An Open Letter to Tony Romo From A Philadelphia Eagles Fan
in appreciation and admiration of a decade long enigma
Dear Tony Romo,
I never thought I would say this, but I am sad to see you go.
For fourteen years, I watched you spin your way out of the backfield time and time again. I watched a navy blue cap magically appear on your head as soon as you took off your helmet. I watched you fumble that one ill-fated snap against the Seahawks. I cheered you on as you threw interceptions to Malcolm Jenkins and somehow to Nolan Carroll. I laughed and cried just a little when Dez *almost* caught it.
I want to personally thank you for suffering through year after year of rosters plagued by mediocrity. I applaud you for the list of wide receivers that you were forced to throw to. Receivers like Sam Hurd, Roy Williams, Terry Glenn, Peerless Price, Dwayne Harris, Kevin Ogletree, and Patrick Crayton.
Here’s a little anecdote you might not know. Do you remember the 2009 season when you faced the Eagles in Week 16 with a playoff berth and a NFC East crown, the most coveted crown in the whole league, on the line? You might not remember this, but my dad was there. He, a replacement ball boy that night, stood there on the sideline as you flew into the endzone for one of your few rushing touchdowns. You turned, overcome with joy, and rushed into him. You jumped on him, slapping the footballs in his kangaroo pouch, and nearly tumbled over into a Salvation Army pot. You were happy. You were excited. And that changed how I thought of you.
No longer were you the arch nemesis of the Philadelphia Eagles. (Ever since that one pass you threw to Jason Witten and his helmet came flying off and he kept running, I’ve been triggered). But that night, I realized how much fun you have. Other than maybe Kyle Orton or Blaine Gabbert, no other quarterback no 1. prepared the way you did no 2. had has much fun as you have no 3. controlled an offense like you did. I will always think you actually ran that offense from day one. There was no Jason Garrett, no Wade Phillips, no Scott Linehan, no Monte Kiffin. It was you, it has always been you, and I am sorry it took me this long to realize that.
On the off chance you ever have a free Thursday night, I would like to extend an invitation to come to Torchy’s with me. I have a few questions. Questions like: Will you ever consider performing a Sunday Night Football duet with Eli Manning? Are you actually friends with Eli Manning? (I think you guys are) Did you retire cause Demarcus Ware retired? Do you get weekly meals with Jim Nantz now? Do you watch Big Little Lies with Eli Manning? Russ or Harden? Grape Jelly or Strawberry Jam? What is your favorite Rascal Flatts song?
This is the first time I am admitting this, but I am going to miss you. For fourteen years, you were the identifying symbol of my Sundays, and now you’re gone. But there’s hope. Because now I, along with the entire nation, have the privilege of hearing you speak during football games. I am thrilled, even more thrilled than I was when watching Eagles-Cowboys Week 17 games.
And now, the final, and only piece of advice, I can give:
Please don’t be Phil Simms. Never be Phil Simms.
— an eagles fan that became a tony romo fan