You would think we’d have our share of some excitement around here in Philadelphia, with a new quarterback, an uncertain defense, an uncertain offensive line, with Jamaal Jackson still recovering from knee surgery, and without Donovan McNabb. Yea, that’s going to be happening. The Eagles are going be exciting, simply because we don’t know what to expect. But I would give up good money to see how this season plays out in Cincinnati between the two bloated egos of Terrell Owens and Chad Ochocinco.
It’s a pink pillow fight waiting to happen. We know the volatile personalities involved. Poor Carson Palmer. The Bengals’ quarterback is going to be stuck between two vogueing divas who will fight for camera time in the locker room, face time on the sidelines, and air time in reality TV world. After this season, Palmer may need some sanity time alone.
Though you have to admit, you’re intrigued, aren’t you? Admit it. Just a little bit? How can you ignore two grown stars that act like petulant crying 4-year-olds on a five-hour cross-country flight? You can’t. They’re George Costanza times 10. Though they’re ingestible, they’re also part irresistible magnets that we can’t seem to claw away from. We can’t escape. We pull away–and they pull us right back in! (Think Al Pacino in Godfather III)
So now Cincinnati becomes soap opera capital of the world and we get to sit back and watch it unfold from afar. Enjoy it. Give it two weeks in training camp for the two all-pros to begin putting on the ersatz yukking-it-up, we’re-buddies, but not-really-buddies look for the cameras. Along with the special dash of primping their relationship for all the local media.
Then begin looking for those first signs with a little comment here, and a derisive look there from one another at the first hint of something wrong. Then, about four weeks into the season, with the Bengals struggling, watch it pop, pillow feathers and all flying everywhere. All they’ll be missing is their silk lingerie. We love a good implosion when someone we loathe dearly gets trampled, don’t we?