The Story of a Misplaced Eagles Fan: Part 1 — Awaking in Enemy Territory

Every once in a while, a story comes along that is so touching and inspirational that it forces you to stop and reexamine your life. This is not one of those stories. Instead, this is the story of my friend Ian Spurlock, an Eagles fan who one day found himself where no Eagles fan should ever reside — Dallas, TX. In this three-part story, you’ll get the inside scoop about what it was like to live through this man-made hell and how he was able to finally escape Dallas. Begin your literary journey after the jump.

While living in Dallas, Ian became aware of a scientific phenomenon; all inhabitants of this region inexplicably lost all of their shirts, grew mullets, and chewed on hay straws.

Through a series of unfortunate events and poor life choices, I’d found myself living in Dallas from 2006-2009. You know these life choices well. They involve your early 20s, cheap booze, a gambling problem, and an offer of work that provides a possible life course different than the debaucherous, liver destroying, financially ruinous one you are currently on. This is not the sort of life changing course that Nate Newton took, but I digress.

The ‘06 season was my first one in Dallas. It was also Terrell Owens’ first. I enjoyed the jokes of my friends following his suicide “attempt” (I just assume he didn’t get the job done because he dropped so many of the pills before he could get them to his mouth) that I had made it longer than T.O. in Dallas without trying to off myself. I hated the time when, at a popular sports bar, where I became a regular, in the uptown part of the city, a camera crew from WFAA (Dallas ABC affiliate) was interviewing fans for reactions on T.O. I was selected for my thoughts. I slurred forth with glassy eyes the party line of our fan base, that he was a crybaby, an overrated primadonna who, in order to speak and act the way he did needed to be 5x the receiver he actually was. I was shown on TV that night. In my McNabb jersey. With subtitles describing me as ‘Cowboys Fan.’

Ian felt the same way when he realized he was living in Dallas.

Work was fun the next day. I thought about calling the noted and famed Texas legal titan, Jim ‘The Texas Hammer’ Adler and suing for defamation of character but, tragically, the same poor ambition and ambivalence towards all things that require effort that led me to be in Dallas thwarted me.

My first game at Texas Stadium was by chance, and it was not an Eagles game. While drinking at that same bar a few Sundays later, I sat and drank Dos Equis (read: Yuengling Replacement) for about 8 hours with three Giants fans from upstate NY who were in town for the Monday night game as they watched my torment at a typical Eagles loss to whichever team whose turn it was to have us choke to. Good guys, for Giants fans, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so we had a good time.

Pat, Nick, and Dom are impressed by my devotion, loyalty, and anguish of that day. It turned out that they had an extra ticket since their friend was ordered by a judge to go into rehab that week. Statistically speaking, I believe studies show that 50% of Giants fans are operating under some court-mandated oversight, so, like I said, these were good guys, freely traveling across state lines with their group hindered by only half the expected rate of legal restriction.

We met at the stadium around 2 pm. They wore their Giants blues, I wore my green #5, not showing complete solidarity with my new-found allies, but enough to let the enemy know I was still an enemy. We descend on a party tent erected outside of the stadium, in the parking lot, a parking lot that is already too small and forced the majority of the fans to be able to park no closer than 2 miles and walk over/under a highway before getting in. We drink LOTS of beer. We find ourselves generally disdainful of the lack of aggression and hostility we encounter from Cowboys fans. There was more beer. The Giants destroy the Cowboys. We drink more beer at the tent and taunt Cowboys fans, who generally do nothing no matter how loud, abusive, and expletive laden our rants got. They were things that would have landed you in the hospital, beaten into a coma, at the Linc. I still give those guys a call when the Eagles/Giants play. We have that common enemy, and that helps bring us together.

Is that the best way to sum up the Cowboys organization and their fans? That they are so universally loathed and reviled they can unite Giants and Eagles fans? If only the Israelis and the Palestinians could find their Jerry Jones and Tony Romo…