One of the fun things that happen when you root, pine, and pray for a championship underdog is that all sorts of people try to scam you. For example, the Galley Father-in-Law, who is as awesome as the day is long, called the other night looking to make a Super Bowl wager. He's a long-suffering Jets fan and has no love of the Patriots, but thought he could put one over on me. As we all know, that's not hard: He succeeded. We've bet dinner on the game and I'm not even getting any points.
Enter the esteemed Soxblog, who know wants to wager a New England clambake against a weekend of indentured servitude. Will I be suckered again?
The short answer is, No. Do I believe in the Eagles? Yes. Do I think they have a good chance to win? You bet. Am I about to prance around Soxblog's Song of the South-style manor in a Jaws jersey and be his manservant. Fuggedaboudit.
I would like to know, however, what cockle of Soxblog's dark heart pushes him to tempt a poor, downtrodden Philly fan in his time of need. Aren't Boston's dozen or so NBA championships enough? How about the recent Super Bowl victories? Or the new Beantown World Series trophy? Why, amidst this embarrassment of riches must he taunt a simple South Jersey boy?
The only explanation I can think of is that as a youngun', some bullying Yankee fan goaded the Soxblog into wagering his prized Yaz rookie card on the '86 World Series. Scarred by that ill treatment, the victim now becomes the perp. It happens. I saw it on Law & Order: SVU.
So I say to Soxblog: No thanks. You keep your clams. I'll keep what's left of my dignity. And with luck, some special teams magic, and an early pass-rush, hopefully the Eagles can make a miracle happen.
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