I have been to exactly two Eagles games in my entire life. One was a few years ago at Candlestick Park when they came to San Francisco to play the 49ers. And the other was at the Vet with my Dad when I was maybe 6 or 7 years old.
My parents were friendly with the GM of the Eagles at the time – they knew him through church. He gifted two tickets to my Dad, and since he was the GM you know these were great seats. We were on the 50-yard line maybe 10 rows off the field. I knew nothing about football, but it was a chance to spend the day with my Dad.
I don’t remember anything about the game from that day – not even who the Eagles were playing. But I do remember it was very hot – it was pre-season, after all, so August in Philadelphia. There was a high school marching band right in front of us on the sidelines. They performed in their full uniforms before the game. I think the were probably going to perform again at halftime, but instead more and more of them wound up leaving the sidelines, some being taken away on carts. These poor kids were collapsing from heat exhaustion. I think I probably spent more time watching the kids collapse than I did the game. It didn’t matter to me. I was just there to hangout with my Dad. And we returned home sunburnt from head to toe, both of us. Isn’t it funny, the things you remember?
I thought about my Dad a lot yesterday as I watched the pre-game hype. I wish he would have been here to see the Eagles win their first ever Super Bowl. But since he is no longer with us, maybe he had a little hand in securing the victory from beyond. I like to think that anyway.