Why does this always happen?

A lament for Philadelphia, wherein I navel gaze, and wonder why this happens to us

Forgive me this solipsistic stare into the strange abyss of Philadelphia sports-dom. 

The Philadelphia Eagles staggered their way into the NFL playoffs this year— their early season stride replaced by a late season stumble— only to fall on their face in Tampa this Monday evening, made foolish by Baker Mayfield and a stadium full of Floridians dressed like pirates. “Buccaneers”, I believe they like to be called. 

It’s difficult to imagine an ending more dismal. 

Yet before we pick at that pain, let’s walk a bit further back… 

The Eagles nearly won the Super Bowl last year. The murals were ready, the barricades set, the poles all greased. But that fit of hopeful folly folded into fury instead. 

Or, perhaps it simply settled into that old familiar daze— the one that registers when possibility planks out. 

Picture it: a team ascendant like a dynasty unstoppable, a hair’s breadth to glory, then suddenly flat on their face. Once fallen, it’s a tumble further down. That’s happened to multiple Philly franchises the past few years. 

Super Bowl LVII’s second half unwound the early dominance of Sirianni’s squadron that year. Rihanna dropped from the sky at halftime, perhaps casting a spell on them herself. It was 24-14 before Rihanna descended in a bright red boilersuit, it was 38-35 by the end. The defense crumbled quicker than the ungodly cookies Tobias Harris made viral. Victory snuffed away by a field goal, a measly field goal, after a late, late holding play. 

And within the ensuing misery, cue: the daze. 

The daze is too familiar around here. It’s the one registered after Game 7 against the Celtics (just a few months later) when both Joel Embiid and James Harden completely, inexplicably, disappeared from a rather important basketball game, for example. The complete opposite of turning up. 

Or when the Phillies snuck into the 2022 MLB playoffs via the Wild Card, wooing us with all of their whimsy and flair (and cigarette-in-mouth boozy celebrations, which felt plucked from a previous era when sports stars were more chaotic out loud). They went on a jubilant tear straight through to the World Series, had the entire metropolis singing Robyn remixes, took a 2-1 early lead against the Astros in the World Series only to lose three straight games, and fail. 

Or when the Union broke a bunch of records in 2022 and looked ready to win the MLS Championship, despite all odds, with all the grit of its blue collar workers city, only to concede in the dying embers of opportunity- humbled by that godforsaken Welshman- and then fumble the bag in pens. 

Or—- 

The list goes on. 

And each time, hope dictated that the following year, they’d be right back— and win this time. But for the Union, the Phils, and now the Eagles, this past year saw 2022’s trio of championship runner ups regress rather than come back. 

With Monday’s loss still burning fresh— nobody exemplifies Philadelphia’s failed revenge-tour faceplant in 2023 better than the Eagles. 

Nursing the wounds of that Super Bowl LVII loss, the Eagles started 2023 at the top of the league: going 5-0, then 10-1. Then they lost five of their final six games of the regular season. 

Hardly a hearty way to head into the playoffs, but “hope springs eternal”, as Alexander Pope once wrote, while definitely not thinking of Philadelphians. 

When I passed a young coatless lad walking defiantly through the cold and snow toward Wawa Monday afternoon, wearing just shorts, flip-flops and a Nakobe Dean jersey, I took it as a positive omen of rallying victory to come.

A positive omen it wasn’t. The so-called Birds did not look capable of a playoff win for even one second of last night’s 32-9 loss to the Bucs.

So it goes, I said to myself, indulgently. 

Do I sound like a sports fan plucked from central casting? Very well then, I am a sports fan from central casting: Why does this always happen to us? (shakes fist)

I can hear the retorts arriving perhaps rightfully from across the nation—-

What, you think you're the only city that suffers disappointment, Philadelphia? Did you see (and rejoice in) what happened to the Cowboys the day before? Do you know some of us don’t even have a local team to lament? Your city has a team for every major American sport, and when any among them become even remotely good, you’re insufferable! And you’re also insufferable when they lose! You deserve this tumbling down!

Perhaps this is a daze called karma. Perhaps the sports gods smite us for having flown too close to the sun. This is what we get for brawny athletic trainers that try to fight the other soccer teams. This is what we get for the state of Brandon Marsh’s hair. This is what we get for introducing the ‘Tush Push’ to the league. 

Now what, you wonder? NOW WHAT? 

Now we watch the Sixers, who are beating the Nuggets by ten points as we speak. Fret not, there’s plenty of time for them to fumble it. 

And so we beat on, Philadelphians against our karma, thrown back ceaselessly into the daze.