A Weekend to Remember
The chants of “Defense Defense!!” rocked the dome late in the fourth quarter, but something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
Fans dressed in green were making the clamor, supporting their beloved Eagles. Huh? The Birds don’t play in a dome. The Saints do, and they were starting the decisive drive late in a crazy game trapped in an atmosphere that sounded a lot more like Philadelphia than New Orleans.
Eagles fans travel well, you say? I was there with at least 15,000 of their loudest supporters in the Bayou last weekend, and I can confirm that proud credo. They turned a 49-year-old dome into Lincoln Financial Field late in Sunday’s 15-12 win. They willed the interception by Reed Blankenship in the final minute to seal their improbable victory.
And the cheer that erupted as Blankenship lay on the field, his arms draped around the football, was deafening. I have been in many stadiums and arenas over my 73 years, and I have heard nothing that approached the volume of that din in New Orleans last weekend for a visiting team. It has never happened. At least not with me there.
I wrote an entire book about the psyche of the Philadelphia sports fan — it’s called LOUD — but I still have a lot to learn about these special people. What I discovered last weekend is that they care more about these games, and this team, than even I imagined. The joy in the stands at the end was palpable, and it spilled onto Bourbon Street for most of Sunday night.
In the interest of full disclosure, the game itself was not three hours of unbridled joy. It was drudgery until the fourth quarter, an exercise in frustration filled with misfires and dumb coaching decisions, until Saquon Barkley and Dallas Goedert made huge plays to cap off the winning rally.
But we are a bottom-line city, and the bottom line was a win that defied the “experts” (me included). The Eagles are 2-1 now, safely past the ugliness of last season’s horrible ending.
Bravo to that.
E-A-G-L-E-S!
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I thought it would be fun if I counted the number of Eagle cheers I heard in the course of the four-day trip to New Orleans. There were five on the charter flight, another two in the New Orleans airport, and then I abandoned the project on Friday night when there were too many to count once we arrived at the Creole Queen for a cruise along the Mississippi River.
By then, I had other concerns, starting with being on a boat in the first place. I didn’t realize I had agree to the role of Cruise Host until I read the leaflet just before we had started the trip. I hate boats. I fear boats. When my old WIP partner and pal Hollis Thomas recruited me and my wife Gail for the trip, obviously I didn’t ask enough questions.
Fortunately, the boat was big and sway-free, and everyone agreed that if we did sink, I was guaranteed a spot in the first lifeboat — along with the women and children, of course.
My former intern and co-host Natalie Egenoff (who was there with my ex-producer Tyrone Johnson, the afternoon host now on 97.5) introduced me on the boat’s PSA system, and I brought back the loud old radio guy — after an 18-month absence — for a few minutes of caustic commentary and a lively Q & A.
Later, as the boat was cruising along the Mississippi, Hollis regaled a group of lucky fans with stories from his 15-year NFL career, including four seasons right there in New Orleans.
Hollis Thomas deserves to have one last day as an Eagle. I say it again here because I was never heard by the team despite many demands I made on the air during my time at WIP. Hollis played more than a decade in Philadelphia, and he remains one of the team’s best ambassadors. He deserves a final bow.
Also present on the cruise was the legendary caller to our show, Kenny (Justice) from the Dirty Thirty, who later said the chant for “Defense!” on Sunday was the loudest he ever heard from Eagles fans in his long history of road trips, including the famous Miami game of a few years ago.
When we arrived back in port on Friday night, the walk back to the JW Marriott was a sea of green. There were 170 fans on our trip — which was sponsored by Philly Sports Trips — and literally thousands more who found their way to New Orleans by other means. Most of these fans are just working people. They see these trips as a great way to splurge. What better use is there of expendable income than rooting for their favorite team?
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Saturday was a free day to explore New Orleans, and Gail and I jumped on the On-Off Tour Bus, which has 19 stops across the city and beyond. Again, most of the fans on the bus were wearing green, so I — a rookie at these things — decided to spread my fan wings by starting a spontaneous Eagle cheer on the upper level of the vehicle.
“E,” I screeched.
Nothing.
“A,” I yelled, even louder.
Still nothing.
“G,” I bellowed, growing concerned about the disinterest of the other passengers.
Crickets again.
At this point, I should have rushed through the other three letters and ducked my head to avoid further embarrassment. That’s what fans later told me to do with a misguided cheer.
Instead, I aborted the mission, facing the shame instantly. Gail shot me a look that said: “Stay in your lane, idiot!” Later, surrounded by drunk Eagles fans that night at a pep rally on Bourbon Street, I tried another chant, with predictably better results.
The highlight of Saturday, for me anyway, was a visit to the World War II Museum. I had read that the 45-minute 4D film there was an extraordinary experience, and the reviews were totally right. I left the theater there more patriotic than I have ever been, even though my father served in the Marines during that epic conflict and spoke many times about the sacrifices made by so many young Americans.
Not to get political here, but we all owe our lives to the democracy that they fought so hard to preserve. If you are ever in New Orleans, you must see this film. That experience alone was worth the trip.
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The day of the game was like the two days preceding it — unbearably hot. The heat index was well over 100, making the huge tailgate party two blocks from the Superdome an exercise in endurance. I lasted about 15 minutes, before I began the sweltering trek to the old stadium.
The Saints clearly didn’t want our boisterous group anywhere near the field, so they provided our tour group with tickets in Section 650, which is behind one of the end zones. I was literally three rows from the ceiling. Given the size of my nose, if I had a nosebleed, I could have taken out the whole section.
Still, the turnout of Eagles fans was unimaginable. I could see splotches of green through the stadium, and these fans were not at all reluctant to show their support to the visiting team. Unlike the Linc, however, there was no danger in screaming support for the Birds. I have never met a friendlier or classier fan base than the people who support the Saints.
Even at the end, when the Eagles took the lead and our fans began to take over their building, the Saints supporters were gracious in defeat.
In fact, they have their own chant: “Who dat!”. It expands from time to time to: “Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints!” It’s actually fun to say, though Gail flashed me the stink-eye the one time I couldn’t help joining in.
When the Eagles had secured the improbable win, one of the well-lubricated Birds fans got right on the face of a New Orleans fans and screamed: “Who dat? We dat!!”
At the Linc, that might have been enough to set off some fists a-flying. Not in New Orleans. The Saints fan sitting right in front of us just shrugged and said, “Hey, we didn’t deserve to win.”
I am told by eyewitnesses that Sunday night on Bourbon Street was a Philadelphia-style Mardi Gras. I will take their word for it. I stayed in my room and watched the other NFL games, a party pooper right to the end. I already had what I wanted, and didn’t expect — an Eagles win.
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I would be remiss if I didn’t offer a brief commentary on the game itself, and especially the extraordinary performance by an Eagles defense that woke up after two awful games.
The Georgia boys, Jalen Carter and Jordan Davis, were terrific in the middle of the defensive line, and the rest of the defenders profited greatly by the Saints’ insistence to keep running the ball, even when it was clear this was not running back Alvin Kamara’s day.
On offense, Saquon Barkley and Dallas Goedert stepped up to replace the injured A.J. Brown and DeVonta Smith, and somehow the offensive line survived the first-half loss of Lane Johnson.
The Eagles did more than overcome injuries and a talented Saints team. They also survived another terrible performance by their coach, Nick Sirianni, who passed up field goals three times on fourth down, with predictably disastrous results. If the Eagles manage to make the playoffs this season, it will be despite Sirianni, not because of him.
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In the end, though, the Eagles won — thereby making an already great trip much, much sweeter.
The fans in our group of 170 were unanimous in acclaim for the four days on the Bayou. I know. I stood in line with them for hours talking about our experiences. (The New Orleans airport is a nightmare.)
Right now, in fact, I am writing this on the flight home, a two-hour journey devoid of chants or cheers.
I guess these loyal fans are quietly basking in the glow of victory.
Or maybe — probably — they are just very hung over.