I believe it was Harlan Ellison quoting Oscar Wilde who once said, “to reject one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development.” So, let me not be arrested. And let’s talk, you and I. Let’s talk about Saquon Barkley.
Two weeks ago, amidst the Sunday afternoon fanfare of the our stomping victory over the Commanders, an older man– probably in his mid to late fifties – ran over to me, hugged me, began crying, and exclaimed – “I love Saquon Barkley more than my wife. I love Saquon Barkley more than my kids. I just love him so much, man. I had to tell somebody.” We did not know each other. I am sure we will never speak or see each other again.
Of course, I hugged him back and professed my own love for Saquon, which, I suppose, holds less weight, given that I do not have a wife or kids. But, to anyone reading this article – I love Saquon more than you. He and his wondrous quads.
It’s an eternal question — whether it is better to have loved and lost or to have never loved at all? As we all know, the only place heartbreak feels good is in an AMC theater, but we all go about our lives searching for love and the opportunity to have our hearts crushed nearly every day. We see a stranger on the subway and fantasize about our lives together. A minor league hitter who, perhaps, could grow into a championship slugger. But so rarely does that stranger introduce themselves. So rarely does the heart open itself.
If the Eagles lose today, I will be heartbroken. I will be crushed. I will blame everyone. I let myself believe, and now I will let myself be Nicole in that empty theater.
But I will not blame Saquon. I cannot blame Saquon. Because he is the reason we got to love in the first place.
I am genuinely not sure the last time an athlete was embraced like this – with 100% approval rating – by Philadelphia — or any town, for that matter. Someone so universally praised with zero controversy and zero detractors. Usually, the sports figures we love come with a decent amount of debate and disagreement. Our quarterbacks – be it Donovan McNabb, Mike Vick, St. Nick Foles, Carson Wentz, or now Jalen Hurts – have all come with “is he actually good” controversies. Allen Iverson and Joel Embiid have faced criticisms that they can never win the big one. Bryce Harper is experiencing that now too. The 08’ Phillies are beloved, but there wasn’t one player who got the lion’s share of the credit, and while Jason Kelce has been the beating heart of Philly for over a decade, the fact that he played Center always held him back from explosive on field product.
Not Saquon Rasul Quevis Barkley. He has no critics. Only fans. He is perfect.
Raised in Bethlehem PA, before attending Penn State and setting basically every record imaginable in college, Saquon was drafted #2 overall to our rival New York Giants, where his talent was very obvious, but the team didn’t quite have the infrastructure to support him. To anyone with half a brain for football, it wasn’t ever really Saquon’s fault, and it was sadder than anything else – a generational talent going to waste with a shitty coach, shitty QB, and atrocious offensive line. My sweet prince couldn’t get past the line of scrimmage without contact being made.
Then, after the Giants refused to give him a contract, he bet on himself, and signed with his hometown Philadelphia Eagles. Two thousand yards, thirteen touchdowns, and fourteen wins later, it was the playoffs. In round one, Saquon rushed for 119 yards. In round two, 205. In the that wonderful win over the Commies, he had 118, and beat Washington so badly that Will Shipley got to have 77 of his own. Saquon is already close to breaking the rushing record for a single postseason. He was a game away from doing the same in the regular season but sat out to prevent injury (he’s a team player).
Every time the man touches the ball, something magical could happen. And now, here we stand — we and he — at the gates of history.
Sports fandom is a funny thing. Saquon is, at the end of the day, just a guy my exact age who has a MUCH higher paying job (he is cordially invited to writer for Cusper whenever he wants, though), two kids, and runs very fast. And yet, to the city of Philadelphia – to all my friends – to my dad – to myself – he is more than that: he is hope incarnate. He is a feeling of overcoming the impossible. With Saquon on our side, nothing feels too great to overcome. He’ll run us back into games when we’re behind. He’ll salt games away when we’re ahead.
No one has a unanimous approval rating in life, and eventually, I’m sure Philly will find a reason to be pissed at this beautiful man. Years down the line, when (if) his legs grow just a bit less strong or a bit less fast, there will be a contingent of the fanbase who says he’s overrated or overpaid, or we should draft some fresh new back who’s twenty-two and ready to explode onto the gridiron.
And perhaps they won’t be wrong! Perhaps at that point in time, as with all players, it’ll be time to move on to someone younger and better.
But, if you ask me, the point of sports is for the memories, the stories, and the mythmaking. And even if today – just ten hours before the biggest game of his life – is Saquon’s high watermark – let it not be forgotten what he’s given to us. Hours of conversation between family and friends. Hugs from strangers. Thunderous MVP chants.
Consider this, sports fans. Consider the first time you fell in love.
For me, it was probably Emma Stone in Superbad or Emma Stone in Easy A or perhaps the girl I actually dated in real life for four years. More recently, it was Mikey Madison in Anora or perhaps Ricky Council IV’s potential to be a good bench wing in a playoff rotation.
Well, none of those people are currently my wife — OR in an NBA playoff rotation.
But you know what? When I think of any of them, I smile, thrilled with having had the opportunity to love at all. Because love – even when fleeting – is a blessing. It’s the most beautiful feeling in the world.
So, today, win or lose, enjoy every first and ten, when Saquon turns a two-yard loss into a three-yard gain. Enjoy when he pops around a lineman, spins around a safety, and takes what was supposed to be a mild pickup into a long touchdown. Enjoy watching him on the sideline make Jalen Hurts crack a smile. Enjoy the fact that his legs are so strong, people call him Quadzilla. Enjoy the fact that a straight man is currently writing an essay about 27-year-old’s immense, muscular thighs.
Is it better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved at all?
Well, loyal readers, Saquon should be living, running proof.
Go birds. Trust the process.
And if you see some guy’s wife and kids looking despondent, remember he’s probably at The Garage on Motor Ave, hugging me for some reason, and professing his undying love.
…………………
Okay. Wait. One last thing.
Enough of the schmaltz.
Let me clear my throat.
FUCK THE CHIEFS. I WANT TO SEE JALEN CARTER KILL A MAN’S SOUL TODAY. FUCK PATRICK MAHOMES. I WANT TO SEE AJ BROWN READING PYNCHON ON THE SIDELINE AFTER CATCHING A TD. FUCK TRAVIS KELCE. I WANT TO SEE JALEN HURTS ACTUALLY SHOW EMOTION. FUCK THE REFS. I WANT TO SEE NICK SIRIANNI CRY AT THE ANTHEM. FUCK KAREEM HUNT. I WANT DEVONTA TOE DRAG. FUCK XAVIER WORTHY. I WANT BG TO FORCE A FUMBLE.
FUCK EM ALL. US AGAINST THE WORLD.
FLY EAGLES FLY.
GO BIRDS.