December 7, 1975

It's hard to believe that that was 30 years ago, but the calendar doesn't lie. And although I would have a hard time telling you where I have been on most any day of the past year, let alone a certain day three decades ago, I can tell you exactly where I was that day: at Veterans Stadium, watching the Eagles get blasted by the Cincinnati Bengals, 31-0, on a gosh-awful cold day.

I remember that there were no takers to go to that game even though, being season ticket holders, we had three tickets to the final home game of a season that began with promise and ended with the firing of Mike McCormack. The Birds had gone 7-7 the year before and showed signs of life. Talk of making the playoffs was in the preseason air. Young hot shots such as Charles Young, Harold Carmichael, and Mike Boryla promised a new era in Eagles football. Except that they stunk. 4-10, with the only highlights being two easy wins over the Redskins. The older and wiser members of the family opted to stay home. I still recall the looks of incredulity when I asked if I could please go. "You want to go sit out in the cold and watch them lose?" Uh, yea. In my defense, I was only 11 years old at the time.

My mom called around for takers on the two extra tickets - provided they would give me a ride. She eventually found a friend of a friend, Mike Magnotta, himself a season ticket holder, who took his daughter and his daughter's friend with the extra tickets. In a twist of fate, it turns out that another daughter of his would be my high school classmate and friend, and that the friend of his daughter turned out to be the sister of another good friend of mine in high school. I didn't learn of the sibling relation between my high school buddy and this girl until years later, recounting the story I am now telling here.

We loaded into a station wagon; my recollection was that we were packed in pretty tight, along with blankets and coolers. We walked in to the Vet with all the extras, which were divided between the contingent seated in Mr. Magnotta's seats and the trio occupying my family's seats. We sat there bundled up against the cold, but my recollection was that the action on the field was so bad for the home team and the elements so frightful that I took several opportunities to hang out in the men's room - mainly to warm up, only occasionally to use the facilities. Back in the stands, the two girls attending on my parents' dime opened up a moveable feast - sandwiches, snacks, drinks, etc. It didn't occur to them that it would have been an appropriate gesture to, you know, offer something to the kid whose parents gave them the tickets. I beheld the miserable performance on the field as I felt the cold grip my body, all the while suffering the indignity of not being offered so much as a potato chip.

The icing on the cake came during half-time, when Mr. Magnotta came over to check on the three of us. Seeing me bundled up against the cold, looking, I am certain, rather uncomfortable, he offered to buy me a hot chocolate. If anyone who frequented the Vet in that era remembers what passed for hot chocolate, you could hardly blame me for turning him down. They served it in those ubiquitous styrofoam cups which held about 6 or 8 ounces of fluid. There would be a sediment of brown stuff on the bottom, with a thinly flavored brown fluid filling about 3/4 of the cup. Hoagies, chips, pretzels - not offered. Vintage Vet hot chocolate - no thanks.

At some point that day, I realized that I was an Eagles' fan for life. He who would suffer such privation for the opportunity to watch a disappointing 3-win squad (win 4 wasn't to come until the last game of the season in Washington two weeks later) could hardly be called a casual fan. This story has lived on in infamy (it was December 7, after all) within the family ever since. Poor Mike Magnotta - a fine man, remembered mainly as the guy who offered to buy me hot chocolate. But such memories are the stuff that life is made of, and I can laugh at this today. And that's a useful antidote to the current, mainly joyless, season, which started as one of even greater hope than the season of 1975.