Posted on Sat, Oct. 24, 2009
I'M FROM Philadelphia, and I'm proud. It's not just because the Phillies are back in the World Series. Truth is, I've come to expect excellence from my hometown baseball team. It's not the cheesesteaks, either, although the grease orgy that passes for a Philly sandwich is a caloric delight that most cities are unworthy of serving.
Baseball and food aside, real Philadelphians know that there's one abiding reason to be proud of our hometown, and that's our grit.
This is not to say that other cities aren't gritty. But there's something about Philly; something that goes beyond the centuries-old architecture, the ground-in dirt and the archaic Quaker traditions that cause our bars to shut down far too early. It's more than the boxing history of North Philly or South Philly's mob connections. It's bigger than crumbling buildings or pugilistic attitudes.
Our city's grit is the very fabric of our city, a fabric so intricately woven that even our wildlife is part of it. I once saw a squirrel pluck the butt of a hoagie out of a trash can on Temple University's campus and munch on it like he was at a lunch counter. I saw my neighbor's Chihuahua try to establish his dominance by attempting to do the nasty to a much bigger dog. LaVeta saw a deer walking down a residential street like he was supposed to be there.
And though the actions of these animals were kinda gritty, there is one Philadelphia creature that epitomizes our city in a way that others just can't.
I'm talking about the pigeon.
Philadelphia pigeons congregate on downtown sidewalks like street gangs with wings. Philadelphia pigeons use statues as port-a-potties and dare you to say something. Philadelphia pigeons stand on subway platforms as if they're on their way to work. Philadelphia pigeons perch on overhead wires, waiting for just the right moment to splash you with a warm Philly welcome.
Our pigeons are gritty, and they make no apologies for it. They are a breed unique to our city.
At least, that's what I thought until I turned on my television last week to watch the Eagles' putrid performance against the Oakland Raiders, when I spotted a Philadelphia pigeon on the field on the other side of the country.
I blinked my eyes, thinking that computers had finally robbed me of my eyesight. When I opened them, however, the pigeon was still there. He was clearly a Philly pigeon, too, because he wasn't the least bit intimidated by the 300-pound men doing battle all around him.
"Plucky little fellow," I thought, amused. As the game wore on, though, my smile disappeared as it became clear to me that the pigeon wasn't just there to hang out. He was there to play.
That pigeon - our pigeon - was playing for the Raiders!
There he was in the middle of a running play, forcing the action inside. Then he popped up on an incomplete. I didn't see him do it, but in retrospect he probably tipped the ball. Those six sacks of Donovan McNabb? I bet the pigeon was in on every one.
Still, I wasn't sure about my theory until the Raiders scored and prepared to kick off. The pigeon - I am not making this up - lined up with the Raiders and flew down the field on special teams.
It's my contention that the pigeon was not just some random bird. He was a disgruntled former Eagle who was probably cut from the team when he turned 30, and carried the grudge through reincarnation.
Therefore, I am calling on the NFL to investigate. Not only did the Raiders have 12 men on the field, they stole our grit. They stole that game, and worst of all, they stole our pigeon. There's got to be a rule against that.
Solomon Jones' column appears every Saturday. He can be reached at
sj@solomonjones.com
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