I know, I know. ErisGuy set the standard on the Top 100. I will keep my bargain.
But in the interim there is great, fantastic, beautiful news. Michael Vick has signed with the New York Jets. Which means our long domestic nightmare is over.
The sigh of relief in this household is like a strong wind. You cannot know. Lady Laird was always the fiercest of Eagles fans. Her blood is Kelly green.
The catastrophe happened on August 14, 2009.
It really did break her heart.
So we’ve been dealing with it for five years. Why this is not a trivial post. She transferred her loyalty to the Baltimore Ravens, whom I had always hated because they were the Cleveland Browns, stolen from a city and a heritage I loved. It has galled me that the Ravens won two Super Bowls which should have belonged to Cleveland, where frauds wearing the uniform of Jimmy Brown stumble around in the home of NFL football.
The Ravens. Named after a poem, for God’s sake.
So we’ve been playing this odd game for, oh, five years now. You guys, pay attention. How you have to dig deep and understand your wife, because what she says and even shouts is not her true heart. So I, who also hated the Vick acquisition, continued to watch the Eagles. So she could too. I deliberately overlooked her cheering, which was a mere vestige of her lost fealty. I pretended I was the sad sack fan who still rooted for the Eagles because he always had. Which, to be honest, I hadn’t. Until they moved into a dome in the post Bud Grant era I was a fan of the Minnesota Vikings in the NFC. And I was also a fan of the old Oakland Raiders in the AFC. When the Raiders buried the Eagles in the Super Bowl, I was technically rooting for the Eagles. But in my heart, I was as delighted as when Ali decked Foreman in the boxing upset of the century. Yes!
Ironically, my Eagles allegiance is comparatively new and attributable to my wife. The same one who turned her back on the whole enterprise. So I’ve been carrying this tiny little flickering candle all this time, tolerating the Ravens, alternately dissing and rooting for the Eagles, and now, suddenly, we burst again into the light.
Life is beautiful. Love is even more beautiful. Because it’s not a starburst as so many think. It’s a vulnerable, tiny flame we carry and protect from harm to the best of our ability.
Philadelphia. A city that is both gorgeous and our cultural home. We are Eagles. And we do fly. Lady Laird can come home again. Hallelujah.
Let us close with what should be the National Anthem. (Other versions are here, here, and everywhere else you look.)
I’m happy for Lady Laird but I’ll never forgive that team. There was celebration this week over Fred Phelps’s departure, but on my personal list of evildoers, Phelps ranked well below Vick. At least the victims of Westboro Baptist had supporters and could fight back. There’s no salvation available to Vick, who, without a shred of pity, tortured and killed the voiceless in his care. I loathe him.
The one who welcomed Vick was Coach Andy Reid, whose sons both had problems with the law. Reid is gone now, like Vick, and it’s possible to forgive, Barbara.
Now I can wear my Eagles socks. And get a new shirt. Thank you Marty and the Jets.
Happy for you both. I feel much the same way about the Ravens, but I’d still rather them win the Superbowl over the 49ers. Something of a Sophie’s Choice, but I dislike the Ravens slightly less than San Fran.