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You know you're legit, when those dudes, who are just hangin', drinkin' their beers, with their camero doors wide open, lettin' nothing less than "Eye of the Tiger" blare out, give you a firm high-five.  It was their way of saying, "dude, yes.  You are wearing McNabb's colors.  You deserve this high-five, and you deserve to be counted as one of us.  Partake of this thrill of the fight as one of the true Birds".  With that pride, and with that confidence, I, half-struttin' half-Rocky jabbin', entered into the arena.  They say excitement can sometimes be palpable.  I, was salivating.

Is it somewhere decreed and engraven into law, that all Philly-ites are required to love the "Eye of the Tiger"?  My roommate in College... These dudes here... I mean, just because Rocky was one of you, doesn't mean that each of you are Rocky.  But you know, I'm okay with it.  I'm okay, because for 4 hours, I was a Rocky too.  Those fair-weathered fans, whom I call Cardinals' fans, would lurk around their own concourse, calling each of us (in their words) "a pussy".  But, I gladly joined in with those clad in Green and Black, as we holl'red, 

"E - A - G  - L - E - S  EAGLES!"

As said, I don't remember being this excited for anything.  I won't lie, things didn't start out as well as I'd liked in the first half, and by halftime, Jess, J-Mill, and I were quietly panicing.  Then one brilliant drive led by McNabb, again a second, and before we knew it, DeSean Jackson was jugglin' the ball into the Cardinal's own endzone to bring the score 25-24... in favor of the Eagles... The Cards were humbled in their nests, as the three of us exploded.  This wasn't just a mere "raise your arms in the air and yell Yahoo", I was thrustin' and kickin' into the air with every last carb of energy.  I even yelled out, "Rumblin' Stumblin' Jackson!" as DeSean began his Eagle dance in the opposing team's face.  Even that obnoxious excuse for a goatee behind me and the gambling drunk next to me were silent.  We would acknowledge the 5 painted guys 15 rows in front of us with our cheers and screams... It was beautiful, as football truly is.

I'll finish my commentary on the game with two sentences:  That coverage on Utah State's finest, Kevin Curtis, in the 4th on 4th down, was DEFINITELY PASSING INTERFERENCE. This fact was independently validated with my colleagues at work today.  

The Cards were beat, in yardage and talent.  But due to a bad call, they took the game.  Nevertheless, I personally was proud of the team, albeit disappointed with the loss.  If anyone asks, the game alone was worth the drive to Phoenix.

Exiting the building, on the other hand, I could've gone without.  Remember the drunk next to me?  Well, when the game clock ran out, he patted me on the shoulder and said, "don't listen to them on the way out".  I thought, "ah, shit".  

It felt kinda like when Rocky was defeated by Clubber Lane...  And then again for the second time.  You know, in Rocky III?  I tried to keep my head up high as we made our walk of shame under the hot Arizona sun.  Here's a nice fact about Arizona Cardinals' fans:  They are all band-waggoners.  Fair-weathered, as described above.  Suddenly, their otherwise pathetic team wins, and suddenly God has smiled upon their chosen race.  Hundreds of fans massed around the exit and gave us whatever garbage they could think up.  You could even tell it was their first day of being official, victorious, Cardinals fans, because the insults they'd think up were so cliche.  You know, "maybe next year" sort of stuff.  Even the hoochie sista's were up in our faces, as if they knew anything about football, or what it was like to own a football ticket.  Sorry, that last comment was elitist of me.  But hell, that's what life is like when you spend all of your trick money on speed.

But it was bad; it was, a torture of all kinds, as it were. These people were yellin' and cursin' as if someone had just short-changed their mother.  Which brings me to the following point, and I mean this from even the most weakest cell of my normally good-hearted soul.   If explorers one day happen to discover a remote Amazon tribe, and this tribe is characterized by one trait, and that trait being the all-too-common vice of "gettin' offended when no offense was intended", and in fact their tribe is named, "those of a prickly self-indulgence", I'd say that mankind should just go ahead and genocidally put them to rest.  I mean, kill them all.  Really, it shouldn't be difficult with our advanced technology vs. their beads and coconuts.  Reasonably, we really don't need any more of that in this world.  They're probably all Cards' fans anyway. 

I would almost say the same goes for the neighboring tribes of "selfishness" and "insincerity", but that's for another blog post one day.

On a lighter note, Arizona is actually a pleasant state.  I love places with Orange trees.  And I love Oranges.  I've never been in a place as warm as that... in January, in my entire life.  And Jess, "J-Mil", and Maya are lovely and a pleasure to associate myself with.  Seriously, it got boring when they started shopping for blouses, online, on jcrew.com, and on the same computer, but otherwise, their conversations were fresh and post-teenage years oriented, and I liked spending time with them.

On the way home I listened to J-Mil's mixes, and enjoyed some good music.  And last Tuesday I talked to Adam and Spence about music for a while, and I remembered that there's so much good stuff that I've forgotten about.  At one point I mentioned that my favorite Muse song is an obscure b-side called "Map of Your Head", and Adam replies with an, "I can play that" (on guitar, he means). I guess that's what's families are for, among many things, and it's always reassuring to know that we share the same blood.  Nothing is cooler than a Miller, but you'd have to be a Miller to understand why.  I've known for years that we've just got it figured out.  I just wish everyone knew at least one Miller, like how I know 7.

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"Far away, this ship is taking me Far Away"