By JOE ROSSI
I was reading last week about a truly interesting idea from Eternal Image. The Michigan-based casket and funeral urn maker has signed on with Major League Baseball to produce final resting place logo products. According to the article, the “laid-to-rest” business grosses about $11 million per year.
The National Funeral Directors Association (now I’m convinced that every profession and hobby must have an ‘association’) met last week for a sneak peak at samples of Major League Baseball urns which Eternal Image promises to have available by Opening Day 2007. Other sports should follow.
Sort of gives new meaning to “throw out the first pitch,” doesn’t it?
Well, as you can imagine, this concept provides the sports fan with many possibilities. Which team did you truly live and die with during your lifetime? Which team buried you in losses and futility? Which team burned you out? Which team caused you to die one thousand deaths?
I’ve pondered the question and it’s difficult, as a Philly sports fan, to choose just one.
I’m giving the Flyers a pass because I follow them the least, and besides, no matter how long ago, they at least won two Stanley Cups. And they also introduced us Rio Grande kids to street hockey in the early ’70s. So, my urn will not be orange and black.
The Sixers killed me many times with dumb slogans like “We Owe You One” after they choked in countless playoff series.
The hoop team murdered my sense of hope countless times with grossly poor personnel decisions. This team traded Wilt Chamberlain, Charles Barkley and Moses Malone (in three separate deadly deals) for what amounted to less than you might get in a box of Cracker Jacks.
Despite spending money on superstars like Julius Erving, George McGinnis and Malone, the Sixers were not able to sustain greatness beyond one magical 1983 season. But, they did win that one championship and they were fun to watch with the likes of World B. Free, Doug Collins and Andrew Toney.
Therefore, my urn will not be adorned with a Sixer logo.
The Phillies are the losingest franchise in professional sports history. They’ve lost more games with the worst losing percentage of any long-time franchise in the four major sports. Think about that one when you’re contemplating ending it all.
The Phillies are killers because they not only make poor personnel decisions, but they can’t seem to take advantage of golden opportunities to win big. Whether it’s Greg Luzinski in left field in the ninth inning, dead-armed Mitch Williams facing the Blue Jays, or Jim Leyland in a World Series dugout, the Phillies never seem to make the right management moves to win big.
Over the years they’ve assembled some good teams and put themselves into position to capture glory. I was barely walking when the late Johnny Callison and the great Robin Roberts could not hold a six game lead with a dozen games remaining in the 1964 season, a feat that to this day benchmarks the term “collapse” in sports.
Perhaps nothing in Philly sports history, aside from Santa being snowballed, outlives the tragedy of 1900 and 64.
But I’ve grown accustomed to the Phillies being a synonym for failure. It doesn’t hurt anymore. All of those last place finishes hit my Teflon skin and roll away like wasted tears. Even though a computer generated image portrays the Phillies’ urn as a handsomely crafted image, I’ll forgo pinstripes for my ashes.
As you guessed, it’s the Birds, the frustrating Eagles, whose logo urn will someday encapsulate what’s left of me after I get, as that lady in the Subway sandwich shop always asks— “toasted?”
To live and die with each Sunday takes blood pressure to dangerous heights, shortens the shelf life of pillows and other living room ornaments, makes upcoming weeks brutally long or sweetly short, damages the vocabulary, and provides an immeasurable conversation outlet for the adventures of day-to-day existence.
The Eagles continue to provide frustration beyond imagination. Who could think up how these games end and what happens in between the national anthem and the final gun? And how do we continue living through it?
From draft day decisions, to bad holds for short field goals, to use of time outs, to rain damaging the two-point play chart, we struggle with the good and the bad of being an Eagles’ fan.
How’s that song go? “Every one seems to have a ring on their finger…” Concrete Charlie did his damage before that media invention known as the Super Bowl so the old NFL championships don’t really count.
They won one of those the year before my butt was smacked by some Burdette Tomlin physician and they also won two in the late ’40s. I appreciate that, but we need a Super Bowl ring badly in this area, but, sadly, in may never happen.
I’ll probably be dead first, which is the point of this urn thing. So, Eternal Image, I like your idea and as long as you promise not to charge my heirs something more than the cost of Walt Whitman Bridge tolls for a season ticket holder, I’ll ask that my ashes sit in an Eagles’ urn.
