Fly Eagles Fly

Life as an obsessive fan abroad...

What makes a fan? 

We’re a competitive family.  Huge games of Liverpool Rummy with 4-5 decks of cards, Volleyball, croquet, Pictionary (renamed Pooptionary after a St Louis trip where someone farted a lot).  I can still remember tears streaming down my Great Aunt Janet’s face from laughing so hard and my Great Uncle Otto howling and taking his glasses off to recover.  And then one of us would giggle or make a fart sound and we were all off again.  

Sunday’s were for family.  And we were a baseball family.  My dad was born in St Louis and a massive Cardinals fan.  But moved to Philly when he was 18 so we were destined to be Philadelphia fans.  Games were always always on, TV or Radio.  When we were little I learned how to correctly keep box scores.  It was something to share with my Dad; uncomplicated shit talking and a joy to watch live.  My grandfather was a big Flyer’s fan– we were the Broad Street Bullies; I wasn’t much into hockey– still am not; but I understood the attraction to fandom. It baffles my friend Gina who calls it sportsing.   

Beating the Cardinals

I am a hard core Phillies (baseball), Penn State Nittany Lions (College (American) Football) and Philadephia Eagles (Professional American Football).  I grew up on the Phils and that love was shared by my best mate Megan.  Our old stadium the Vet was a big old circle and we would walk around the whole thing and flirt with boys, and then school them on tactics for the game when they would start posturing.  Megan’s mom was our softball coach and although we weren’t very good, bonds were forged on the field.  I also played Football (British) and Field Hockey in high school.  I love the camaraderie, the dedication and the frustration and joy.  

Because you see, Philly teams suck.  My entire life THIS was going to be the year.  Would have, could have, should have. It’s our year was the refrain for the first four games until they would talk about next year and re-establishing the line.  They are untouchable, we are going to do it; until we didn’t.  We never won but occasionally got tantalisingly close.  Close enough to talk shit on the bandwagon fans that only get on board when the trophy is within touching distance.  We can berate and give our team the hardest time in the world, but as soon as anyone else tries, we will f’ them up.  My normal saying is “Don’t Make Me Go Philly on Your Ass”.  Legend has it that we threw snowballs at a santa one year for being a Giants fan.  My godson Lewis is an amazing ice hockey player and has been competitively playing for years and years; I can’t wait to see him on the ice when he goes pro. But I worry about my temper in the stands if someone gets into it with him.  Bless his mother Nicole for the thousands of hours carting the boys to different states for games and tournaments.  It’s a way of life.  

I could write a thousand pages on my teams.  Take Gritty, our Flyers mascot that looks like a strung out crack addict.  Like properly insane mascot,  And when it was unveiled to the public we were appalled.  Until other team’s fans started talking trash and then we could not love him more.  An artist here Riot Rogers created Grittney, the female version, and I got her to come to Passyunk Ave for a shoot and as my Christmas card.  About four people got the joke, but those four really really enjoyed it.  

My high school is the second oldest in America and we have the oldest rivalry in the country.  We were the academic school and they were the sports school; but every year on Thanksgiving we play them in American Football.  The rest of the year our soccer team were the jock boys we made out with.  But on Thanksgiving with Alumni in the stands it was on.  Central Mambo Ole Ole Fuck Northeast.  Us being Central.  And then as we start to lose inevitably the cheers turn to “That’s alright, that’s okay, you’ll be working for us some day.”  Not nice, but always yelled.  They took our yearbooks back and glued pages together when the first letter in each caption spelled out Fuck Northeast.  

Megan and I both had baseball loving dad’s.  They didn’t care that we were girls, they cared that we had an opinion on the game.  They cared that we had strategic thoughts about opponents.  They cared that we absolutely loved watching it with them and going.  The pomp and circumstance. The dollar dog nights where friends give a twenty and throw them to the crowd.  The foam fingers.  Our junior year the nosebleed seats were $7 and we went to over forty games.  It was our thing.  I definitely dated someone for their seats, I was fifteen.  

Megan’s dad was David McCarthy but when we were little it was Mr and Mrs McC.  In high school I probably spent about as much time at her house than at my own.  I became family and remain it to this day.  His influences on me still populate my life; he sorted my Aunt’s mortgage and had her sign for the best home insurance; when the house had a fire a decade later, Dave’s influence once again made itself known.  He was the mayor.  Knew everything and everyone, ear to the ground.  

I often get asked about my self belief and confidence; that was not in some small part down to the McCarthy’s. Megan and I were ambitious, bratty, mouthy and determined– and all of that was celebrated.  We were encouraged to break the mold and if people did not like us, our unit meant it didn’t really matter.  And we liked the attention of being the girls at the game who knew all of the players names, positions and batting average. 

Around 2007 Dave was sadly dying of esophageal cancer when Charlie Manuel, the Phils manager came to sit with him in hospice knowing he was a lifelong fan.  My best friend had an emergency wedding (the planned one was to be 6 months later)  so Dave could be there he wore a Spamalot shirt that said “I’m not dead yet.” Typing this brings back so much, he was gruff, protective, hilarious and gave us tons of shit but fiercely loved us.  He also would tease us when we were scheming that we thought we were naughty but did not hold a candle to the shit he got up to when he was young.  When we were in the Championship race right after Dave passed, Marie (Mrs. McC) would hold his picture to the screen and then hide behind it when the games were too tight.  

I was in London watching the games at 2 am at the Sports Cafe.  There was a rain out and we had to come back yet again in the middle of the night.  A couple of years ago a woman recognised me from the night we won she had been studying abroad at the time and now a decade later she was visiting.  She said I had fallen off of the pool table and yelled at the Hoff that he was nothing without his car because he had cheered for the Rays.  It tracks.  There is a reason I quit drinking– but would probably talk that much shit tomorrow too.  

The Phillies are the oldest continuously run, single-name, single-city franchise in American professional sports. That means we have had many many chances and usually fell short. But in 2008, in 2008 we did it.  We won the World Series for Dave that year.  It had been 28 years since we had a championship. 

Leaving Philly for university in Boston was a stupid and strange move, I didn’t know where to go and they had given me a scholarship so off I went to Boston University for my first semester of Uni- because I was a city girl and didn’t want to go where tons of people from my high school were going— and I absolutely hated it.  There was no campus, no school spirit, no collective thread.  My roommate would have sex while I was in the room hacking up a lung from bronchitis.  I was crying about how absolutely miserable I was when my friend Christie invited me to come for Columbus Day weekend and somehow managed to get a ticket for the Ohio State game.  Penn State’s stadium has 110,000 seats and it is never enough.  I took an 18 hour bus ride and arrived as the game was kicking off.  We threw bags into her dorm and ran to the stadium.  20 minutes later in the student section we scored a touchdown and the people in front of us threw everything in their hands in the air.  I was hit with a hotdog and knew I was home.  This was WE.  This was the collective experience, this was where I was meant to be.  I still had ketchup in my hair as we walked by the administration building.  My acceptance was still valid and I transferred on the spot.  And then went back to Christie’s dorm to call my parents and tell them.

I became the biggest cheerleader for Penn State (not a literal one) but a tour guide that walked backwards to share the campus with prospective students and absolutely bled Blue and White.  I was introduced on the field at halftime in my senior year which was a dream.   Christie from the Ohio State story met her Dave freshman year and they were the first of us to get married, at Penn State no less.  And when I speak on campus in March she will be flying in.  

I have now hosted the Penn State Alumni for games for 18 years now in London.  It is a common thread that takes some admin and some pain; but is brilliant for bringing us together and feeling a little bit of home.  The absolute obsession with Penn State Football led me to the Eagles.  My first year here, 2002, Krissie Brush (another Penn Stater) was here and we watched the play by play get typed in.  The little graphic football moving across the field opposite Iowa. It was incredibly painful, especially when they misreported the score and I thought we had won.   I’ve listened to games in Italy at 4 am.  I’ve flown to watch them at Croke Park.  

In a world where things have been so polarised and ugly and harsh; there is unity over  hating Tom Brady and the Dallas Cowboys.  We can sing Fly Eagles Fly after the extra point— always after the extra point; we can hug, kiss and cry.  We can get crazy drunk and miss the second half and blame it on it being three am.  

When I heard there was a Philly food truck I got my bum to spitalfields and met JP the owner.  Immediately I was throwing all kinds of PR ideas at him. We got on immediately over our shared love of the teams and all things Philly and stunts.  Four months before they were to open a bricks and mortar location we were having the craziest season in the history of the Eagles.  Our main Quarterback, think Wayne Rooney or Beckham, was injured and his number two stepped up a led us as major underdogs to victory.  

The night of the Super Bowl because JPs Philly Bar, Passyunk Ave, had yet to open, we went to the brewery with thirty five other die hard fans to watch.  And my dog McNulty.  We were playing Tom Brady who might be the GOAT but is also an asshole.  There had been balls tampered with and his entitled smug face is very much hated in Philly.  Because the license didn’t allow sales it was free beer and cheesesteaks and our Birds.

I think part of the absolute passion and nature of Philadelphia fans is that it is a rough city.  It’s a poor city and a dangerous one.  But when our teams are in contention, we are nuts.  Everyone  and I mean everyone gets in on it.  The cashier, the guy crossing the street, the ladies sitting on their stoop; everyone is all in.  Abbott Elementary captures it perfectly.  All the schools have assemblies; kids wear dog masks because we were the underdogs.  So many years, so so many years.  But this rag tag team with a ton of injuries had the heart and then some.  Guys that had been on the practice squad found themselves starting.  Boston Scott who is little for professional football was so little they couldn’t find him.  I will never forget us running a trick play called the “Philly Philly Special” which meant that the guy that always threw the ball ended up catching it for a touchdown.  We were elated, in shock and disbelief at our very first Super Bowl win.  I cried for like three days, that might have also been because of the hangover and sleep deprivation.  41-33 we actually beat the Patriots and TOM BRADY. 

Philly went nuts.  The city had put lard on all of the telephone polls to deter people from climbing them.  Philly took that as a challenge.  The parade was glorious, insane and wonderful.  Jason Kelce, the heart of the offensive line, wore a Mummer’s Costume (string band— lots of sequins) and sang “We’re from Philly, Fucking Philly, no one likes us we don’t care” At the bottom of the Rocky Steps.  Obviously tourists want to run the steps, but we have a lifetime of school trips running them, we went there post prom to make out, we also ran up them with Megan’s entire bridal party in wedding regalia complete with muffs and her in a wedding dress in December.  

It is now my favourite song and Kelce released a Christmas album.  To wait that long for something we so desperately wanted.  For all of our lifelong fans that didn’t get to see it.  It was just everything. It still is.  

There is a movie called Invincible with Mark Wahlberg about a guy that came to open tryouts and became an Eagle.  They filmed part of it in my high school lockerroom because it hasn’t been updated in 40 years and still looked like the 70s.  These underdog stories are what we were raised on and we actually had finally did it. The teenagers in Philly right now actually expect their teams to win.  They don’t anticipate the heartbreak that comes annually as a Philadelphia Sports Fan.  

We are the locals at Passyunk Ave. We have the table in the front room that is on a church pew.  I used to spend a ton of money getting absolutely wasted in there; now I eat bananas and fill my water a million times a game and am there 8 hours a weekend without buying much more than a diet coke; but I was in there when I hit 1000 days off of drinking two weeks ago and the whole team hugged and congratulated me.  After our incredible Super Bowl win (note Tom Brady didn’t even shake Nick Foles’ hand– sore loser) the Eagles were coming to London to play at Wembley.  The night before the game the management and coaches showed up at Passyunk.  Now Passyunk is on Cleveland Street.  It’s the most dive bar you will find in London.  It looks like my dad’s basement bar.  It’s Always Sunny in Philadephia is on if sports aren’t.  Everyone talks to everyone— asking if they are really from Philly or bullshit Philly. Or maybe that’s just me because I have the street creds of having actually gone to Central High School of Philadelphia and grew up in the city not suburbia (aka Bullshit Philly). Jason Kelce’s Mummer’s costume is now at Passyunk.  When the Eagles guys arrived on a tour bus, there was no way everyone would fit, but in walks Swoop (our mascot) and Brent Celek brought in the championship trophy- The Lombardi. We were going nuts.  Outside one of the team managers let me wear his Super Bowl champions ring which dwarfed my hand.   

Passyunk Ave is my home away from home named after a street in South Philly. Maybe JP and I bonded over niche jokes. I can often be found running around the corner during a game to do a quick LBC interview (which is ridiculous of me).  But it really is my favourite way to spend a weekend.  I don’t do the fantasy stuff, I watch and cheer or cry and then for the most part wait till the next weekend.  Part of my fear about quitting drinking is that I would no longer be able to do my favourite thing.  But that isn’t the case at all.  I’m still an obnoxious Philadelphia fan.  I’m still obsessive.  I still talk mad amounts of shit.  And have amazing conversations with the fans that are visiting from Philly and can’t bear to miss a game. (ALWAYS BOOK in ADVANCE. It’s always always sunny in philadelphia and always over subscribed on gameday at Cleveland Street)  I actually went to my first in person Eagles game last Christmas.  20 years of being in London meant that I hadn’t been back in season.  Janet Binswanger invited me and her family have been the longest season ticket holders in Eagles history, from right at the beginning of our almost 90 year history.  It was such an amazing and wonderful day… tailgating and then the game, also we were directly next to the other team’s owners who weren’t happy that they were getting their asses handed to them.  

The guy I had been seeing in September teased me about the three way between me, him and Philly sports.  The first time he stayed over, I watched football from 1 am-5am, but we were on fire.  I couldn’t miss it because it might be another 80 years without a win. And really, start how you mean to go on, right?   I would not date let alone marry a Cowboys fan.  I joked that the reason I live here is that the guys have to take on my teams.  Jonny, my ex who was my long term partner joked that not having to get up in the middle of the night for football was the best part of our break up.

In 2008 I had had Megan’s bridal party gift them season tickets for the Phillies so to bring it full circle when the Phillies made the World Series this year she said “you are the only other person that I’d give it to” her sister and husband were the other two tickets.  So I got on a plane.  

We didn’t win, but I saw a World Series with my best mate and bitched about them not taking an opportunity to get a sacrifice fly.  We thought about her dad, and mine who is very much alive but bitter that we had knocked out his Cardinals early on.  Going to a World Series and not even noticing until I was on the plane back that I didn’t have the urge to grab a beer is a huge milestone.  

Tomorrow night the Eagles are back in contention.  Three of our regular Passyunk crew will be at the game in person in Philly.  The rest of us will be biting our nails, the nails of the stranger sat behind us and screaming about shitty refs.  We are one win from the Super Bowl.  I pity the foolish 49ers fan that tries to rock up to Passyunk tomorrow.  And basically a 49ers fan has sealed their fate by putting a 49ers shirt on the Rocky statue.  If you do that shit in our backyard you suffer consequences.  It would actually be a brilliant move by Sirianni (our coach in his second year) to have done it to fire the team up and piss them off.  

Last week when I was about to go live on BBC News, one of the producers Robert came on to say Go Birds and that he would see me in Passyunk.  It cracked me up.  All of the women that follow me about women’s safety and police reform get used to 4 months of American Football talk, but we all need our hobbies and passions, right?  The best Philly news interview ever given was after Agholor had dropped two passes.  The guy was being interviewed in front of a building ablaze.  They had rescued two babies from an actual burning building and he tells the story and says “We were catching them unlike Agholor.”  Philly Philly Special.  

Philly has fight.  That is in my blood and doesn’t require booze at all.  And as someone brilliantly said on twitter, “If your city doesn’t grease telephone poles to stop vandalism, do you even deserve to win a National Championship?”

GO BIRDS.  Fly Eagles Fly.