From ESPN.com:
Philadelphia deserved this day
By Brian Murphy
The Hangover is happy.
After 20 weeks of Meat Sweats, pop-soda debates, Al Davis' haircuts and envious admiration of Ed Hochuli's pipes, we have a Super Bowl worthy of Hangover Nation.
We have the New England Patriots, from America's New City of Champions, the most fundamentally-sound, team-oriented, disciplined, focused group you'll ever see in the NFL. They will bloodlessly destroy you. They have the killer instinct and game plan commonly found in campaigns run by Karl Rove.
On the other side, we have the Philadelphia Eagles, from America's City of Will-We-Ever-Be Champions, supported by the most neurotic, insane, comedic group of fans you will ever see outside of a "Cops" episode. They will bloodlessly destroy you with strong Bloody Marys in pregame tailgates. They have the killer instinct and game plan to make Jacksonville's tavern owners cry mercy by kickoff.
Pats and Eagles! Eagles and Pats! One team is vying to earn ODS (Official Dynasty Status). The other team has fans who are vying to burn ODS (Other Dude's Shirt) -- that is, when it happens to be enemy colors.
You could craft a nearly unassailable argument that the two cities in America with the most passionate sports fans -- Boston and Philly -- are now to meet in the ultimate American spectacle. (Sorry, Cleveland, New York and Chicago. You rank 3-4-5 in my unofficial rankings.) I love it. I can't wait for the game, the fan give-and-take, and the halftime show. The anticipation, though, comes with a deep, deep fear: That a wardrobe malfunction might accidentally expose the right breast of an overweight male Eagles fan in a Jon Runyan gamer.
Let's face it: Sunday wasn't about New England securing its third Super Bowl appearance in four years. We'll have plenty of time to toss those rose petals into the hood of Bill Belichick's fleece sweatshirt over the next two weeks.
No, Sunday was about Philly, and Eagles fans, and a dream coming true after three straight years of their hearts and spirits being put through the "Liquify" level in the sports blender of fate.
The key moment, when we all knew it was to be Philly's Day, was when little Timmy Kelly, blind and stricken with cerebral palsy, belted out a national anthem that had even hardened Philly fans -- the ones whose lifetime of cheesesteaks have spawned the hardest of arteries -- drying moist eyes.
The good sign for the Eagles wasn't so much Little Timmy's beautiful effort. It was the fact that, incredibly, nobody booed the kid.
It was then, and only then, that I saw clear sailing for Iggles Nation.
(And don't think I was alone in my fear of Little Timmy getting the Santa Claus treatment. Reader Dan Butler of Brick, N.J., e-mailed The Hangover shortly after the anthem, and expressed the same sentiment.)
Remember, nobody in Philly was counting on this as an automatic win. This is Philly, after all. It feels like nobody's been on top of the charts in this town since Hall and Oates inexplicably (and, thankfully, briefly) reached No. 1 with "Out of Touch" in 1985. Faithful Hangover reader Chris G. from Philly e-mailed before the game, essentially asking somebody to talk him off the ledge. "We'll be crapping our snow-filled crankypants until the final gun on Sunday," Chris G. wrote. "The only good thing will be that the snow will force the closure of area bridges, forcing Eagles fans to jump into the Schuylkill from alternate locations."
Nothing like a sunny-side-up Philly phan, eh? That's why I've devoted a weekly segment called "Philly Corner" in The Hangover -- people like Chris G. In fact, that's why I'm expanding it into a couple of Extra-Special-Edition "Philly Corner" Super Bowl Hangovers over the next couple of weeks. So keep those angst-riddled Eagles e-cards and e-letters coming, and we'll continue to fold, spindle, mutilate and otherwise analyze the Philly Phenomenon with bonus columns later this week and again just before the Big Game.
And yet, there was so much conspiring to make it Philly's Day: The weather was a huge factor, sure to rattle a dome team. (The weather also forced network talent to bundle up, and it was with great amusement and intrigue that I checked out Terry Bradshaw's turn as a drifter: The dark skull cap, the overgrown Van ... he could have passed as a guy living out of the back of train cars, with all of his belongings tied up in a red handkerchief.)
And then there was the eerie "Full Circle" theory e-mailed during the game to The Hangover by The Hangover's official mascot, reader Paul (20-Pound Motionless Quaker Head) Manion. We haven't touched base with Manion since the early season, but he pointed out this Serling-like development: The path to the Super Bowl for Philly would go through the Falcons, who feature punter Chris Mohr, a frequent subject of Hangover rants in the early days. If you don't remember, the raging debate was whether Mohr did or did not soil his pants on a nationally-televised game in Philly last year. Flash-forward to yesterday, when Mohr found himself punting into a gale-force wind, surely the force of fate blowing mockery his way.
By the time the game ended, and that fan held up the "RED SOX/MICKELSON/IT'S OUR TURN" sign, you had to think there is something outrageous at work here. We could have an Eagles Super Bowl title, a Lefty green jacket and a Bambino Curse busted, all in a 10-month span.
Philly? The Eagles? Champs? Could it be?
Does God have a mullet?
In the immortal words of another Philly legend: Ya gotta believe.
