Congratulations on the Super Bowl victory, Andy Reid! Thank god the Eagles won one first or you’d be the most hated man in all of Philadelphia.
Shy of Andy actually winning a Super Bowl with the Eagles, this is by far the best circumstance for him to win one (from our perspective anyways). The Eagles got theirs first, enough time passed between Reid’s inglorious exit and his own championship, and we all get to revel in his success without wanting to slit our throats if he won one before we got to experience a parade.
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.
Yesterday, I found myself struggling to keep my head above water at work and I took a deep, deep dive into a Don Rickles YouTube wormhole. There’s nothing better than watching old talk show clips of Rickles tearing celebrities to shreds as a delighted Johnny Carson or David Letterman look on, unable to stop the hilarious carnage as he barrels over flustered guests and ugly audience members.
I came across a web series produced by the AARP called “Dinner with Don,” released in 2017, featuring a 91-year-old Rickles having dinner with a different celebrity each week. It’s a blatant rip-off of Jerry Seinfeld’s “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee” and Rickles looks like he can barely keep his head up through the entire taping, but he’s still Rickles and the guests are all interesting, so it’s a great time waster if you’re a fan.
In an interview with Rich Eisen, Rickles drops a gem about the only Super Bowl he’s ever attended, the 1981 Super Bowl XV featuring the Eagles and the Raiders.
According to Rickles, he was in the Eagles locker room before the game and took offense to the VERY Catholic prayer circle, as you can after the jump:
If you’ve never seen the 1998 Gwyneth Paltrow classic “Sliding Doors” you’re doing yourself quite the disservice. The movie focuses on a woman rushing to catch a train in the London tube (because this movie is so very properly British), and follows separate realities of the woman based on if she had caught or missed the train.
SPOILER: She dies in one of the realities and lives in the other. I don’t remember which one, but despite what you’re all thinking she is not hit by a train in one of the realities. That would have made for a better movie, but who am I criticize the creative choices of Ms. Paltrow?
Either way, it explores an interesting wrinkle I’m sure we’ve all thought about. What if we had taken another career path? What if we had stayed at that party for another 15 minutes and met our soulmate instead of leaving early to go home and drink by ourselves and pass out on our couch at 1 a.m.?
Watching Marcus Mariota bumblefuck his way around the field on Sunday against a piece of garbage Miami Dolphins team and throw bad pass after bad pass made me stop for a moment and consider the path of the Eagles franchise if chubby, no-huddle guru Chip Kelly had actually pulled the trigger on a deal to bring Mariota to the Eagles before the 2015 draft.
Chase Utley put it best, booing Eagles fans.
“Boo? Fuck you.”
This wasn’t Chip Kelly running sweeps with DeMarco Murray out of the shotgun for a 2-yard-loss every first down. This wasn’t Andy Reid blowing another NFC Championship. This wasn’t the Eagles losing 42-0 to the Seahawks.
No. This was the defending Super Bowl champions getting booed by a smattering of morons (just a smattering, but an AUDIBLE smattering on the broadcast) after just one half of regular season football seven months after the franchise finally won us a Super Bowl.
No. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
Like Ripley returning to the alien infested colonial outpost in search of Newt, the Eagles are stepping back into the fray tonight and kicking off their Super Bowl defending season in an all but meaningless preseason bout against the Pittsburgh Steelers.
In Philadelphia, nobody can hear you scream (yes, I know that’s the tagline from “Alien” and not “Aliens” … but the “Aliens” tagline sucks. This time it’s war? Get the hell out of here).
We’re in uncharted waters here, Eagles fan. It’s the first year in the history of the franchise where we’re not coming off of a terrible Andy Reid postseason loss, a disheartening/borderline racist Chip Kelly 7-9 season, or a comically bad “Dream Team” season that left us all hating Jason Babin and his stupid tattoos just a little bit more than we thought was humanly possible.
The path is unexplored from here on out, Eagles. What’s it going to be? Will this year live up to the hype, the GREATNESS of last year’s Super Bowl run and victory, or will it all come crashing down?
Will this season be “Aliens” or will it be “Major League 2?” Will it be an all-time great sequel to an all-time great movie, or will it be a soulless, unnecessary cash-in without the entire returning cast from the original?
The answer, I think, lies somewhere in between.
“There’s a sucker born every minute, and they’ll all call my radio show if I say something controversial about Carson Wentz and the Eagles.”
I know, I know. I’ve seen Angelo Cataldi’s tweet about Carson Wentz and Nick Foles this morning too. It’s crazy right? Doesn’t it make you furious that someone could be trumpeting this OUTRAGEOUS line of thinking just a mere month after the Eagles finally won a Super Bowl?! It’s infuriating, and I bet you can’t WAIT to give him a piece of your mind.
But, before you fire up the twitter accounts and lob some well-deserved insults Cataldi’s way, I’d like you to first take a breath, step away from your keyboard, and give this question some deep, deep thought.
Do you really think he believes this nonsense?
Of course he doesn’t.
Angelo Cataldi is the jowly, tepid Philadelphia sports talk radio version of P.T. Barnum, and he knows how to play this city and its fans like a fiddle to line his own coffers.