Eagles: Open Letter to No. 5

Ah, but it would be one thing if his interceptions were the only laughable thing about his performance in yesterday’s 28-24 loss. I can definitely say that you would not be out there sliding for two yard losses. This is the gritty, gutty competitor that Philadelphia’s fans wanted out there representing them yesterday? You might as well pull Bubby Brister out of moth balls. I know you, constantly killed for your inability to throw the ball away instead of taking big sacks, must have taken some sort of satisfaction when the absurd Feeley held onto the ball and slid rather than chucking it out of bounds with only a minute left to play. The imbecile let the clock keep running with the game on the line and no timeouts. In fact, right after I complete this letter to you, I will be firing a missive off to the NFL league offices. The way he was throwing the ball into double coverage, I have a sneaking suspicion that he may have placed a bet on Matt Hasselbeck’s team plus the points.

I must also pass along my sympathies regarding the hapless regime that you are forced to toil under. It is inconceivable that your leader, Andy Reid, chose to chuck the ball 42 times yesterday. That does not even take into account the times where Feeley was sacked or chose to impersonate Jimmy Rollins without making any discernible effort to pick up positive yardage. When I first turned on the game, I thought I was watching the opening scenes of The Empire Strikes Back. I was waiting for the scene where the big snowman guy comes out to club the individual whose career went down the tubes after a horrific car accident. But no, it was actually a football game. And yet Reid chooses to air it out like the Bush administration tossing around accountability for the Valerie Plame scandal. Forget about the fact that the wide receivers you are forced to play with wouldn’t get picked in a fantasy league unless the whole group attended the draft high on Ecstacy and Golden Monkey; Jerry Rice and Steve Largent couldn’t catch those ice balls. I have a suggestion on how you could improve your team almost immediately: Someone needs to introduce Andy Reid to Brian Westbrook. I am absolutely convinced that these men have not met. Actual acknowledgement of Westbrook’s presence would go a long way toward making your team right as the rain Reid ignored in no time.

I have already mentioned the horrid receivers that you are forced to throw to on a daily basis. But let me recount for added emphasis: Kevin Curtis is talented but a third receiver at best. Reggie Brown is destined to be a career underachiever. Greg Lewis should have been banned from the team four years ago. And Jason Avant? He should change his name to Jason Irrel-AVANT!!! Sorry, I got excited there. In any event, in your search for decent receivers, just make sure you don’t place any of your defensive players onto the other side of the ball. In two weeks, I have seen at least four missed interceptions. These guys couldn’t catch a drug dealer if you gave them the keys to Mr. Reid’s house. Takeo Spikes had a great opportunity to grab the momentum with an interception on the Seahawks first possession of the game. Kimo Van Oelhoffen couldn’t pick up a fumble that would have given the Eagles the ball in Seahawks territory on the same series of plays. If these guys were anymore awkward with a ball in their hands, they’d be my date to the eighth grade dance. (I’m sorry about that Mr. McNabb. That joke was not really appropriate for your mother and I know that she keeps a tight track of all your media mentions.)

Now I hate to do this because I know Mr. Hayes is a huge fan of Mr. Westbrook, but I do not believe that all blame can be lifted off of his shoulders. Yes, he was over 90 yards on an inexplicable 21 carries. Yes, he managed an impressive 46 receiving yards. Yes, he exploded for a 29-yard touchdown in the third quarter. And yes, he is misused by the borderline certifiable Reid like someone using a chainsaw to cut the Thanksgiving turkey. I am not trying to look the gift horse in the mouth here…but that punt return? He should have gotten in, no? His 64-yard return was quite impressive and certainly unexpected, but once he reached the 30-yard line, he was faced against one punter and one real player…and both were blocked. Was there a magnetic device attached to his pants that precluded him from moving farther than three feet away from the sideline? It seemed to me that all an elite athlete like Westbrook had to do to get into the end zone was cut toward the middle of field, dispatch of the kicking person like a flu-sufferer with a dirty tissue, and your squad of misfits would have been celebrating the continuation of their fool’s-gold pursuit of the playoffs. Instead, he chose to stick to the sideline, allow some special teams ne’er-do-well to escort him out of bounds, and take his chances with a herculean 14-yard march by the putrid Feeley. And we know how that turned out.

In closing, sir, and on behalf of Mr. Hayes, I just want to say you are alright with me. Do you have some minor accuracy problems? Sure. Do you move as adroitly as your average Dexter murder victim post-capture? Absolutely. Do you dress like a professional on the sidelines, without a Sopranos track suit, goofy cap and a towel under said hat for extra comic value? OK, maybe not. The point is if the Eagles want to win, your track record suggests that you are the man for the job. At least for now. And I believe, after yesterday, the town of Philadelphia - and the knucklehead who usually writes this column - knows it more than ever.

So again, sorry... and Mr. Hayes asks me to tell you that if you would like to stop holding onto the ball in the pocket like a precious family heirloom, that would be alright with him.

Sincerely,
Stu Pidass

Image credit to flickr user Eric I. E.