the finals, but Derrick Coleman and Vonteego Cummings don’t quite move the needle for me like a healthy Markelle Fultz and a no-time-restrictions Joel Embiid.

It’s a NEW SEASON and it calls for BOLD TAKES from the media to desperately top themselves after a year of mystery injuries, burner accounts, and one of the most entertaining seasons of basketball we’ve seen in nearly two decades.

So here it is. FIFTY BOLD PREDICTIONS in no particular order for the upcoming 2018-2019 Philadelphia 76ers season.

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Odell Beckham Jr. is a quagmire of shit

Before human piece of white toast Pat Shurmur is inevitably fired following a 2-14 season, the best thing he could do for the Giants franchise is to put measures in place to keep Saquon Barkley as far away from Odell Beckham Jr. as possible. Put their stalls on opposite sides of the locker room, keep their interactions limited to a bare minimum, spray Barkley with a water bottle if he comes within 20-feet of Beckham…anything to keep one of the worst teammates in the NFL away from one of its best young talents.

Beckham is an awful teammate. He is a black hole of shit. He sucks teammates into his gravitational pull and crushes them under the weight of his diva attitude, molding them into less talented, just as disgruntled clones of himself. Sterling Shepard has already circled the drain, sucked into the Beckham maelstrom; suddenly imploding on the sideline during games and fighting inanimate objects while the Giants find themselves down by two touchdowns yet again.

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