After an eventful holiday, I have returned back from the homeland. No, not Israel, smartass. Philadelphia, the city of Brotherly Love, the city I called home for the first 18 years of my life. I am overwhelmed by the amount of blogs and message boards I have to get caught up on, not to mention my own blog that has been ignored in favor of leftovers and football. I had planned on posting a long Thanksgiving entry giving thanks for all of the amazing things that happened this year, but my parents' combination of a dial-up connection and the first computer ever made rendered me all but computerless. So that gets filed away for next year and I'm forced to attempt a recap of the ridiculous 6 days that were my Thanksgiving vacation.

Thanksgiving is my all-time favorite holiday of the year, though it is now being challenged by October 27th, The Greatest Day There Ever Was. Every year, my parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and I gather at my house, stuff our faces and watch the next best thing to the Eagles - the hated Cowboys. Our living room sounds like a truck stop, and I'm almost certain that all of that white hot hate for the Cowboys causes my house to glow. I think they can see it from Space.


A family bound by hate. Thanks, NFL.

Anyway, the trip got off to a rocky start when our flight was delayed because the plane, on the way to Dallas, ran out of gas. Seriously. The plane ran out of gas. When my college roommate ran out of gas on the highway because he was too stoned to notice the blinking red light five inches from his face, he got ridiculed and I had a good laugh. When US Air does it, I am forced to stand in line for 2 hours waiting to be rerouted. Finally, we were put on a different flight. On a different airline. Instead of a DFW-Charlotte, Charlotte-Philly flight, we were scheduled to fly direct to Philly on American. Normally, getting a direct flight instead of a layover would be cause to celebrate. Unless, of course, US Air sends your luggage to Charlotte without you.

Imagine the amount of time you would enjoy spending in a cramped 100-degree Baggage Claim office in the Philadelphia airport at midnight, and then multiply by one bazillion. That's how long we were there. Apparently, they don't require silly things like qualifications and computer skills to work there. Their hiring process clearly involves little more than drawing names from a hat. If you're looking for work but lack all basic skills necessary, consider the Baggage Claim office. Cesar Crespo, I've called ahead, and they've already got a nametag waiting for you.

Back to our luggage. Mine arrived at my doorstep on Wednesday evening. Chris' bag? Still waiting. Seriously.

And so, most of our vacation was spent wondering where the missing suitcase was and trying to replace the things that had been inside. There's still hope that the bag will be returned to us, but still...there's the chance that somewhere in a small town outside Charlotte there is a sixty year-old US Air employee rocking a Les Savy Fav t-shirt and a pair of brand new New Balance sneakers.

Of course, we managed to escape airline hell for a couple days and there are a couple of highlights worth mentioning. Thanksgiving was just as predicted. I ate much more than I should have, watched the Cowboys win The Worst Football Game In History, and kicked Chris' ass in board games. Good times all around. The shining moment of the holiday came moments after we sat down for Thanksgiving dinner. My cousin suggested we go around the table and give thanks for something. My family is anything but traditional, so one by one, we each tried to come up with a suggestion funnier than the previous one. I was thankful for the World Series parade in Boston. My mom was thankful for the kids cleaning the dishes following dinner, something we hadn't volunteered or agreed to do. And then, my dad, always looking to get a rise out of the group, launched into an Eagles chant. It took a split second for everyone else to join in and there, at the dinner table, the entire family took a break from their stuffing and mashed potatoes to take part in the one and only "E-A-G-L-E-S - - EAGLES!!!" chant.

Any fears I had as a child about being adopted were thrown out the window at that moment. This crazy bunch of lunatics reciting football cheers while eating off the good china was definitely my family.
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I'm fully aware that just a few posts ago, I tore apart the NBA and in part, blamed the fans for supporting a subpar product. I still maintain all of those things I wrote, and think the NBA has a long way to come, but just wanted to point out my hypocrisy before you got the chance. In response, all I can offer is:

Oops.

As a Flyers season ticket holder, I was offered the opportunity to purchase tickets for Friday's Sixers/Wizards game at a discounted price. For $45 I'd get a lower level ticket as well as an invite to an hour-long brunch with Flyers Alumni. What more could a Philly girl ask for? Sign me up!

Chris and I stepped into the Hall of Fame room at the Wachovia Center at noon and I instantly caught sight of Brian Propp. I loved him when I was a kid, and I've always felt bad that he has never forgiven himself for giving up on the infamous Leon Stickle non-call play in the 1980 playoffs. But a girl has her priorities, so I ignored Propp and made a beeline for the bar, where they were serving free Yuengling lager. We found ourselves a permanent place in the beer line and enjoyed free hors de' vors while hobnobbing with former Cup winners like Bob "The Hound" Kelly and Jim and Joe Watson. We each grabbed another beer for the road and made our way down to our seats, which were 20 rows up behind the basket. I can't even remember the last Sixers game I attended in Philly. I saw them play in Boston a few times during college, and watched them get destroyed by the Mavs last season here in Dallas, but it's been years since I enjoyed a game as part of the home crowd. My feelings on basketball and specifically the NBA have not been positive as of late, but I was craving Philly sports and with the NHL on strike, this was my only option. Plus, I'll never pass up a chance to watch Iverson play.

Sure, the Sixers should have blown out the Washington Wizards. Sure, Marc Jackson's two missed freethrows with 5 seconds left in the game are inexcusable. And sure, the fact that the Sixers allowed the Wizards to tie the game with a buzzer beating three-pointer...well, it sucked. But the game could not have played out any better. After allowing Washington to score the first 5 points in OT, the Sixers came storming back and won the game after Iverson stole the ball on a Wizards inbound pass for a layup as time expired. Perhaps it was the 5 beers I drained on an empty stomach. Or maybe it was the electricity in the building that afternoon as Iverson drove down the court in slow motion for the game-winning layup. Either way, that game made me love basketball again.

I know, I'm a hypocrite. But for me, sports are like family. They may piss you off from time to time, and they may need you to set them straight every once in a while, but you never stay mad for long. Because they've been there since you were a kid, and you can't imagine life without them.