Your beloved Iggles are in St. Louis today to begin again what has felt, over the last half century, like a never-ending crusade. This season, however, should be unlike any other, and there is a palpable sense of finality, of desperation, of unspoken urgency, of what-do-we-do-if-this-doesn't-work?
There is even speculation that Andy Reid, whose remarkable 13 years on the job make him the longest-tenured coach in the league, has been fitted for a noose. This win-or-else ultimatum has become almost a preseason staple. It is not likely but not impossible, either, for the chips are stacked to the ceiling.
They have spent hundreds of millions in the offseason, they have plundered and pillaged the free-agent market, they have assembled a roster of neon names, they have traded and drafted in a frenzy, they have retooled, rebuilt, replaced, rejected, re-booted, revamped, reshaped, recharged, revised, reconsidered, and generally regrouped.
And lest we forget, there is that little matter of redemption.
Redemption is the lifeblood of sports; every day, somewhere, somehow, another athlete is making the most of a second chance.
Or blowing one.
The Eagles, as you know, have assumed the greatest redemption risk of all: One hundred million dollars - that's $100,000,000 - for a penitent, injury-prone 31-year-old ex-con who plays football like a jackrabbit trying to cross the interstate.
When healthy, Michael Vick is a breathtaking talent, Houdini in a helmet, able to wing tight spirals with a wrist flick and to dance between the raindrops while large, ill-tempered pursuers are left grasping a handful of air.
There is not, in the entire National Football League, a performer of such versatility and importance.
Surely, you say, there must be a catch.
