In less than 12 hours, I'll be departing for Chicago for the Eagles game. It's going to be a rough four days filled with light beer, greasy food, and cigarettes.
I hope that the fans in Chicago will treat me as good as we would treat them. That means I must summon the ghost of Andre Waters to shield my face from any knuckle sandwiches, block some boots to the boys, or god forbid, prevent me from getting duct-taped to a telephone pole in the nude.
But If I must fight back, I need Andre's spirit to help me hit back hard and dirty.
Go Birds.
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