Philly, We May Have a Problem

Instantly recognizable as the major refrain from Jason Kelce’s immortal address to Eagles fans following the Super Bowl 52 Championship Parade, those words resonated deeply for me – a euphoric lifelong fan who never even lived in the city – on that celebratory day in February 2018. As my family will not hesitate to share, my first word was “Eagles” after hearing Fly, Eagles Fly sung loudly each Sunday afternoon at my grandma’s house. Standing at the edge of Eakins Oval in the largest mass of Philadelphians ever assembled, Kelce’s words carried a sentiment echoing everything I’d been taught all my life about being a Philadelphia fan: we’re tough as Nails (and Dutch and Kruk and Wild Thing), we’re descendants of “Broad Street Bullies,” we throw things at beloved holiday mascots, etc. etc. Our passion is unmatched, our tailgates are unrivaled, our booing of our own players is infamous.  We – the young generation of Philadelphia fans – have been told by family and friends all our lives that these were points of pride.  We’ve been indoctrinated to believe that no one likes us and (conveniently enough), without asking “why?”, we don’t care.

But maybe we should care. Maybe this “F— you” attitude in our sports fandom is endemic of a larger meanness that’s turning us into a bad sports town. (If this is making you mad already, I apologize, but I ask that you hear me out). Maybe all those NBA free agents and trade-targets who can get their own buckets won’t want to come to a city that’s known for being ruthless on the radio, perpetually unsatisfied, and hostile to opposing teams’ fans without provocation. Maybe all the intensely threatening social media comments left on the profile of the Birds’ young corner are an outsized reaction to one blown coverage in a tight game. Maybe, just maybe, our idea of “accountability” for these highly-paid athletes should be a little more advanced than demanding they live in fear of our wrath to justify the high ticket prices we (somehow still willingly) pay to watch them perform.

If you read that last bit and thought I was unfairly generalizing – throwing out the bad apples with the bunch, if you will – then in one sense I agree. I don’t think the above listed behavior is representative of the majority of our city’s fans. “Look how patient we were with Markelle!” But in many ways, it does seem to apply to our most vocal performers: inebriated gladiators outside the Linc on gameday, overly crass hecklers behind the opposing dugout in Citizens Bank Park, and those enraged Union supporters who inform Inter Miami’s fans their Spanish songs and chants won’t be tolerated because “This is Philly.” And I must make it known, I’m not leveling these charges as some outsider who looks on Philadelphia in disgust. I  know people like that and I defend Philly against them. But as I get older I unfortunately see more and more merit to some of their arguments. I hope this isn’t the part where you stop reading and say, “He’s a fair-weather fan (I went to Process games, I swear I’m not),” “This is a soft, garbage take on Philly” (Controversy creates conversation!), “He’s never lived in this city, he doesn’t know what it’s like!” (I admit that, although from what I’ve seen many of our most vocal fans are out here with me in the burbs…).

I don’t come here solely to complain and malign the city, however. This you must believe. I love Philadelphia and its sports teams. An Eagles win or loss makes or breaks my Sunday, every Sunday, for reasons I refuse to justify. I still lose sleep over K*whi’s Game 7 quadruple doink. I still watch the Phillies. But the more I think on the things that make us exceptional in sports, the more I feel bogged down by an exhausting reputation as impossible to please and perpetually sitting on pre-packaged takes like “Why (insert star player we all loved at his big signing here) is actually the reason we’ll never win big.” I think it’s important for me to state here: I don’t believe for a second that the aforementioned elements of “toxic fandom” are unique to Philadelphia, or even worse here than they might be elsewhere. And I’m not calling on the city to simply embrace apathy or a losing mentality. I’m calling for us to ultimately do what I was taught to do whenever I was angry at myself on the court or let self-doubt keep me from playing my best on the field: remember that sports are games, and games are supposed to be fun. That’s what I told myself in my limited high school and collegiate experiences as a player. But can’t that be true for the fans as well?

Which finally brings me to the topic I really want to discuss. It would appear that Philly is, yet again, standing at a crossroads with an incredibly talented young athlete. How do we look at Ben Simmons after another incredibly disheartening second-round exit? Will we run him out of town? Should we make him fear our boos so much that he will be compelled to avoid failure? My guess is that our collective attempts to treat patient-athletes with negative reinforcement won’t lead us to a desired result. It may, however, permanently damage our relationship with the athletes whose jerseys we donned with so much pride all season long.

I’ll admit that, as a thoughtless teenager, I joined the chorus of boos directed at Ryan Howard when he never fully returned to form after tearing his Achilles. I felt, very unjustifiably, that I deserved more from this man who was battling improved pitching and his injuries. That he wasn’t working hard enough to get back. When Carson Wentz began to struggle last season, I was confused and at first felt betrayed – as if he was making conscious decisions just to tempt me to throw out that maddeningly expensive Nike jersey with his number on the back. The common denominators between these examples and others in my lifetime are many, but a few stand out. Individual players on a losing team being directed by some combination of a coaching staff, general manager, and ownership become targets for our ire and we bully them until we feel our voices have been heard and they… want to be good again? Because they saw how upset we were? I’m starting to think it may not work out like that. I really don’t think booing Bryce Harper after striking out against mind-bogglingly good pitching is our due-diligence as the Phightin Faithful. It might serve us briefly, after a few beers at the ballpark, to relieve our immediate and/or pent-up frustration and remind an extremely talented hard-working athlete that strikeouts are bad, but it also gives other fans ammunition against us. “The only people Philly fans hate more than themselves are their players” (I heard that one in college and it stung). Perhaps we can try a different approach, without losing any of our passion for the game(s).

Back to Simmons. Many of us feel like we’ve been “defending” Ben in basketball arguments for years, and now the three-time NBA All-Star (by our very own fan votes!) has used up all our good will. That’s certainly what the national media believes our stance is. But if no one likes us and we truly don’t care, then maybe the best thing – the most Brotherly Love thing – we can do is buck their expectations and accept something fundamental: Ben Simmons is a Philadelphia 76er unless/until he’s not anymore. That part is not our call. And with Daryl Morey as the chief basketball mind in the front office, we should respect that the best decision will be made. But as people who are capable of empathy, we can acknowledge the fact that the season didn’t end the way any of us wanted it to, especially Ben. I can’t be sure what your profession is, but if you were continually confronted with all your failures and lambasted for all the times you didn’t do enough in the office or work site, you’d quit or be miserable. Why would a professional athlete feel any differently? In 2021, I think we’re all aware that pro salaries are unfathomably nice and social media mobs are unfathomably cruel. In my opinion, one doesn’t justify the other.

That’s all this is, of course – my opinion. I’ll admit I’ve allowed myself to become radicalized over this past hellscape of a year, but instead of channeling that energy toward amateur epidemiology or plots to storm government buildings, I went in a different direction. I chose to embrace radical kindness, wherever I could find it. I became so sick of negative social media interactions when all I wanted to see were some sports highlights, and I found it upsetting in a totally new way when fans were allowed back into stadiums and cruelty seemed (anecdotally) at an all-time high. I no longer find it entertaining when the cast of Mare of Easttown calls into WIP to tell me who has always been a bum or a fraud or a loser. I think we can do better to appreciate greatness and process the crummy feeling of big-stage losses as a sports community. It may require reinventing the idea of Philly sports fandom and tossing out the old adages. We might need to lead the charge against a true national problem. This could be a process. But hey – isn’t that something we have plenty of experience with?

I don’t want this to come off sounding like I’m telling you what kind of fan you should be, or how you should “properly” root for your team, or as a presentation of the list of “New Rules for Philadelphia Sports Fans.” That’s not what I’m trying to do at all. If anything, this is my meditation on years of a relationship in light of another incredibly difficult and emotional playoff exit in a season where it felt all year long like this could be our year. The more I think about this relationship, however, the more I feel like making it truly healthy – avoiding the rage and sadness and throwing sweat-soaked (or tear-soaked) jerseys into the deepest part of the closet – involves admitting something I’ve never thought was necessary before. This relationship we all have with our teams and our city and our players is primarily a relationship we have with each other. The Philadelphia sports fans. Teams can move, players will come and go, but what we have is special. We spend our free time rooting for outcomes we can’t control and rooted to a city with a history of excellence in so many things beyond just sports. The way we treat each other, as well as players and other cities’ fans, can be a model of Brotherly Love. Through highs and lows we can celebrate and console, laugh and languish, triumph and mess around on the NBA trade machine. But let’s enjoy it all and remember that sports are games, and games are supposed to be fun.