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OUT OF LEFT FIELD |
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It's a sport for participants
in Philly, not just spectators
of TheColumnists.com
I started covering pro football games at the Polo Grounds in New York in the early 1950s. I covered the Giants when they moved to Yankee Stadium, discarding New York by taking a better deal and moving to the Jersey Meadowlands. I covered the Jets at Shea Stadium and when they scuttled New York for a sweetheart deal offered by New Jersey in the Meadowlands.
I would go to the game and make my way up to the press box after noting some of the tailgating in the parking lot--more tailgating and more robust eating as the years went by. To get a better sense of the fans I was one of those who lobbied that press box windows be kept open--even on frigid days--to get a taste of the fans’ noise and enthusiasm.
In all those years I never experienced anything like the phantasmagoria of an Eagles game in their big stadium on the south side of Philadelphia last week. This was an experience of sensory overload from being amidst the singing, yelling, beer-swilling, constantly-on-the-move green-clad masses drenched in management huckstering.
Let me count the ways:
.
Excitement and anticipation among the many fans wearing green
Eagles gear animated the packed subway car from Center City to
the stadium.
.
A zesty aroma of cooking emanated from thousands of cars, SUVs
and campers in the parking lot where the sense of excitement
spiked as we got closer to the stadium and game time.
. People
were frisked at the stadium entrance by security. Once inside
they stopped at the row-on-row of stands selling Eagles paraphernalia,
souvenirs, toys. My pal, Felicia Gonzalez, bought a stocking
cap in anticipation of late-evening frost.
. We passed row-on-row-on-row of concession stands selling foods at inflated prices healthier than some of the greased offerings.
. For the playing of the Star Spangled Banner, representatives of the armed forces unfurled an American flag that covered the entire field, from sideline to sideline, from end zone to end zone. The size of it took my breath away.
. Everything came up on giant screens, each about 30 yards wide behind both end zones. Just before the kickoff the screens displayed highlights of Eagles action interspersed with scenes and the booming music from the “Rocky” movies.
. Also before the game the omnipresent public address announcer urged the spectators to back the Eagles and “show the entire nation why you are the best fans in the United States.”
. At the end of the national anthem fireworks burst from the top of the five-tier stadium. Fireworks filled the sky after each of the Eagle scores.
. Spectators stood frequently during the action. Dan Murphy, my friend who treated me to the game, said, “We pay $90 for these seats so we can stand through most of the game.”
. Commercials blasted out of the public address system almost without stop. The ear-splitting sound had the effect of making people shout to be heard. There was no escape, no quiet time to reflect what a gold mine this enterprise is for management.
. After awhile I winced whenever galoots took charge in crucial situations to wave their arms and demand that people “get up, get up.” People dutifully got up. Soon I coped by staying in my seat, watching the action on the giant screen.
. Exhibitionists were everywhere, anxious to get attention, wearing makeup or outlandish costumes in hopes of achieving the thrill of seeing their outlandish visage on the big screens or on TV.
. Rampant commercialism prevailed. There was a “Snapple Coin Toss Kid” who participated in the pre-game coin toss; another boy was commercially labeled “The Kickoff Kid” for retrieving the Eagle kickoff tees.
. A commercial logo accompanied every replay on the screens. The paying customers were assaulted with commercials on the screens during times-out just like TV viewers at home.
. No matter how close the game, the aisles throbbed with people going back and forth from their seats to the concessions, mostly buying beer.
. A tender scene: A guy wearing Donovan McNabb’s No. 5 hugging a gal wearing David Akers’ No. 2.
For me the most stirring moments followed
Eagle scores when it seemed as if the multitude of 69,000 stood
as one and sang the Eagles song. These words rang out in the
night:
Fly Eagles fly
On the road to victory
Fly Eagles fly
Score a touchdown one, two, three
Hit ‘em low, hit ‘em high
And watch our Eagles fly
Fly Eagles fly
On the road to victory
(Then shout: E-A-G-LES-Eagles!)
It was as if none of these people had a college song to sing, so the Eagles were the alma mater closest to their hearts. (None of this is shown on telecasts dominated by commercial breaks).
Amidst all the turmoil, uproar, frenzy, passion, fury, ebullience, chaos and turbulence, it became evident that many of these fans were not spectators; they were participants. Almost always there was as much action in the stands as on the field.
There was also a game. The Giants beat the Eagles, 36-31. In the future, this old fogey will turn down the generous offer of a free ticket from my pal Murphy (if it is proffered) and retreat to the serene comfort of a seat in front of my living room television set.
©2008 by Stan Isaacs. The Stan Isaacs caricature is ©2001 by Jim Hummel. The images are courtesy of the Philadelphia Eagles and the cheerleader photo is courtsy of the Palm Beach Post. This column first posted Nov. 17, 2008.
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