WinterSpringSummer

Brotherly Love

for James Phillips and the Philadelphia Eagles

A local man [James Phillips] said he shoveled snow at Lincoln Financial Field for 30 hours getting ready for the big NFC championship game, and now he is in the hospital, in danger of losing his fingers, his toes, his ears and possibly his nose.

–reported by NBC 10, Philadelphia, January 27, 2005

We love you more than fingers or toes.
Remember that.

Remember when they call us dangerous,
when they issue warnings throughout the league
and hold him up us as proof of just how crazy we are.

Remember, we love you
more than mere digits,
more than appendages—ears or nose.

We love you more than the scent of sweet fried onions
on a cheese steak on an Amoroso roll.
We love you more than Tony Luke’s, Pat’s, Jim’s, or Geno’s.
We love you more than soft pretzels,
more than water ice, Tastykakes, or $4 Pitchers of Lager.

We love you more than the sticky floor at Dirty Frank’s,
more than Tattooed Mom’s, the Continental, or Buddakan.

We love you more than the girls at Delilah’s,
more than the men of The Cave.

We love you more than William Penn, Ben Franklin, or Betsy Ross,
more than the Constitution,
more than the Liberty Bell and its ridiculous crack.

We love you more than Cape May in August,
more than the Mummer’s on New Year’s Day.

We love you more than Rocky,
more than counting the steps at the art museum,
more than jogging along West River Drive.

We love you from the Schuylkill to the Delaware,
from the Blue Route to the Boulevard.
We love you more than South Street,
more than parking in the middle of Broad on a Sunday afternoon.

We love you so much
we shovel snow for you,
30 hours in a blizzard with no gloves
for you.
This is how we are dangerous:
after all these years, we don’t see ourselves
turning purple in the mirror,
our fingers, black and green,
the colors of your uniform.