Head Strong | Menacing tailgaters degrade Linc

November 4, 2007

By Michael Smerconish

 

When they kick off tonight's Eagles-vs.-Cowboys game, I'll be parked on my sofa in front of the TV, instead of navigating one of the lots at Lincoln Financial Field. And I will be thrilled that I'm not at the game. I took my 11-year-old son to see da Bears two weeks ago, and one visit a year is reminder enough of why I let go of season tickets.

 

Growing up, I attended all the home games. It was a ritual in my house, beginning in the era of the "Fire High Gang" under head coach Mike McCormack back in the early '70s. We initially had seats in a Veterans Stadium end zone, in the final row of the 600 level. We called it the "DMZ" because it was the last row before the 700 level.

 

Most of what you hear today about the 700 level is urban legend. Sure, the fights, drunks and bad behavior were an occasional part of the scenery, but those antics were the exception. Much worse, I think, is the environment you find today outside the Linc before games, where the behavior of a territorial few has degraded the experience. Today, these young bucks are in control. It's their party. And a guy like me wearing a green Izod shirt with a young son in tow is an interloper.

 

I don't know exactly when it happened, but somehow I've become football's analogy to the shoobie who arrives down the shore with his bucket and shovel, only to realize the beach is now the exclusive domain of oceanfront-property owners.

 

This is unfortunate because I, too, want to build memories for my kids, the way my father did for me. I have indelible recollections of the site of Leonard Tose's pre-game helicopter landing; the sounds of live hitting; the celebrity of California transplant Roman Gabriel; Harold Carmichael giving me an autograph; the Eagles cheerleaders; barely edible food; and, of course, watching the NFC Championship win over Dallas in 1981, with Merrill Reese supplying the call for Wilbert Montgomery's breakout run. We hung in there through Buddy Ryan, Ray Rhodes, Rich Kotite, and into the Andy Reid years.

 

But no more.

 

Two weeks ago, I was given a pair of tickets and a parking pass for "Lot M, N." I was especially grateful for the pass, because it would have cost $20 to park - twice last year's rate.

 

The day got off to a promising start: It was a perfect mid-October day for football. No clouds, temperatures in the 70s, a chill just slight enough to remind you that summer was fading.

 

Turning into the lot, I thought we had entered the Wild West. Missing was the presence of anyone in a position of authority. No cops. No representatives of the lot itself. No sheriff in sight.

 

The tailgaters, far from confining themselves to their own parking spaces, were ensconced and unyielding. In cars, vans, campers, SUVs, RVs, and converted school buses, they had staked out their territory. Many took up several parking spaces, their elaborate pregame rituals already underway. Others had parked lounge chairs in the traffic lanes, making it impossible to navigate in search of an empty spot. No one was inclined to move.

 

I couldn't get into one of the few remaining spaces because no one would budge. Luckily, two beefy and bearded Hell's-Angels-looking guys in the car in front of me eventually parted the tailgaters like Charlton Heston in The 10 Commandments.

 

Otherwise, no way was the throng of tailgaters letting my little SUV past their line of scrimmage.

 

It wasn't just their obstructionism. It was the language, too - no doubt fueled by a late kickoff, which afforded more than the usual amount of time to get loaded. I'm no prude, but it offended me when they heckled some women in a car behind mine. The place just has a bad vibe. There's a chaotic feel in the parking lots I walked through, and with no cops in sight, I could see a brawl getting out of control in a hurry.

 

What a contrast, I thought, to the lots surrounding Citizens Bank Park before Phillies games. On a dozen nights this summer, I gave not a second thought to walking my sons through the K Lot and into the ballpark. Only on College Night promotions does the parking lot get remotely rowdy, and even those nights are tame by Eagles standards.

 

When I came home, I wondered whether I had been assigned to a lot designated only for tailgaters. I went online in search of information, but the only substantive reference to tailgating at either the Eagles or Lincoln Financial Field Web sites concerned a $285 Ultimate Tailgate package. No thanks.

 

I know I'm not alone. A passing reference on my radio show to my close encounter of the tailgater kind caused my phone lines to explode with similar views.

 

Even so, the Eagles' fan base is in no jeopardy of shrinking. Unlike the rest of the city's sports franchises, such is the passion for the Birds that they've remained immune to normal market influences such as wins, losses, and quality of experience. As a result, the club is complacent. Field a football team, and Philadelphia will show up.

 

Shame they don't have to earn our patronage like the Phillies, Flyers and Sixers. We'd all benefit.

Michael Smerconish's column appears on Thursdays in The Daily News and on Sundays in Currents. Michael can be heard from 5:30 to 9 a.m. weekdays on "The Big Talker," WPHT-AM (1210). Contact him via the Web at http://www.mastalk.com.