I'm trying hard to be something that has rarely ever been seen:
A humble Philadelphia Eagles fan.
(Take two steps to the right; slide, slide, shimmy, shimmy, do a John Travolta across-the-shoulder disco point to the sky)
I needed a day to assimilate the Eagles amazing 41-33 victory over New England in Sunday's Super Bowl. I watched ESPN for four consecutive hours Monday to see all the replays of the Philadelphia Special, that unlikely play just before halftime where running back Corey Clement took a direct snap, pitched the ball to tight end Trey Burton, who then threw a lob pass to wide-open (backup) quarterback Nick Foles for a 1-yard touchdown and a 22-12 lead. On fourth down. Yes.
(Two steps to the left, slide, slide, wiggle, wiggle, rapid wrist roll, like you're a ref making a traveling call)
I know me. I thought I'd be impossible most of the game, but I actually sat relatively still, hardly touching my remote, and joyfully watched the game unfold for three-and-a-half quarters.
It wasn't until the Patriots took their first lead of the game at 33-32 with just over five minutes left to play when I couldn't stand it anymore. I left the sofa. I started pacing. Kim kept asking me if I was okay. But I knew what was coming. Everybody did. The Patriots were going to stop the Eagles on their last possession. We'd seen them do it before. Against the Seahawks. Against the Falcons. Against the Jaguars. They had the Eagles right where they wanted them.
Only this time, the Eagles marched 75 yards down the field behind an incredibly calm Foles (calmer than me), capping the drive with an 11-yard TD toss to tight end Zach Ertz with just over two minutes left to play.
It took my breath away. By this time, I'm yelling at the TV. I'm yelling at my wife. I'm yelling at my cat. I'm yelling at myself. I might have repeated "Oh my God" for two or three consecutive minutes.
And moments later, the Eagles added a field goal off a strip sack of sainted Patriot quarterback Tom Brady. The Eagles, who seemingly had an answer for everything the Patriots did, survived a Hail Mary pass at the end of the game (it was a closer thing than it should have been) to win the Super Bowl.
(Alternate fist pumps with hip thrusts, followed by a moonwalk)
It feels a little like karma to beat a team with the mystique that the Patriots have developed over the past two decades. They are the bar that everyone tries to clear. It's gratifying to beat the best. It makes your effort all the more memorable. Especially when it's your first championship.
So, yes. I'm trying to be humble. I guess Lexington is fortunate that I haven't tried to climb any lamp posts in the last 24 hours, or jump off the Candy Factory awning, or roll over my friend's Mini-Cooper.
But I'm almost 67 years old. I've been an Eagles fan since 1964, when our family moved back to the Lehigh Valley after a three-year stint in, ahem, New England. It's literally a life event for me (as it is for many of us who wear the green-and-silver) to celebrate this victory.
So excuzzzzzzze me (Shimmy, shimmy, pump, pump, twirl, split). I'm gonna enjoy this for a while.