It Makes Sense Because It Doesn't

By Jeff Glauser

Even in Philadelphia, the land of broken hearts and shattered dreams, we’re still allowed to venture into the world of hypotheticals.

So let’s just say it could happen.

Let’s say the stars align, the Age of Aquarius has dawned, the gods of sport decide to lift the curse.

In other words, let’s say the Eagles win the Super Bowl this year.

For some of us - the unrelenting realists, those who have strayed near the stove of hope more than a few times - we refuse to consider the possibility of being burned once more.

For others – perhaps the delusional, or the masochists – this seems as good a time as any.

And for the realists, if one gives enough thought and evaluates the situation at hand, the absurdity of it all may just make sense.

First, a quick history lesson:

Have you ever noticed how much we seem to embrace underdog around here?

In 124 years of existence, only the Phillies of 1980 can boast of being the champions of baseball. But, looking back, it was a team in turmoil for most of the year, a frustrating group of pedigrees and Hall of Famers who underachieved and coasted through most of the season, but luckily woke up just in time to right the ship.

Meanwhile, 1993’s group of scrappy roughnecks resembled more of a Sunday morning beer league squad than a World Series participant. And we loved every minute of it.

The Sixers of both 1967 and 1983 can be considered among the best of all time.

But 2001’s never-say-die group left it all on the floor, a trail of blood, sweat and tears which will forever ring sacred.

1960 remains the last championship for the Eagles. But 50 years from now, will people talk of them, or the brazen Gang Green defense of the early 90s, a group of castoffs and low draft picks who literally scared the opposition into defeat?

Quite frankly, we’re not too fond of elitists. Juggernauts are not our style. Dynasty? Wasn’t that a show in the 80s?

So wouldn’t it seem to make sense that, in a year where the franchise player goes down, in a year where the run defense revealed more warts than walls, in a year where almost no game was a gimme, in a year where they could have packed it in come November and we would have understood – that this could be the year?

Simply enough, imperfection is quite perfect for us.

Like Preston Meyers in “Can’t Hardly Wait,” the guy who yearns for dream girl Amanda Beckett, the underdog’s chance always seems to come when he least expects it.

Hypothetically, Philly’s Amanda Beckett could be waiting at its doorstep come Feb. 4, shortly after 10 p.m.

Absurd, you say?

Absolutely. And that’s why it makes sense.

Jeff Glauser can be reached at send2jg@hotmail.com. Or at your local Blockbuster, making another cheesy movie reference.


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The Phanatic