Imagine for a minute, if you will. You’re at your school dance. You’re having a blast doing whatever kids do at dances and in come this beautiful person; I mean absolutely gorgeous human being you have ever laid eyes upon. Your whole world slows down, palms sweaty, heart is racing, pupils dilated and hormones raging.
All you can do is gawk and admire this beautiful specimen. The dance goes on. Finally, you work up the nerve to walk up to this magnificent work of art. Upon your trek towards your desire, you approach several obstacles (cock-blockers) upon your path. Gracefully, you maneuver through these challenges, for the prize is much bigger and worth the adversity. With each victory, you procure and strengthen your confidence, knowing that when you approach this beauty, nothing will stand in your way. Ecstatic, you arrive at your final destination! There you are staring at your prize, your prize staring at you. With eyes locked, sweaty palms and heart racing, you go to speak to this sumptuous being. As you go to utter the words you’ve thought long and hard to speak; OUT OF NOWHERE, YOU GET PUNCHED IN THE DICK BY HER EXBOYFRIEND, BIFF*!
That’s what it feels like to be an Eagles fan! Let me tell you something. I’ve been waiting a long time, 14 years to be exact to get another shot at seeing my birds play in a Super Bowl. The last time we made it to the big dance was back in 2004 and let me tell you who Biff’d us, the New England fucking Patriots! Tom Brady and the rest of his rag-tag, UGG boot wearing, J.Crew, hair slicked to the side having ass bastards, defeated the Eagles 24-21. Giving Mr. Tom “I deflate balls” Brady his fourth Super Bowl victory at the time. Fourteen years later, the pain still lingers. I would love nothing more than to witness and partake in an Eagles Super Bowl victory, but, alas, we are playing the New England Patriots and their counterparts (The Referees). Am I a hater? Perhaps. I mean, let’s be honest here, the Patriots have had a lot of “coincidental” calls in recent memory. Albeit, excitement does fill my heart, but the lingering presence of doom long overshadows my elation. Nonetheless, we made it to the big dance, so there’s a small glimmer of hope. That beautiful, delightful, and elusive Lombardi Trophy is lookin’ mighty fine.