Nurse the Hate: My Eagles Uniform

I was introduced to football by my father, like most boys.  I started my relationship with football at a young age.  My most cherished outfit was a Philadelphia Eagles uniform that I would wear as a child complete with a small plastic helmet that fit my little head.  I cut quite the strapping figure as a three-year-old boy that looked ready to jump in on kickoff coverage at a moment’s notice when I went with my mother to the airport.  There aren’t many uniformed football players at the Philadelphia Airport, much less three-year olds with their helmets on/chinstrap tight. 

The uniform was #35, which I know as fact was a forgettable linebacker named Adrian Young.  I think the uniform had a random number applied by the Chinese company that made the outfits as Adrian Young was not a player with a high enough profile to warrant a section in the team shop.  I don’t ever recall seeing Young play in a game, and I was a little disappointed it wasn’t #18 Ben Hawkins (who never used a chin strap) or #82 Tim Rossovich (a complete psycho with a wild head of hair).  At three years old, you just take what they give you.  I was always loyal to Adrian Young and maintained support for him even when his playing time was limited.

My father was pleased by my embrace of football, and obviously my mother was in full support as well as she likely dressed me up in the Adrian Young uniform for our airport pickup mission.  I remember standing next to my mother, helmet on, watching passengers disembark the plane scanning for my father.  I was feeling quite proud of myself wondering if anyone might think I was Adrian Young himself.  Young, not a great player, was still probably larger than my 35 pounds.  At least I hope he was as it would have been difficult to succeed in the NFL under 50 pounds.  A woman walked down the hall and remarked to her companion “OMIGOD!  How Cute!”.  This was when I realized I didn’t look rough and manly but in fact looked like a three-year-old playing dress up.  I suddenly felt self-conscious and used the helmet like an ostrich used a hole in the sand.

When my father got off the plane my mother pointed him out.  I hid behind her leg, realizing I was drawing attention to myself in my Eagles uniform.  My father gave me some sort of supportive greeting and we all walked out of the airport together.  I seem to remember being carried as I held onto a mini football.  That football made an impact on all of our lives.  I dented every lamp shade in our apartment making slightly less errant passes than subpar Eagles quarterbacking “greats” of that era such as Norm Snead and Rick Arrington with that football.

I was six years old when my next pro football memory kicks in.  The Eagles used to scrimmage at a college field somewhere in downtown Philly.  One night in the pre-season they would hold this open scrimmage for the fans.  My father took me despite me not grasping what the word “scrimmage” meant.  I couldn’t get my arms around the idea of them playing anything but an actual game.  No one likes a six year old that can’t latch onto a simple concept.  To give you an idea of how much smaller the business of the NFL was then, the fans just circled the high school style rope around the field.  I spent most of the event playing in the wood shavings of a pole vault pit with other boys. 

After the scrimmage ended, the players would walk to their cars through the fans while still dressed in their uniforms.  They didn’t so much leave as try to escape.  I was able to secure two autographs.  One was from a running back that I believe never made the Eagles or any other NFL team, Speedy Thomas.  Obviously, his name helped make him important to me.  The other was kicker Tom Dempsey, then holding the record for the longest field goal in league history.  I was scared of Dempsey because he had been born missing a hand and with a stump for a kicking foot, not something most six-year olds encounter with great frequency.  He scrawled his name on my program holding it against his helmet with his stump.  He then hurriedly climbed into his VW Beetle in full uniform to drive away.  You don’t often see a large man missing a hand driving a VW Beetle in an Eagles uniform,  Different times.

I remember going to Veterans Stadium with the temporary metal bleachers pulled out, the fans making a thunderous noise by stamping their feet.  The season ticket holders around us became familiar as the seasons wore on.  The older man to my left shared his peanuts.  The foul mouthed good natured man behind us that smoked two cigars, one lit each half.  They were callous but kind to me.  The Eagles were reliably terrible and the fans loved them with a possessive viciousness.  Itvwas a sense of community.  Even now when I smell a certain cigar smoke it takes me back to being a little boy with the taste of peanuts in his mouth, shells at his feet.  

Parents can provide many of their own interests to their children.  I’m glad mine gave me football.