TMBG Show #20: Borders, Bryn Mawr, PA 2/25/05
That's right, twenty shows! I rule!

Marty the Drummer goes percussion-happy during "Bed Bed Bed".

This is a crowd of suburban parents and their toddlers jumping up and down to "Clap Your Hands". It's the kind of sight that makes you happy to be alive.

The Gates!

The Gates!!! (by way of explanation for my dreadful appearance, it was like 30 degrees out.)

The Gates, I say!

THE GATES!!!

I'll have some thoughts on the Hockey Thing soon. For now, just a tip of the cap to Bettman & Goodenow, the Biggest Pricks In The World; they've raised the bar for pricks everywhere, and for that, I thank them. Okay, more later.

Awesome link of the day.

Almost certainly the saddest thing I've ever seen

Oh, how I wish I hadn't stumbled upon this. As if my faith in these people hadn't already bottomed out. Now I have to live with the knowledge that on top of being stupid and arrogant and incompetent, they're also just simply pathetic.

It hurts me. Hurts me on a fundamental level.

More posts tomorrow... my head hurts...

from ANALOG
Chapter 8: Trish earns an honorary degree in Spanish from McMaster University (Hamilton, Ontario)

A huge mass of the birds suddenly lurched out their nests in unison as Trish and the Mask approached, creating a giant brown and black curtain that swept past her field of vision and disappeared off into the air. She gasped at this, startled, and grabbed a railing to steady herself. The Mask muttered something in his muffled voice, and Trish was about to say “What?” before realizing that she understood that he said something along the lines of “The Workers don’t come down here to clean them out”. Trish was watching the birds disappear into specks in the sky. “Ah,” she replied, as knowingly as she could.
The birds that were too lazy, too brave, or too stupid to leave sat in their nests or on the rafters, watching Trish blankly with their solid marble eyes.

from ANALOG
Chapter 14: Trish & Colleen visit the Walrus

...she saw him in a Worker’s jumpsuit, on early-morning bird patrols, slaughtering pigeons with his bird spear, sweeping away the nests and burning them. She imagined his jumpsuit stained with blood, and him cramming the carcasses into a blood-caked metal cart, and she was shocked and almost, somehow, amused by the sheer awfulness of this image, and the lunacy of her own brain for coming up with it...

...She remembered, as he came up behind her and clasped his arms around her, feeling, quite distinctly, all of his confused and conflicting emotions concentrated together and radiating off of him as a vast wave of heat – anger, jealously, an obvious desire to protect, or claim ownership – and yes, even love, hidden behind thick, cement-caked walls of doubt and confusion, but unmistakably love...

(c)2005 JFR

Uh, okay, well, never mind.

Here's what happened:
1. Most of our attempts to blitz Brady failed
2. We couldn't stop Dillon
3. We made lots of mistakes, and they didn't
4. Our clock management in the fourth quarter was mysteriously terrible

I may be a biased homer, but I know when my boys get beat by a better team, and man enough to admit it. I'm disappointed, and a little stunned, but my frustration from last night has kind of lessened and I've gotten a little philosophical about it. Unlike the Phillies, who sicken me with their idiocy and I hate them, I find it difficult to muster up actual anger at the Birds. We're the second best team in the league, period, and we had an awesome season. No shame in that. People are already saying that McNabb should be cut and Reid fired. Don't listen to them. They're just mad and possibly drunk, and when they cool off in a few days they'll remember that this is an awesome and brilliantly run franchise that isn't getting any worse. The Birds shall return to the Super Bowl, sooner than you think . . . maybe even SB XL in Detroit. Keep the faith, people. Who in the NFC can stop us?

That's not to say I'm not crushed by their performance last night, but if other Eagles fans want to bail, they can go ahead; maybe that way I'll be able to get tickets next year. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere.

The 2004 Eagles make my list of All-Time Favorite Teams. Easily. The three touchdowns last night were incredible, and I'll never forget our carthartic, stunned roar after the third one. (My god, what an incredible play.) Or the amazing feeling during the win over the Falcons. Or FredEx's ridiculous circus catch against the Vikings. Or the domination of our NFC rivals throughout the season. Or the utter humiliation of the Packers. Or Dawkins' interception to save the game against the Redskins. Or TO's hilarious dancing, sign-ripping antics all year long. Or the punishment inflicted on that punk Eli Manning in his first appearance. Or, you know, the rest of it. The 2005 season is just seven months away, everybody!

Anyway, last night in one of my typical post-loss petulant crybaby fits, I announced to everyone that I was swearing off sports until April 4, when baseball season starts. Now that I've calmed down a bit, I can admit that that's not strictly true. I'll still watch the Sixers (they're not great, but damn it, they're my boys). I don't think I'm going to write much about sports in this space unless the Sixers do something tremendously interesting. However, I will probably use this blog in a more unusual way for the next two months... possibly more excerpts from my newest work-in-progress ANALOG. We'll see.

I definitely don't think I'll be checking out the sports section, or ESPN.com, for a while... I need a break. Eight weeks should just about do it. I certainly don't feel like reading all the articles that are undoubtedly on ESPN at this very moment, explaining to me why the Patriots are the greatest collection of athletes in the history of the universe and why I should feel foolish and embarrassed because I ever thought that the Eagles could play with them, or indeed dare to stand on the same field as them. I didn't read them today, and I don't plan to, ever. No one can convince me the Eagles are anything less than an amazing team, of which I am endlessly proud to be a fan. So stop trying.

E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!

And away we go...

Yesterday while writing the essay seen below, I was listening to Revolver and probably for the first time noticed that in the song "And Your Bird Can Sing" they sing the line "and your bird is green". Damn right, lads.

Speaking of which, perhaps this will pump you up as much as it does me (although it's somewhat less impressive, and far more nonsensical, once you actually know what the words are)...

I used to be a rolling stone
You know if the cause was right
I’d leave to find the answer on the road
I used to be a heart beating for someone
But the times have changed
The less I say the more my work gets done

`cause I live and breathe this philadelphia freedom
From the day that I was born I’ve waved the flag
Philadelphia freedom took me knee-high to a man
Yeah gave me peace of mind my daddy never had
Oh philadelphia freedom shine on me, I love you
Shine a light through the eyes of the ones left behind
Shine a light shine a light
Shine a light won’t you shine a light
Philadelphia freedom I love you, yes I do

If you choose to you can live your life alone
Some people choose the city
Some others choose the good old family home
I like living easy without family ties
Till the whippoorwill of freedom zapped me
Right between the eyes

(everybody!)

`cause I live and breathe this philadelphia freedom
From the day that I was born I’ve waved the flag
Philadelphia freedom took me knee-high to a man
Yeah gave me peace of mind my daddy never had
Oh philadelphia freedom shine on me, I love you
Shine a light through the eyes of the ones left behind
Shine a light shine a light
Shine a light won’t you shine a light
Philadelphia freedom I love you, yes I do

Enjoy the game, my friends.

WIN IT FOR…

On this day of Eagle-loving and Boston-bashing, I am ashamed to admit that I am stealing an idea from the Red Sox fan site SoSH. I know that, officially, Boston fans are pretentious crybabies, but last October there was a touching discussion thread called “Win It For” which has stuck with me ever since.

At the risk of belaboring the obvious, I really hope the Eagles win that game tomorrow. I don’t need to tell you that, I suppose. But it’s not just me. Over the years the Eagles have come to rule this town, and with good reason: they’ve been the most consistently good team in football, and it’s a shame that their defeats in the previous three NFC games have obscured, in the minds of most national observers, how incredibly talented and well-run this franchise is. Us fans have always known how good they were, but something was always missing . . . until, hopefully, tomorrow.

Philly needs this . . . we want it so badly, and I don’t think it’s so outlandish to suggest that life in this area will really, actually be better if they win this game. There will be such a tremendously real and honest outpouring of joy, as if some great weight has been lifted. Our deliverance, as Andrew put it. I know that, at the end of the day, sports are inherently meaningless . . . but then again they’re not. Not if you’ve seen, as I have, how much this team and its success have meant to so many people throughout the years.

I doubt the Eagles need any more motivation than they already have. They want this game too; they’ve wanted it for years, and I believe they will be ready and focused and confident come kickoff. Some detractors think the Eagles are merely “happy to be there” but that’s short-sighted and wrong. One only has to see the confidence in our leader, my favorite Eagle, Donovan McNabb; the emphatic “NO” he gave when asked if just winning the NFC championship was enough. He’s ready, he’s poised, and he will play the game of his life.

But the Eagles aren’t just playing for themselves; no sports team is. They’re playing for all of us, which I will explain in the kind of overly melodramatic list below. I know it’s not like the Eagles are actually reading this (if they are: for the love of god, get back to practice!) so consider this just one fan’s giddy ranting 27 hours before what could possibly become the greatest moment of his life.

Win it, Eagles, first and foremost for the city. Philadelphia has been maligned by everyone across the country, mostly by people who’ve never been here; it is filthy, emits a bizarre smell in the heat of the summer, has a wretched public transportation system, has distressingly large stretches of extreme poverty. But it is also, in the right places and at the right moments, shockingly beautiful, with some of the most interesting people in the world. I grew up in this area and I longed to move downtown and four years ago I was lucky enough to do so. It is my home, more than New York was, more so even than Bensalem. Win it for every neighborhood in this incredible city of neighborhoods, North and South and West Philly, the Great Northeast, even all the hipsters in Center City – win it for them.

Win it for the fans, the most misunderstood fans in the world. Win it for the tailgaters, the facepainters, the hoagie shops with Eagle posters in the windows, the dive bars with neon Eagle signs, the suburban homes with giant inflatable football players on their lawns, for every car I see driving with Eagle flags hanging out of the windows; win it for the thousands of people I see every day wearing Eagles hats and shirts and jackets, for every fan with an Eagles sign hanging in their office cubicle. Win it in the hopes that the booing and the batteries and the Vet court will be forgotten; in the hopes that Santa Claus will be buried forever with every other bad memory that will now, hopefully, be irrelevant.

Win it for the Vet, which really should have seen at least one more NFC championship win in its lifetime. Win it for the punishing turf, the filthy bathrooms, the lost, lamented 700 level, for Phanavision, for the crumbling concrete, for the rats and stray cats, for that one horrible regular season game I got to see there, for the endless awesome memories.

Win it for your friends and neighbors at the Sports Complex: for the Phillies, in the hopes that maybe, finally, this will be their year too. For the Sixers, in the hopes that their rebuilding will be short and painless. For the Flyers, in the hopes that they and their NHL brethren will see all the love you’re getting, the attention you’re receiving, the money you’re making and the fun you’re having, and will get their act together and save themselves from their insane self-destruction.

Win it for the 2001-2003 Eagles, who couldn’t get over the hump. For the 2001 Sixers, the gutsiest and bravest team I’ve ever seen. For the 1997 Flyers, and the 2000 and 2004 Flyers as well (ugh, that still just kills me). For the 1993 Phillies: the exact reason I watch sports in the first place, and a team that deserved a happier ending.

Win it, by god, for Smarty Jones.

Win it for Ron Jaworski. Win it for Harold Carmichael and Wilbert Montgomery. Win it for Calvin Williams (hey, he was my favorite Eagle back then; I gotta give him his props). Win it for Dick Vermeil; win it for all the guys on Buddy Ryan’s teams; for every ex-Eagle I’m forgetting.

Win it for Randall.

Win it for Reggie.

And bring it home for Jerome.

Win it for that elderly guy Andrew and I met walking down Spruce Street this morning. He predicts the Eagles, 27-21. I told him I wanted it to be a blowout by halftime; he cautioned me, “Now, don’t get greedy”. I like that.

Win it for all my Eagle-loving friends throughout the years who watched games with me, who put up with my insane screaming and wall-punching, and added some screaming of their own; for Brianna and Daniel and Zoe and Paul and Steve and Kat and Matt and anyone else I’ve forgotten who is now, undoubtedly, offended.

Win it for my buddy Mike, the only Philly sports fan I met when I lived up in Giants and Jets country. Win it for my buddy Eric, a die-hard Eagle guy and a great football mind. (Hey, win it even for my buddy Bob, an Eagles fan who married a Cowboys fan; to compromise, they moved to New Hampshire and became Patriots fans. But there’s gotta be some remnant of Eagle love still in there somewhere, right?)

Win it for my roommate Andrew, who can recount the scores and descriptions of games he watched in like 1989 and remembers precisely where he was for all of them. Win it for his dad, an Eagles fan from way, way back who was, I’m told, on a bus during the 1960 Championship Game and missed the whole thing. Ouch.

Win it for my Crazy Eagle Uncles: for Uncle Mike, who I haven’t seen not wearing an Eagles cap in like ten years; and for Uncle Jim, who decorates his living room in bright green Nouveau Eagle, and who bought a 50” HDTV specifically for this game. Win it for all my aunts and cousins, too, who will be there watching it on that TV; I’m with you in spirit, guys.

Win it for my mom, who’s suffered through countless Sunday afternoons where her husband and sons were pretty much inaccessible and glued to the TV. Win it for my sister, who’s suffered along with her.

Win it for my brother, who coined the phrase “football yearning”; who is the only other person odd enough to suddenly loudly grunt things like “I WANT MY EAGLE!”; who called me up after the win over the Falcons and said, simply, “Fantastic.” What more needs to be said?

Win it for my dad, who taught me to love the game. Who calls Super Bowl XV the worst game he’s ever seen. Who once described an Eagles win as (I wonder if he even remembers this) as “so good, I nearly broke my nose watching that game”. With whom I’ve watched more games than I can remember; who calls me at halftime when we’re not together; who emails me panicky emails about Philly sports, and puts up with my equally panicky emails; who caught the fantasy football bug this year and converted me along with him. If you’re not going to win it for anyone else listed here, at least win it for him, okay?

And win it, yes, for me, because I keep a database of the Eagles’ records against every franchise, and because I wore an Eagles cap and scarf to elementary school, and because I’m crazy enough about this team to write giant blog entries about it, and because I’ve worn the same t-shirt on nearly every gameday this season, and because . . . well, here comes the part where people who just don’t “get” sports will roll their eyes and say “Oh, come on, Jeremy.” Win it for me because I honestly believe my life will be better if you do. I know that sounds insane, and I should stress that my life will almost certainly not be worse if you don’t. I’ve seen the Eagles lose before, believe me. I know exactly what will happen; I’ll be disappointed, but I’ll get over it. I’m not a lunatic. What I mean is – and to be honest, I’m having trouble describing it – but I really think this win will give me confidence; a new lease on life, really. I’ve wallowed in disappointment and self-doubt for too long. If the Eagles win this thing, then anything is possible. And by the same token: the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do in my life is write a novel, and six weeks ago, by god, I did it. And if I can do that, the Eagles can win one football game, right?

But forget all that. Win Super Bowl XXXIX for yourselves, because your detractors need to be put in their place. Win it because you are a great team, the greatest in football, and you deserve all the accolades in the world. Don’t listen to the hype; you deserve to play in this game, and to hang with the Patriots.

And you can beat them.

And you will.

[random and largely pointless profanity removed because it seems to be embarrassing everyone who comes across it]


“Win together today, and we walk together forever.”
-Fred Shero