The Luxuriant Joy Of Not Caring A Bit About Your Philadelphia Eagles
Friend, I do not explicitly want to get in the way of your sport-joy. I do not in the least long to have the conversation with you about What’s Wrong With Football. That is for those more knowledgeable and convincing than I; they have a good case, enough to make a real fork in the road, and I’m glad to be on my side of it. It’s nice here. Suffice it to say this much: American football, and the Eagles’ fan culture in particular, is beset by ugliness. The fans are ugly, the food is ugly, Jesus, even the logo is ugly. It’s a decadent level of ugliness that’s a full-on lifestyle decision.
And, yes, that's the point, yeah? We all make choices. Dance like no one’s watching. I must tell you, though, from the other side: Not giving a shit right now? It feels luxurious. Sweet Jesus, it’s like a hot bubble bath of rejuvenating superiority. Comparatively, in 2008, the year the Phillies won the World Series, this writer's memory of the leadup to that blessed event persists as one of constant stress, an emotional rollercoaster relieved only by occasional fleeting joy. This writer was drunk for months. This writer cried a lot. And this writer was definitely not alone in this. By November 8 of that year — the day Obama won, because, if you recall, that was going on, too — it felt like the whole city was in the same place: We, as Philadelphians, were as exhausted as we’ve ever been. It was a lot. Some of us still wonder if we’ve fully recovered.
That was a lot. And I have to say, today, not feeling it, not even feeling like it’s something one even needs to know about in any real detail… it’s wonderful. It is something like what I imagine being Jewish during the Christmas season must feel like. Everyone’s out there, breaking their necks trying to live up to the dream, secretly freaking out, draining their wallets, and just so very into it, but you know what? Two weeks from now, when you guys are doing whatever you are doing, I envision myself at, say, Sang Kee Peking Duck House, having a delightful afternoon.
All of this is to say: If caring about this feels like too much, you’re not alone. You don’t have to feel it. You don’t even have to fake it. No one will remember anyway.