The game was lopsided, the Falcons toothless, so Andy Reid gave 'em Michael Vick. Let him throw a touchdown pass that turned a 27-0 embarrassment into a 34-0 stomping. Who knew that inside that grumpy, feisty exterior we see on Mondays lurked someone marshmallow-soft, marshmallow-sweet?
Jeff Lurie did, one of the reasons he handed Reid a 3-year extension yesterday. That, and the fact that the Eagles are in the playoff race despite playing with a crippled version of what Joe Banner called the best roster in the league. The man can coach.
Monday night, in Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, 20,664 filled the Wachovia Center to celebrate the return of Allen Iverson to the woeful Sixers. Screeched joyously when he was introduced. Kissed his scrawny backside when he knelt to kiss the logo. Cheered lustily when he drove baseline and lofted a layup that didn't quite get there.
Uh huh, the same Allen Iverson who broke most of the rules while he was here and bent the others. The same Allen Iverson who spent too many hours hunched over a three-card poker table in Atlantic City, who saw too many dawns break. The same Allen Iverson who humiliated coaches, who said he'd run through a wall for Mo Cheeks and then wound up leaning against one, too weary, too bored, too rebellious to practice.
Had they also forgiven his vanishing act on "Fan Appreciation Night?" Did they forget that he had grumbled his way out of town, demanding a trade that Ed Snider couldn't wait to approve?
I have been covering sports in this city for more than 50 years and I cannot recall back-to-back baffling events, the puzzling crowd behavior in Atlanta on Sunday, and the fawning hysteria that surrounded Iverson's return on Monday.
