I said repeatedly I couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for the Superbowl and I meant it. It’s only now, after the fact, it becomes clear how really close Philadelphia did come and what might have been.
. . . amazingly, Owens is breaking free. The clock has only zeros. The noise in the stadium is the solid wail of a siren. His knees are high as he comes all the way back to the left sideline and, there on the mezzanine level, standing in the open booth, Merrill Reese says the words we have heard incessantly since and will hear for the rest of our lives: “They won’t get him. No flags. No flags. No flags. The Eagles win. The Eagles win. The Eagles win the Super Bowl. Philadelphia – get ready for a parade!”
So, instead of just another day on Broad Street, another miserable day with people grousing about what would have been three interceptions by the inexplicably groggy McNabb, about another example of egregious clock management by Andy Reid, there was a parade to authenticate the 27-24 win. Better late than never.
I didn’t feel anything after the loss: too tired, too ready to accept disappointment. This article hammered home the magnitude of missed opportunities. What a drag. The Phillies better do damned well this year. The Red Sox had better win. There had better be a Philly/Boston sports dynasty developing.
That would make it all worthwhile.