…Anyway, long story short, I didn’t want to watch the dumbassed Eagles game, but I did anyway, for YOU. Don’t forget that.

After the jump, Michael Fichman gives and gives until he just can’t give anymore. Oh, and the Eagles season starts.

The beginning of football season is always pretty surreal, if only because the days are still long and warm, and the Eagles haven’t yet been eliminated from contention. It’s been how long since the last competitive NFL game? 8 months or so? Well, yesterday I found out what many of you already know — that it’s really tough to just dive into the NFL season without any “warm-up,” if you will. I mean, you wake up on a Sunday morning with a hangover, and all of a sudden it’s chicken wings, bouncing tits, ultraviolence and beer at 1 in the afternoon? I know that’s more or less the American dream and all, but damn, that was strenuous. I need to get in shape.

Yesterday, as part of my civic duty, and for the several thousands of dollars I get paid per column inch, I paid attention to the Eagles game. Now, it’s not that I wouldn’t watch an Eagles game if there were nothing else to do except my taxes or watch any of the other teams in the god-awful NFC East. I am a football fan, but you see, I’m not from here. So on Sundays, I do like immigrant bols did back in the day on obscure holidays and get together with my countrymen, drinking native drinks and speaking in foreign tongues.

Pennsylvanians sure are excited about their winning football team

As many of you now know, I was raised in the Pennsylvanian equivalent of The Shire: Pittsburgh, where everybody has smog-related ricketts and we eat funny sandwiches with french fries on them. It’s a five-hour drive from here, a lot of people don’t know that. Oh, and we also have won the Super Bowl five times and invented the polio vaccine, so get off my dick.

Anyway, since my interest in the Eagles is more sociological than emotional, I usually watch the Eagles game only if it coincides with the Steelers game and I’m at the Steelers’ bar. The “Steelers bar” is the Fox and Hound, on 15th and Spruce. It’s probably one of the two or three worst bars ever, and it’s generally filled with the less endearing sort of Pittsburghers, ones that left the 412 to get a white collar job that isn’t in one of Pittsburgh’s 3 flagship industries, which are healthcare, computer engineering and reminiscing about the steel industry. But, either way, they serve Iron City and dutifully put on the Steelers’ game.

There are lots and lots of Steelers bars across the country, for two reasons: First, the Steelers are one of the leagues classiest and most successful franchises in the television age and second because Pittsburgh has a diaspora of a proportion only surpassed by, say, Africa. This is because we used to make important things in Pittsburgh, now we only make football.

Don’t forget, SEPA brothers, we all used to be ONE football team

Anyway, long story short, I didn’t want to watch the dumbassed Eagles game, but I did anyway, for YOU. Don’t forget that. So without further geo-centric rambling, here’s the This Week In Balls Week 1 rundown — with all the highs, lows and artichoke dip stains included:

· The Eagles were decidedly unimpressive, performing badly in such important phases of the game as holding on to the fucking football. They failed to beat a weak Packers team. Mind you, the Packers are the only team quarterbacked by an octogenarian unafraid to throw a football blindly downfield while being dumped on his ass. But I’m sure Philly won’t hold it against Brett Favre — after all, he used to be hooked on pharmies, so he’s more or less one of us. On the bright side, Kevin Curtis made his case for being the fastest white dude on Earth since Tim Dwight. Northeast Philly, you have a new hero!

All signs point to the season being a total loss at this point. OK, I’m joking.

Next week’s goal: Don’t take a dive

· The return of football means the return of man-centric advertising blocs. “Hi, I’m Peyton Manning. Do you enjoy vaginas, beer, automobiles and/or mutual funds? Buy this fucking razor! Do it, I’m Peyton Manning!”

On the bright side, these commercials generally have nothing to do with the product they’re advertising; they just try to be funny. And hey, I do enjoy vaginas and beer.

It’s a phone, but it also shaves

· Eagles fans are back to their old selves. A quick twirl around Center City during halftime turned up a nice number of drunken antagonists shouting at each other (including our good friend shown at the top of this column). It’s good to see the city come together and collectively call Brett Favre (and anybody else in hearing range) a “faggot,” and then demand wings.

· I did a brief Eagles season preview for The 700 Level last week, along with a bunch of other bloggers. Only A.J. Daulerio predicted that the Birds would miss the playoffs. It seems as if everybody took a look at the schedule and predicted the Eagles to win all the games that they “should” win. For example, I’m fairly sure everybody thought that week one was a lock in the “W” column. But my favorite part was a comment left by some bol that said:

Philebrity? For real?

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Surprised he didn’t squeeze an A-Sides or Man Man reference in.

You’ve got the wrong guy. If it were up to me, my Eagles preview would have actually been peppered with references to Peedi Crakk. Brian Westbrook make the Mac go “brrrrrrrrrrrring!”

This entry was posted on Monday, September 10th, 2007 at 1:01 pm.