The Mill's New Mayoral Fan

The Mill's new biggest fan?

(It's rare that a single man wields such tremendous power over both what we perceive as reality, and the many worlds of our imagination. But this week is gigantically important for the NFL and for fantasy football teams - and Mayor Michael Nutter is the most powerful man in both realms. I decided to write him a letter thanking him for pretty much winning me my fantasy league this year. And for being an all-around nice guy.)

Dear Mr. Mayor,

You are obviously a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. I’m pretty sure it’s stipulated in the city charter. But I had no idea that you were also such a big fan of my fantasy football team, “Vick and the Underdogs.” You see, your decision to postpone this week’s game against the Minnesota Vikings will most likely guarantee us another fantasy championship.

Please allow me to explain.

My team consists of a bunch of players (see Schedule A attached), including - but not limited to - Mike Vick and DeSean Jackson. The original game time, 8:30pm on Sunday night, would have coincided with a ferocious blizzard of biblical proportions. These are not conditions typically conducive to Vick’s and D-Jax’s field stretching deep game. Instead of watching the dynamic duo make TD passes fall like rain on an overmatched Vikings secondary, we were more likely to see handoff after handoff to some running back who is not on my fantasy team - WhoSean McSomething, or whatever - as the teams slowly battled across a frozen tundra of shattered fantasy dreams and broken make-believe promises.

But thanks to you and your so-called concern for public safety, we can now see Vick and the Eagles run and throw unencumbered by blinding snow and 6-foot snowdrifts. There will also be less risk of an avalanche burying the goalposts, which would confuse David Akers enough to possibly kick the ball the wrong way - which he hardly ever does. (Note: Akers is also on my fantasy team).

Consider the fact that the NFL has not postponed a game due to snow (not including the Metrodome’s recent roof collapse) since some time right before the War of 1812. This can only lead me to believe - and since my fantasy football team has only been around since some time AFTER 1812 - that you postponed the game to virtually assure my fantasy team of victory. No other logical explanation exists.

So instead of waiting for your imminent fan mail to me - soon after I capture my crown as repeat champion of our fantasy league - I decided to beat you to the punch and send a quick note to you - not only thanking you for your patronage, but also providing some answers to a couple of questions that you were probably wondering about.

Question: Mill, how do you do it year after year?

Answer: I’ll assume you’re asking about my rampant success with fantasy football, and not the fact that my waist size hasn’t changed since college. Well, it all comes down to being smarter than everyone else. And/or having a faster internet connection so that you can pick up free agent players like Michael Vick before anyone else in the league gets their dirty little paws on them.

In fantasy football, as in like, you need to “take it one day at a time.” Like the Marines, you need to be “Always Ready.” And as General George S. Patton said, “A man is not a baby or a woman. So quit crying, take off those pantyhose, and get back to shooting some Nazi bastards!.....Seriously, they’re headed this way.”

As a fantasy football manager, these are all words to live by, and sometimes you just have to hope that the other managers in your league are not Nazis.

Question: What’s your prediction for the game tonight?

Answer: Thanks for that question. Of course, the Eagles are going to win big. 48-10 would be my most conservative guess. Vick throws for over 400 yards, and rushes for another 80. DeSean catches 9 passes for 196 yards and 3 TD’s. Akers kicks 6 extra points and two 40-yard field goals. I win my fantasy league by, like, a gazillion points or so.

So, Mr. Mayor, thanks again for being such an all around nice guy in both fantasy and reality.


Warmest Possible Regards During This Coldest Possible Weather,

- Mill

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Sports Day!!

Today is Sports Day.

Sports Day is celebrated when Jupiter aligns with Pluto, the Gulf Stream reverses course for 24 hours, and/or a whole bunch of important sporting events occur on the same day. Generally, it happens once every 76 years, much like the arrival of Halley’s Comet.

Check out this crazy line up:

8:20am until whenever the slowest guy finishes: The New York City Marathon, sponsored by Goldman Sachs and your tax dollars. Or something like that. My money is on the Kenyans.

1pm: Eagles vs. Giants in Philly. It’s a battle for the NFC East between two bitter rivals. These teams hate each other so much, they spit on one another’s pets’ graves.

4:15pm: Brett Favre returns to Green Bay for the first time – as a member of the archrival Vikings. The Packers had to muster up extra security, presumably in the event that the fans try to murder Favre. Treason is still a capital crime, after all.

7:57pm and 33 seconds: World Series Game 4. The Phightin’ Phils battle the Bronx Assholes, er, I mean Douchebags. Oops…That’s not right either. Okay, I just checked on the internet, and they’re known as the Bronx Bombers. Anyway, if the Phillies can grab a victory, they’ll even the series 2-2. If not, they’re in deep shit. My prediction? A-Rod strikes out 4 times – twice with the bases loaded and 2 out. Sabathia looks tired by the 3rd inning, giving up back-to-back-to-back homers to the murderer’s row of Utley, Howard, and Werth. Also, Joe Blanton steals 3 bases – the first 3 of his career. Fat pitchers don’t steal too many bases, and that’s why he’ll catch the Yankees completely off guard.

Joe Blanton: Used to throwing a baseball hard with his arm. Not used to running fast with his legs.

So with all these sports going on, how do I find time to write? Halftime, and commercial breaks mostly. But in adishun to that, I save tyme by skipin the spull checker and gramer looker at thing

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Michael Vick and the Eagles – An Epic Conundrum

Dress me in an ironic Vick jersey.

Since the announcement, I’ve racked my conscience. I’ve spent countless hours watching Michael Vick highlight reels AND visiting DailyPuppy.com. I’ve pored over documentation regarding the United States penal system and its limited success in rehabilitating criminals. I’ve cried myself to sleep thinking about those poor, poor fighting doggies, and what Vick and his co-conspirators did to them.

But I’ve also found myself in a cold sweat, awakened in a sudden fit – paralyzed with excitement. The only taste in my mouth a faint tingle of Super Bowl glory. My only vision - emerging from the inky blackness of our New York night - Vick lined up left of center, with McNabb to his right. Brian Westbrook in the backfield, and DeSean Jackson on the outside.

The defense doesn’t know what the fuck to do.

The center fakes the snap to McNabb, who goes left, while Vick crosses his path and receives the ball. Westbrook fakes a handoff and Vick keeps the ball. He fakes a pass to Jackson, and then fakes another pass to McNabb. He jukes right, stutter steps, and spins just out of reach of a flailing linebacker.

He’s toying with them - for lack of a better analogy – like a squeaky hot dog chew toy.

Then, it’s off to the races, as Vick sprints down the sideline - as if he’s chasing a mechanical bunny – and scores the touchdown.

Eagles win. Again.

Mike Vick will do this all day long. He also makes a mean cheesesteak.

But at the same time, I really like dogs. And I can’t really forgive Mike Vick for doing what he did. And then again, he’s an incredible athlete. If he’s even in semi-game shape, he could provide an incredible offensive spark for my beloved Eagles.

Love of Eagles vs. love of dogs. Michael Vick vs. Cesar Millan.

I guess everyone does deserve a second chance – especially if they can help the Eagles win a Super Bowl. I might have very well been singing a different tune if Vick had signed with the Giants or the Cowboys. But he’s an Eagle now. And until he’s pulled over by the cops in his SUV, and an unregistered handgun is found in his glovebox – along with 2 ounces of marijuana and some child pornography - I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

Although I would recommend you keep him away from your dog(s) for the time being.

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The Philadelphia Eagles - A Case Study in Human Pain

I’m an Eagles fan, and have been for the last 32 years or so.

Thus, it was with great pain and misery that I watched this past weekend’s loss to the Arizona Cardinals. It was for a trip to the Super Bowl, no less.

I’ve never been a fan of any other football team. I sorta liked John Elway’s Broncos, and I kinda liked Warren Moon’s Oilers – but never enough to really care if they won or lost.

So I really have no idea what other team’s fans go through year after year. That being said, it sure as hell seems to me that Eagles fans suffer the most searing, torturous pain of them all: the pain of never quite getting there.

Sure, the Eagles have been a very good team for most of the last 10 years. They have the 4th best winning percentage in the NFL over that span. Bengals and Browns fans would give anything for a .500 season right about now. But Eagles fans want it all. And getting so close for so many years, makes it hurt that much more – like a fork in the eye, or a fork in the groin. Or even a fork in the neck.

Losing to the Cardinals was, in some ways, not as painful as previous big-time losses. The Eagles looked like shit midway through the season. It appeared like their playoff hopes were dashed long before the dice began to roll their way. It’s easy enough to say, “We never should have been there in the first place,” or “Andy Reid looks hungry. Somebody get him another hot dog before he passes out.”

The playoffs were a mere afterthought to a turbulent season.

But in other ways – and the more I think about it, the more it hurts – this most recent disappointment was most painful of all. I mean, come on. The Cardinals? They suck. They suck perennially. It has literally been 60 years since they were any good. How could we not make it to the Super Bowl this year?

It’s the pain of an awful toothache. The kind of pain that makes you want to grab a pair of pliers and a handle of whiskey, and take care of business on your own. No doctors, no sedation. No disinfectant, no rubber gloves. The pain of a thousand burning needles on your feet. The agony of one single paper cut on your tongue.

It hurts.

Maybe I’m being melodramatic. In fact, I know I’m being melodramatic so that I can use New York Times Op-Ed words like “melodramatic” and “elegiac.”

My elegiac moans could be heard for miles and miles after the Eagles loss.

I was bawling like a schoolgirl whose parents wouldn’t let her go to the Jonas Brothers concert because, “those boys are just a little too seductive.”

Anyway, the season’s now over. The pain will slowly subside, as it always does. Five NFC championship games, four bouts of melancholy and intestinal distress. Only one trip to the Super Bowl.

Maybe next year.

After a few months of healing, I’ll be ready to do it all over again. And maybe I’ll try something next season that I haven’t tried before: narcotic painkillers.

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Philadelphia Eagles - Does Philly Deserve Two Championships in One Year?

If the Eagles win the Super Bowl this year - and the odds are approximately 1 in 4 right now - then Philadelphia will have celebrated two major professional sports championships within the past 4 months.

The city's collective head will explode if this happens.

Philly sports fans are used to the losing seasons, the endless disappointment, and the deep seasonal depression. We accept it. We expect it. And in some strange way, we take pride in it.

But now, for the first time in recent memory, Philadelphia is on the brink of true sporting excellence. Super Bowl and World Series champions in the same season? It's almost unheard of.

Unless you live in Boston or New York.

Sure, the Eagles have been generally quite good for the past 10 years. Bengals fans must be cursing me for even a hint of complaining. But we can't help but anticipate some sort of last-second calamity - snatching and securing our defeat from the jaws of victory. Will it be a McNabb interception? A blocked punt in the endzone? Coach Andy Reid choking on a cheesesteak? All of the above?

I think the Eagles have an excellent chance to beat the Arizona Cardinals next weekend, and earn a trip to Tampa. But in a way, I fear that potential victory. I know my hopes will be raised to a height from which they can be easily smashed - like a seagull drops a clam on the rocks below, breaking the shell to get at the soft innards. I saw that on the Discovery Channel. And trust me, the analogy is perfectly apt - due to my delicate, tender psyche, and hard, calcified sports fan exterior.

Anyway, I'm prepared for the disappointment if they lose. And I'll do whatever I can to help produce a victory, in order to avoid that disappointment.

By the way, you really don't want to know what rituals we performed today in order to help the team win. It mainly involved distracting Eli Manning while the Giants were on offense, and eating/drinking certain things at certain times when the Eagles had the ball. I think I'll leave it at that.

In any case, whatever we did, it worked.

At this time next week, we'll know if the Eagles will continue their quest for the best, or if I'll be curled up in the shower crying. Again.

And even if they do win, I'm sure Philadelphia fans will find something else to be disappointed about - even before the Gatorade has dried on Andy Reid's soft, shapeless back.

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Monday Night Football - What Did I Do Wrong?

This post was originally entitled "How I Helped the Eagles Win on Monday Night: A True-to-Life Story."

But the Eagles did not win last night. They lost by 4 points to the Cowboys of Dallas. For a time, however, it looked as if they might achieve victory.

And things really turned around for them when I finally dug my authentic David Akers practice-worn (never washed) jersey from the depths of the closet, and pulled it over my head. I've always known that my indirect actions as a fan - many hundreds of miles away from the stadium or arena - have a direct effect on the outcome of my favorite teams' games.

But this was ridiculous.

After that mega-asshole T.O. scored on a long bomb, and Felix Jones ran a kickoff back for a touchdown, I knew I had to do something. The Eagles were down 14-6 in the first quarter. I had to do something. Oh yeah, my magic jersey. Why don't I put that on?

And so I did.

On the next drive, the Eagles' Asante Samuel intercepted a Tony Romo pass. They then quickly drove down the field - with the help of a totally bullshit pass-intereference call against the Cowboys - and scored a touchdown. On the ensuing kickoff, the 'Boys bobble the ball and recover at their 4-yard line. After a false start, they're at their own 2.

Next snap, Romo bobbles the ball, loses it in the end zone, Eagles recover for another touchdown.

Clearly, me wearing the jersey has turned the tide. It's now 20-14.

After that, the lead changed hands several more times, with sweet play after sweet play. Deep passes, strong runs, and ridiculous escapes by Donovan McNabb were all partly due to me wearing that jersey.

I was confident. And you could see that confidence reflected in my team's faces. Even curmudegeonly coach "Fat" Andy Reid was seen smiling.

How did the Eagles lose? Poor play calling? Fumble by Brian Westbrook in the final minutes of the game? I guess those things may have played a role. But don't forget - I was wearing the jersey the entire second half.

So I'm not really sure what went wrong. The only thing I can figure is that some distant Cowboys fan had a lucky jersey AND a really lucky hat. Or maybe even lucky socks. Or he put a lucky Cowboys sweatshirt on his bulldog. That would be cute. And lucky.

Maybe I need to get myself a dog, and have HIM wear the jersey.

It's worth a shot. Super Bowl XLIII, here we come!!!

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