Flying (literally) and Crashing (metaphorically) with the Philadelphia Eagles.

Wednesday night pops called and asked if I wanted to go to to Dallas with the Eagles. I said yes. This is that story.

First of all, there's probably the logical question of why we were asked to go on this trip, but I'm not going to tell you, so deal with it.

Now I never really thought about how the team gets to a game that's not in Philadelphia, but it turns out they fly American Airlines. Not normal AA, mind you. For instance, we had our own terminal, our own security, and our own parking lot. Yes, the Eagles and I are now our.

Pops and I enter the security trailer, which seems like a stripped bunker with a Sixers flag posted on the wall. Then we wait, because as my father's rule goes, if you're not 45 minutes early, you're late.

Finally our escorts arrive, sadly they are dudes, which leads to awkwardness later at the hotel considering my misunderstanding of the word escort. (this did not happen). We then are militantly rushed onto the plane. I'm not complaining, but if you've seen Schindler's List you understand the way we are moved on and off the plane. (that is not funny and probably offensive... to people who see movies?)

The first few rows of the plane are first class, for coaches and super VIP's (Joe Banner, random people I don't recognize). We are a few rows back from that, in what I would call business class seats. Our names our on a label stuck on the chair. The players file in after us. Donovan trips over the foot of the guy sitting in front of us. Doesn't go down all the way. That would be the closest he comes to avoiding a sack the entire trip. (zing)

Now on the plane all the players seem to be having a good time, I guess. They were behind me, and if you are reading this for inside information, there is none. I picked up my phone and watched 500 Days of Summer. Turns out I have dated Summer twice. (that's not a joke.)

When the plane lands in Dallas the flight attendant announces our arrival, and says the team had better win. I think that added pressure led to the result you saw Sunday. We have to wait for the players to leave before we can get up. This frustrates my father who likes to be the first one off the plane. He could beat Usain Bolt in a get off the plane contest.

We then hop on a bus, there are 5, to be taken to the team hotel in DFW (Dallas Fort Worth to those of you not in the know.) When we get there it appears that the Eagles have posted the team hotel on their website (they did not) because there are people waiting at the entrance asking for autographs. Not from me, but I would have signed Jon Dorenbos willingly had the opportunity arose.

They hand us our room keys, which have the Eagles logo on them. Seems gratuitous. We have two hours till dinner, so I go to the gym to jog/walk my two miles. One of the Eagles coaches is there already, apparently training to fight Pacquiao. Most intense workout face I've ever seen. Only women in labor know the face that man was making.

Dinner involves 8 VIP's (clients, hosts, Dave Spadarr0) in a private room of the Silver Fox. My initial thought was that the Silver Fox would be a strip club with old woman, I was wrong. It's a steak house. Most disappointing part of the trip... other than the escort thing. (By the way, if anyone from the Eagles ever reads this, I apologize, and I understand why I'm not invited anymore.)

Best part of dinner, aside from the food, is when a guy randomly enters our room and explains he was told Eagles were in the room. Spadarro says YEA! Guy looks at 8 paunchy white men and is quizzical, but he knows Spuds from his web hosting duties. Guy brings ups three bottles of Moet because he is the west coast brand manager. We drink it. He leaves, but it is awkward.

I'm semi drunk since it's the first day I've been able to drink since being prescribed medicine for the wizard in my brain. (MRI joke!)

Go back to the bar, and Todd Herremans is talking to three blonde ladies who are more out of their dresses than in them. Also have 400 "who is that guy" conversations during the course of the trip with pops. He knows the basic players on the team, but like most people can't recognize them with their helmets off. I told him on the plane ride out that I wasn't going to tell him if the player and/or coach is standing right next to us, so he shouldn't ask. He suggests a code where he says "what time is it" and I tell him the players name. I never went through with it, but he asked me what time it was 100 times. People on the trip are confused by his apparent inability to read his own watch.

Sleep.

Get up in the morning and order breakfast from room service as per the teams instructions. They offered to pick up the tab. My omelet was $4,000. Who knew they made omelets out of leaves of gold and four hour pay per view videos.

12:45 (game is at 3 local time) we and the team get on the bus. I was surprised at how late the team left to get to the game, but I figure they've done this before, and they know better than I. Three buses head to the stadium via police escort. I joke that I always figured if I was running red lights the police would be chasing me, not leading the ways. Derek Boyko does not laugh. It wasn't funny, so I understand. We then chat off and on for the rest of the journey. He was nice to me, and we seemed to get past my whimsical nonsense.

We pull into the bowels of the stadium, and drop the players off right in front of the locker room. After they disembark we get off the bus and walk right onto the field. I was probably most excited to see the stadium, and while it didn't disappoint I'm pretty sure it could make a child with ADHD vomit out of excitement. The screen is monstrous, obviously, but there is so much else going on. Ford has a car show and fountain, AT&T own the ring of honor, and Miller Lite has girls dancing on polls. (that is not a joke.)

We stand on the field for an hour or so and watch the players stretch and warm up. I take an insane amount of pictures. When I used to take clients on the field I always thought it was odd how excited they were to take poorly focused pictures of players stretching... now I understand. I guess when you get in the situation you automatically become lame. I embraced my lameness.

We head to our seats at the 40 yd line in the club box section. Awesome seats.... great view of the screen.



There was a football game... someone won... someone loss.

We head to the bus, commandeering a handicapped elevator to take us to the ground level. Felt weird as we held off people in wheelchairs. "No, you go down later." I probably didn't need to kick her, but she gave me the eye and I don't front. Anyone who knows me knows that fact. No fronting.

Security pats us down before we get on the bus. Needless to say I got some action on this trip. HEY OH!

We sit on the bus for an hour waiting for the players to finish their interviews. Pops says way too loudly "They probably stunk because they got to the game so late." I said "No one will ask you what you think about that." He says "yea, but if they did I would tell them that they should get to the game earlier." The Eagles executive sitting in front of us does not seem amused by this conversation.

Another police escort, which is awesome, they drive us right onto the tarmac. Players enter plane from the back, we enter from the front. Eldra Buckley is in our line for a few minutes, when he realizes I am not Jon Dorenbos. He runs for the other line. I would like to believe I intimidated Eldra Buckley. He will not remember this story, because it was not a moment of any relevance in his life.

Flight home is solemn, though Merrill says this is the way all return flights home because the players are tired. Best moment is when the plane lands, and and Eagles security member screams. Turns out an unnamed DT farted, and the security guy could taste it. Players laugh, but it's subdued.

We get off the plane at 12:30.