IT HAS BEEN SAID that those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it. Thus, as the Eagles prepare to wind their way through the swamps of New Jersey toward an NFC Divisional Playoff at the Meadowlands, we must remember the last time they made this trek at this time of year. The temperature hovered around freezing; the turf was hard; in the background, above the rim of the stadium, the Twin Towers rose into a slate-gray sky.
Hugh Douglas was there that day - the seventh of January, the year 2001 - and even now, his voice rises in agitation as he recounts its events. The pregame video clip on the giant scoreboard that showed an animated Giant squashing Rocky Balboa with his foot. The long-forgotten specialist who returned the opening kickoff for a Giants touchdown (Ron Dixon). The interception by Jason Sehorn that sealed the Eagles' fate in their first divisional playoff game - and their first road playoff game - under Andy Reid.
The Giants already had defeated the Eagles twice that season, and as Douglas walked off the field at the end of a 20-10 defeat, he found himself the newest entrant into the city's longest-running rivalry.
"I was [ticked]," said Douglas, who played defensive end for six seasons for the Eagles before sliding into a career as a media personality. "We just thought the third time was a charm. There was always some history. I remember when I first got here, there was history between the two teams, but I think losing those three straight games to the Giants, that was the turning point."
We are told that rivalries no longer exist in professional sports, that money killed them, that fame killed them, that corporate box seats that cost a month's wages killed them.
You want a rivalry? Go find Jason Avant and ask him about walking into the Horseshoe, or talk to DeSean Jackson about Stanford-Cal, or get Sheldon Brown to give you the back story on touching the Rock before a game against Clemson.
"I don't really look at the games as rivalry games as far as divisional opponents," said Avant, who experienced four Ohio State-Michigan games as a Wolverines receiver before the Eagles drafted him in the fourth round in 2006, "because all of them are rivalry games. I can't decipher which one is bigger."
Nor can Jackson, the rookie receiver.
"It's hard," Jackson said. "Whoever's in our conference, every week is big."
Did Steve Spagnuolo dislike the Giants so much that he couldn't become their defensive coordinator?
Did Carlos Emmons dislike the Giants so much that he could not be their strongside linebacker?
Did Sean Landeta dislike the Eagles so much that he could never have signed with them?
Maybe we should write the whole thing off to psychology. Maybe we should dial up an expert and let him drone on about the ways in which a smaller city's insecurities manifest themselves into the machinations of its sports teams.
The second-city syndrome, the psychologist might call it, an inferiority complex shared by millions. Philadelphians hate New Yorkers because Philadelphians aren't New Yorkers. Broad Street is a nice thoroughfare, but it ain't Broadway. Kevin Bacon is a nice actor, but he ain't Humphrey Bogart.
"Growing up in the Sonny Hill leagues, we'd always have the Philly-New York games," said 76ers assistant coach Aaron McKie, who grew up in North Philadelphia before starring at Temple and with the Sixers. "We'd always talk about New York, how it was a big city, with a little bit of this, a little bit of that. I had cousins and family from New York, so for me it was always a rivalry. In my mind, I always thought Philadelphia was bigger than New York; in reality, it's not, but whenever I'd watch the Sixers-Knicks, the Eagles-Giants, it was always a big thing."
Billy Joel never wrote "A Philly State of Mind."
The government never authorized the Center City Project.
Sinatra sang New York's theme song.
