- From my mother: "How about those eagles!!!!!!!"
- From my father: “Eagles win the fricking Super Bowl.”
- From a member of the VCU Quizbowl team: “Go flying guys! might listen to a lot of meek mill tomorrow as a congratulatory nod”
- From my two best friends highlights included: “Tom Brady found dead in a ditch” and “Kate do you understand footbaw”
- From a groupchat called “Kosher Pizzeria”: just a link to the Philly PD scanner last night
- And finally, from my Dungeons & Dragons groupchat: “I HOPE TOM IS SAD. I HOPE HE IS. AND I HOPE BILL IS COLD. IN HIS SLEEVELESS SWEATSHIRT. YA LOOK DUMB BILL.”
No one can just say “hey, the Birds won.” People have to say “congrats on the big game!” I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even home. I watched the last quarter on a plainly illegal YouTube stream on my phone. But people voluntarily reinforce this thing about my identity because it satisfies their own ego. They are compelled to show they know who won, that they remember I’m Philly-adjacent, that football isn’t a lost cause to this nation yet.