What It Means To Be From Philly

I'm home.

Physically, I've been back in Philly for almost a year now (WOW, that went fast). It wasn't till this morning did I really feel like a) I'm back in Philly and b) I'm really from Philly.

I didn't get up and go see the Liberty Bell.

I didn't awaken and immediately go get a cheesesteak.

I didn't get up at 4 and visit the site of the first congress or Ben Franklin's grave.

I did however, I wake up pissed off. I woke up pissed off because of a football game. Boy, did it feel good.

I watched the game at home last night on my couch, as my girlfriend sat next to me on her laptop, not really paying attention to the game. She's not from here, she's allowed to not pay attention, at least for now. Everything was pretty quiet and peaceful until Donovan threw that touchdown pass to DeSean Jackson and I scream. "FUCK YEAH." She jumped. The cat ran away.

"You scared me," she said.

"It was a great throw," I replied.

She probably hasn't seen me like that. I haven't really been like that. I had forgotten that professional sports, which should probably be a great release and entertaining, is actually just another thing to drain the life out of me.

I woke up pissed off. That we couldn't get in on 4th and 1. That the Bears got that first down on their last drive that pretty much sealed the deal. Annoyed that now we're 2-2 in the best division in football and have an uphill climb.

I woke up irritated and dissapointed. I woke up a Philadelphian again.

It's good to be back, even if it feels like shit.