Sometimes I wonder why I bother watching the Philadelphia Eagles. They’re playing like a freshman high school football team. (And a bad one at that.) Growing up, I didn’t have a choice. My Dad bled Eagles green and he expected me to bleed the same. But as an adult, I have a choice. I have my home and my television. Yet, every time the Birds take the field, I park myself in front of the flat screen and scream as if were standing on the sidelines with Andy Reid.
I’ll always be daddy’s little girl.