There’s nothing quite like the afterglow from a major sporting event and a historic triumph.
Like when Richmond fans just didn’t want to leave the MCG after last year’s Preliminary Final.
It felt like they were likely still there on Tuesday basking in the terraces at the Punt Road end.
It was like that last night in Minneapolis.
Eagles fans came together and lingered.
Not because it was minus 22 outside the doors of the US Bank Stadium, but just because they wanted to remain in each other’s company, share the euphoria and live for a night as triumphal football fans.
In Philly they overturned cars and looted a Macy's.
And they climbed on a helpless hotel awning and launched into their brethren often enough that finally the structure gave way and became a remnant of the party.
But at the game the fans just stayed in the aisles and their seats.
Some were bold enough to get onto the confetti-covered field.
They snapped selfies, hugged and cried.
They sang and swapped stories of the common bond, of the years of waiting and grasped for understanding in what victory meant.
They vowed to commit the whole experience to permanent memory and shared it with anyone who asked.
And they, like all of us, grappled to make sense of the most rollicking Super Bowl.
Drawing the morning after declaration – “It won’t ever get any better than Super Bowl 52.”
A game in which the Eagles and Patriots traded blows in a duel that shattered records – the grandest of which was the most net yards gained in any game in NFL history, 1,151 yards combined breaking a mark that had stood since 1950.
A game of audacious calls and trick plays. Of unrelenting offence. Of chances grasped and opportunities missed.
Above it all stood Nick Foles.
The second string quarterback turned Super Bowl MVP.
His reflection was universal.
“We’ve played this game since we were little kids; we dreamed about this moment. There’s plenty of kids watching this game right now dreaming about this moment and someday will be here.”
Of Tom Brady it is agreed the lose won’t do much to tarnish his legacy.
One account concluded, “Brady played a royal flush and was told his cards were counterfeit.”
“It stinks,” Brady said in the dungeons of the stadium. “But no one’s feeling sorry for us.”
For all that took place though, the fumble, the strip sack as Brady embarked on what was set up to be the game winning drive will define the game.
The other winner was Minneapolis.
Four years of planning.
$53 million in private donations and 10,000 eager volunteers defied the record-setting cold temperatures and lived the mantra to “show them our bold.”
It was charming, and the stadium simply spectacular.
The reviews for Justin Timberlake were surprisingly mixed.
10 tunes in 13 minutes was said to be “dizzying and not in a good way.”
The homage to Prince – which sensibly avoided a hologram and settled for a giant projected image on a white sheet hung from the roof – was fondly regarded but “fell short of its potential emotional and musical impact, because it was just another hurried-through segment in a hyperkinetic halftime.”
Still, for mine, all the threads combined for the most unforgettable experience.
Which brings us back to the Eagles fans.
A group who had been told a week out from the postseason that, “You can’t feel worse about your team going into the playoffs.”
They were a little quieter at the airport this morning.
Like most of us, existing on about an hours’ sleep.
But they trooped the colours in the jerseys of Ertz and Ajayi and Wentz and every now and then, the odd Foles number nine.
They told stories of winning the lottery for tickets to the game after 35 years as season ticket holders.
Of rushed flights and hotel rooms barely used.
Of witnessing the last Eagles NFL Championship in 1960 and waiting a sporting lifetime for the feeling to return.
We sat on planes and talked because that’s all there was to do.
It was so cold the planes wouldn’t fly.
Frozen pipes, you’ll have to switch to another bird, was the unwelcome announcement.
A final gift from the Bold North.
As we disembarked one guy told his buddy the delay was just enough to abandon any thought of heading into work on return.
“I’m taking a championship celebration sabbatical,” he bellowed to the amusement of all us around.
It seemed an entirely reasonable position to take.
That’s the language and the power of sport the world over.
Listen to Gerard Whateley reflect on Super Bowl 52 in the player below!