Peruff Is On Fire

Don’t tell the FAA, but I learned about the McNabb-to-Washington blockbuster 30,000 feet somewhere over New Mexico. While flying back to New Orleans from San Francisco after a week there for spring break, I received two expletive-riddled texts in quick succession informing me of this NFC East Armageddon. What was interesting about this (besides the fact that cell phones actually work on airplanes) was that, while both texts contained the basic elements of shock, betrayal and cautious optimism, they came from polar opposite ends of the McNabb spectrum. My Redskins-obsessed roommate (whom I have seen hang McNabb jerseys in effigy) and Philly-fan girlfriend (who has long made it clear that she would have no problem leaving me for “Donovan”) sent me the same exact text. The Skins traded for McNabb. What the f***.

Fortunately, my phone did not interfere too severely with the planes navigational systems, allowing the plane to land and me to continue to ponder the ramifications of this seemingly cosmic coincidence. From an impartial perspective, it would seem as if neither party had much reason to be too incredulous, that is to say that it appeared to be a good move for both franchises. For Philly, it was no bulletin that the McNabb era had run its course. The Birds freed up room to let Kevin Kolb develop and added much-needed draft depth. Washington added a proven veteran quarterback to an experienced, talented roster that thinks that the only thing separating themselves from wins has been a leadership vacuum. As they say, it's not rocket surgery (err ... brain science?). So why are people swearing at me?

I thought back for comparable examples in my own New England-fan past, and (with all due apologies to Curtis-Martin-to-the-Jets) could only come up with one that held the same type of emotional resonance, that of course being Johnny Damon’s infamous defection to the Bronx. I knew (in retrospect, thought) that Coco Crisp was exactly the player that Damon had been, only younger and cheaper. I knew the Yanks were overextending themselves (if such a thing is possible) and I knew that by the end of his contract he wouldn’t be anything more than a mediocre DH who would have to sit against left-handed pitching. I knew all of this, but my reaction was basically the same. What the f***.

It seems as if all of this proves one of the oldest sports adages at least somewhat false. Fans don’t just root for the laundry. Sometimes an individual player can become emblematic of a city in just the same way as the logo on their chest. Sure, time (and winning) can erase the memories of old allegiances, but it's undeniable that fans take the history of individual players into account.

No player on the recent Saints Super Bowl team was lionized in the same way as Drew Brees, because the fan base understood that Brees bought into New Orleans when nobody else would. The defining personality of the Celtics 2008 NBA championship wasn’t the walking Adidas poster Kevin Garnett, but Boston loyalist Paul Pierce. McNabb was Philadelphia, and no matter how much or how little he has left, no fan wants Philadelphia quarterbacking the Washington Redskins.