Last Monday night the road for the Philadelphia Eagles ended in a corn field, in a tree, underneath an 18-wheeler. Area 51. Wherever bad accidents happen. And so the end of Andy Reid, one assumes; the end of a dream team; and the end of this season, if not mathematically, then in all other senses.
But with five minutes to go it looked like they might just be able do it. You felt the whole season was running on this one possibility. With a fourth-and-one on the eight-yard line, McCoy delivered the first down. On third down in the next series, McCoy delivered the touch, and you thought, “See all you doubters, they’re gonna do it. You just watch.”
By the way, that’s LeSean that’s gonna do it. Not DeSean, who’s over at Occupy Bank of Christina Lurie, wearing a sandwich board and pretending to be a 99 ‘center.
So on Monday night, for one shining moment—Marshawn Lynch's performance notwithstanding—you catch a whiff of optimism and then Prince Vinceable throws a bad ball. Not a throw you’d make at any level. If you did that in Pop Warner the coach would send you home without a note. So no excuse. No grassy knoll. And sure he felt bad. Kind of like when you lose your job or feel the onset of dementia.
But not really like that.
Anyway, it doesn’t matter how badly he felt or anybody felt. It’s too late for that.
The only thing interesting about the Eagles now is whether LeSean, only in his third year, will be joining the firmament of Payton, Smith and Sanders—not whether DeSean is as good as say, Art Powell, who played with five teams in nine years during the summer of love and is sometimes ranked the 50th-best receiver of all time. Actually, he’s 18th overall in TD receptions.
I’m getting to my point.
LeSean McCoy is a potential great. And it’s interesting to see his echoes. On Monday night the consensus up in the booth was that McCoy was most like Barry Sanders. But look at the film, and I would say he’s more Emmitt Smithish, with a touch of Dickerson. And really not like Sanders. But let the argument unfold….