City of Pain

as we embark on another season of eagles football, it seemed an appropriate time to add a new voice to the philadelphia sports landscape. one born out of a deep love for the teams that inhabit this town, but colored by the constant frustration of the past 25 years. we’re of that damned generation too young to remember the glory days, raised on the futility of braman, giles, and katz (you’re alright with us, mr. snider), and now percolating along in this new era of almosts and not quites.

and while our most venerable icon of ineptitude has been reduced to lines in a tailgate-less parking lot, there’s already a layer of grime covering the billion dollars of concrete and steel in south philly. they’ve been touched by the winds of old, wafting out of our alleys and waterways, bringing with them the small molecules of failure that we breathe everyday. that’s how it is in our city of pain: nothing can stay clean. everything is polluted with the broken dreams of our sporting life.

so we’re going to be emotional and we’re going to be rational. we hope to provide (or at least aggregate) interesting information and insight. and someday soon, we hope to bask in the glory of a parade down broad street and wonder where the hell do we go from here

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