Fervor
Nobody likes us, we don't care
B., one of my closest friends, is from Philadelphia. His family is several generations Philly old. To say the ups and downs of the city’s football team, the Eagles, are important to him kinda misses the point.
I don’t watch much football or follow any teams, but I drove to his house last Saturday to spend the weekend, to see what the big game would be like, because I knew it would be more than a contest for B. and his friends. First of all, game day: no wearing any red, the color of the opponent. We took B.’s son to the farmer’s market in the morning—B. in green and white, his son in all green—and the kid kept commenting with incredulity, how dare anyone wear red?
Also, the only music played in the car (or the house) all day had to be about Philly, or from a Philly artist, and ideally both. On top, I needed to learn a couple different chants so I could sing along later.
No one likes us, no one likes us,
No one likes us, we don't care!
We're from Philly, fucking Philly,
No one likes us, we don't care!
Fervor is something I rarely feel, but I love to be around it. To experience others’ mania and get a whiff of what it means. Religious zealotry, wilderness transcendence, people involved in a story outside themselves, that still manages to pass in and out of their bodies, to a point where their eyes roll back in their heads.
B. and his son spent the day, prior to the show, watching highlights from old games. The party we attended was also strong with passion: A friend of B.’s is also from Philly, also loves football, also owns a restaurant in town, and he catered a party at his house for maybe a hundred people—outdoor tenting, chairs, and a large projection screen, with tables full of hoagies, pizza, pretzels and wings, plus green-icing cupcakes inscribed Go Birds. There were even strangers there, in black and green jerseys—B.’s friend posted on an Eagles subreddit that if any diehard fans nearby wanted to watch the game with fellow believers, they were welcome.
“I was going to watch the game with my girlfriend, but I wanted to be among my people,” one guy told me, who didn’t know anyone at the party, at least not at first. “She just won’t understand when I start losing my mind.”
Can another person’s ardor permeate your heart? I made sure to wear a green hat. I definitely yelled at the screen. As the game played out, people shouted, chanted, and sang, and nothing was fabricated or pantomime. One woman swirled in place. (Two Kansas fans, in Kansas sweatshirts, also screamed, but it wasn’t from celebration.) By halftime, when it seemed unlikely the Eagles would lose, B.’s eyes were glossy. He seemed dazed, confused and lost. Some time later, you’ve probably heard, the Eagles won in basically a blowout, and B.’s friend yelled multiple times, “This is the happiest day of my life!”
Then the party became a dance party, people lost in celebration, in spirit, entranced, their song answered. We're from Philly, fucking Philly, no one likes us, we don't care! I remember, I ran into another friend at that point, who’s not a football fan. “Can you believe these people?” he said. “They’re nuts!”
“I know,” I said. “It’s gorgeous.”
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“Meditations in an Emergency” is a weekly essay from writer Rosecrans Baldwin about something beautiful. Paying subscribers receive a Sunday supplement with three-plus things to love, plus a monthly travel-lust ballyhoo.
Rosecrans is a correspondent for GQ, a contributor at Travel + Leisure, and the bestselling author of Everything Now: Lessons From the City-State of Los Angeles, winner of the California Book Award. Other books include The Last Kid Left and Paris, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down. His debut novel, You Lost Me There, was a New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice.
For books, articles, bio, and contact info: rosecransbaldwin.com.