Donovan wants Andy to lose a little weight, remember to take out the trash, buy him flowers every once in a while and cherish the quiet moments together. Andy wants Donovan to stop fumbling the fucking ball and completing passes to the other goddamn team.
I know a lot of strange, once unimaginable things have occurred since I last posted on this weblog.
I considered opening with a phony mea culpa and trotting out a laundry list of excuses for not posting since August. But what’s the point?
The reason for the absence of activity is simple: The Rube is downright lazy.
Always has been.
Always will be.
The Rube is to laziness what Babe Ruth was to prodigious inebriation and epic home runs. What Wilt Chamberlain was to scoring with basketballs and bimbos. What George W. Bush is to – oh, well, you get the idea. Lazy.
A lot of people, from Bristol, Conn., to Philadelphia to various other points on the world media map too stupefying to contemplate, are analyzing the fallout that will consume the Philadelphia Eagles in the wake of Donovan McNabb’s halftime benching on Sunday. It’s a mini-media circus.
Yes, Donovan McNabb probably won’t be in Philadelphia next year, the Eagles probably won’t be relevant again until 2020, and Andy Reid probably will explode, unleashing a disgusting torrent of blood, viscera and partially digested Oreos on horrified bystanders.
This is all very important, but it troubles me. I worry that the omnivorous media, in the course of practicing due diligence and showing uncommon restraint, will nonetheless inflict great harm on Andy and Donovan by exploiting their professional problems at a such a delicate time in their personal relationship.
Everybody wants a piece of this story. Even the venerable Bill Conlin, no doubt stunned by the way his withering cynicism prodded the Phillies to their first World Series championship (World Fucking Champions!) in 25 years, brings his literary élan to bear on this subject.
Things like this have a way of getting messy and devolving in ways nobody intended or anticipated. ESPN.com’s James Walker already thinks there’s good reason to be worried about Donovan’s mental health, keenly detecting “disappointment, shock and loneliness” in McNabb’s body language Sunday. And he’s probably on to something. First there was the whole embarrassing episode where he didn’t know that NFL games could end in ties. Then this. So much pressure. A man might crack under the strain.
Disappointment, shock, and yes, loneliness. So ronery.
Today, the Rube offers a birthday prayer: On Donovan McNabb’s 32nd birthday, I beg Ashley Fox and John Smallwood and Phil Sheridan and Bob Ford and Matt Moseley and Merril Hoge and the rest of our friends in the mainstream media to take a deep breath, extend Donovan best wishes and give Andy and Donovan some breathing room to work out their differences. Please halt the madness, if only for a moment.
P.S. Donovan and Andy will celebrate their 10th anniversary on April 17, the date the Eagles plucked the fledgling NFL quarterback with the second pick in the NFL draft. Traditionally, tin and aluminum are the discerning buyer’s choice for 10th anniversary, though in modern times, given as we are to gaudy excess, diamond jewelry has become popular. So says Wikipedia. All offerings should be sent to:
Donovan and Andy Forever
CO Philadelphia Eagles
One NovaCare Way
Philadephia, PA 19145