Pat or Egales

From USA Today:

And speaking of losers …
By Sandy Grady

With its zillion-dollar TV ads, marketing hype, betting frenzy and glitzy halftime show, a Super Bowl can seem the America fantasia, as technologically remote as a Star Trek spaceship.

Not this time. There will be real human beings involved — even if they are peculiar humans with cheesesteak breath, jade-green ball caps, odd accents and hearts aching with more misery than a Johnny Cash album.

I'm talking about embittered Philadelphia Eagles fanatics, the sorest losers since Attila's Huns. Yes, they once threw snowballs at Santa Claus. They would boo their own grandmother if she threw an interception.

In Super Bowl 39 (forget Roman numeral pretense), a city's soul is at stake. No town has a deeper inferiority complex than Philadelphia. Or deserves it more. When they play New England Sunday, Philly's rowdy, hangdog head cases will get one shot at catharsis.

When I wrote sports in Philadelphia in the '60s, my fingers automatically typed, “City of Losers.” Nobody complained. It was true. From South Philly row houses to Main Line mansions, the natives were marinated in sports tragedies the way the Irish remember the 1846 potato famine. I've got my own psychic scars. I traveled with the Phillies when they blew a surefire 1964 pennant with a September swoon. Sure, there have been flickers of glory. Philadelphia taprooms have fading photos of Tug McGraw's joyous leap when the 1980 Phils won the franchise's lone World Series. But since the 76ers captured an NBA title 22 years ago, the town has grown grumpy with frustration.

Don't give me any sad songs about those oversympathized Boston sufferers (didn't the Sox just win the Series?) or Chicago's cutesy cult (at least Da Bears won a Super Bowl). No, Philadelphia is the Mecca of Failure.

I covered the Eagles (pronounced “Iggles”) in Connie Mack Stadium, Franklin Field and The Vet. They lost in every venue, except for the Norm Van Brocklin team's 1960 splendor. I traveled to their only previous Super Bowl in 1981, where Dick Vermeil's burned-out overachievers lost. Since the early '90s, they have blown more playoff games than Bob Shrum has lost elections.

Sociologists may say Philadelphia feels inferior because it's stuck halfway between powerhouse New York and Washington's political egos. Indeed, I remember a 1960s slogan: “Philadelphia Is Not As Bad As Philadelphians Say It Is.” Lately, with its glossy center city and world-class restaurants, there's no reason to sulk, except for the sports futility.

My own theory is that older, lunch-bucket cities with ancient sports traditions (the Eagles go back to 1933, the Phils to 1883) have the most hard-core fans. Philly fans fit the mold: They prize no-quit toughness, they can turn rowdy if too much booze flows, and they're hostile as junkyard dogs when they feel betrayed. One or two have been known to put on helmets and bash in their car windshields when the Eagles lose. Their booing of Santa Claus is no myth — it happened in 1968, the Eagles in an 11-game losing streak, when a rather scruffy St. Nick was pummeled at halftime with jeers and snowballs. They even booed quarterback Donovan McNabb, the day he was drafted.

Emotional, yes. Typical of the breed is the ex-Philly mayor, now Pennsylvania Gov. Ed Rendell, who moonlights as the team's TV analyst. Rendell once led a snowball bombardment of visiting Cowboys coach Jimmy Johnson. Fanatic? The guv canceled a budget speech so he can do TV commentary in Jacksonville.

I served enough time in Philadelphia press boxes to testify its fans are as eccentric as a Mummers Parade and as explosive as a barroom at closing time. Who else but the Eagles had to install a courtroom in Veterans Stadium to handle overserved spectators? So it's true that Philly sports addicts can be the nation's most churlish and volatile. But they're salt-of-the-earth real.

Remember that scene in Rocky, when Sylvester Stallone runs up the steps of the Philadelphia museum as the music blares, Gonna Fly Now? If the Eagles break the city's self-esteem funk in the Super Bowl, pump up the band and start the Broad Street parade.

Yo, Adrian, champ-eens at last!

"City of Losers" eh Drav? I see nothing to make me think that's going to change on Sunday.

I mean what kind of evil people boo Santa Claus? Say it ain't so Drav