My Special Children

I love the Philadelphia Flyers. Even when they're losing. I went to a game the other day with my dad, and it was a little sad to see half the seats empty. Rangers fans were cheering for their winning team with impunity; I could walk around the concourse without squeezing through a veritable sea of fat Philadelphian; and PS, parking was ample.

So they suck. Big deal. I still love my Flyers, simply because they are my Flyers, much in the same way parents love their retarded children. When I look onto that ice at my beloved Philadelphia Flyers, I don't see a hockey team full of failures, but rather, I choose to view with the gaze of a proud parent cheering on his twenty-five children with downs syndrome who by some miracle formed a hockey team. Sure, their power play could be a bronze medal contender at the Special Olympics, but my ambitious retards reached for the stars, the highest level of competition--and for that, I applaud them.

So here's to you, Flyers. I want you to win, but I'll love you just as much just for trying your hardest. I'll cheer for your wins, and I'll cheer for your smaller victories--for not giving up goals on your own power plays, for being able to skate backwards, and for not drooling on the ice.