December 23-29, 2004

naked city

how they'll lose

Week 15 vs. St. Louis

by Brian Hickey

(Season record: 1-13)

At 4 p.m. Monday, I asked my trusty Lose-r fill-in Brian Howard for more time to write this week's prognostication. The reason? "I need the perfect words to eulogize a lost season." (I told you number 13 was gonna get 'em.) Gracefully, he let me push deadline back a day. It was much appreciated, considering I hadn't fully comprehended the Ankle Diagnosis That Ate Philadelphia.

The first thing that came to mind was this: I have something in common with a professional athlete (the Kruk gut notwithstanding). Back in 1989, I shattered my leg. It hurt. Bad. Laid me up in a hip-high cast for eight weeks. A pin held my ankle together. I still cringe with phantom pain each time I see a leg injury.

Now, I'm not equating the NFL to Haddon Township soccer; ESPN scrutiny can't hold a self-aggrandizing candle to the bright lights of Camden County futbol. What I'm saying is this: T.O., I feel your pain, man.

Having read your autobiography while lounging in the Caribbean last week, I have a new appreciation for your work ethic and style. (Was actually gonna write about it -- and how Mike Ditka and the Meatheads shouldn't mock Ricky Williams for following his heart -- even before you usurped valuable winter-weather advisory time from the local television folks.) I know that because you're still trying to stick it to the high-school teammate who spit in your mouth, you're going to bust your hump to get back before XXXIX. I suspect you'll pull it off, too. My advice is this: Don't. Come. Back. Until. You're. Fully. Healed. Otherwise, that bum axle will forever occasionally, and inexplicably, give out as you walk over flat ground.

These, good people, were the thoughts that drowned out the sports-talk callers (read: nimrods) who were wallowing in self-pity as I headed toward the Delaware Valley's last bastion of clear thought: Avalon's Princeton Bar and Grille. It was there, in September, that I predicted a 14-2 season (losses to St. Louis and Cincinnati). And it was there, before urging now-kicking-themselves gamblers to take the Dolphins and the money line Monday night, that I came to an unexpected conclusion: This is a blessing in disguise.

Imagine the Haddon Township-style heat the Birds would've been facing had they romped into the NFC Choke-ionship Game on healthy feet. Now, they'll be underestimated -- underdogs, even. Last time that happened on such a stage, Donovan carried them to within 52 yards of an upset in the Edward Jones Dome.

Talk about a tailor-made segue. What we'll have there this Monday night are the Birds and Rams battling under the big tent of playoff implications. If you thought this week's orthopedic panic was bad, wait till Howard Eskin fields a litany of questions about the karma of a final tally that again reads:

Rams 29, Eagles 24