Eagles, Chiefs, And Bedazzled Faces: My Super Bowl Of Sisterly Warfare

“Can I punch her?” my 11-year-old asked.

The 11-year-old was wearing a red T-shirt with Travis Kelce’s number 87 on the back, but instead of “KELCE” emblazoned over it, it simply read, “Taylor’s Boyfriend.” (Unsanctioned NFL merch. Sue me, Roger.)

This was matched with a black miniskirt that I cannot believe my wife allows her to own, and her face was — and there was no other word for this — bedazzled. For real. There were, like, plastic diamonds attached to her face. 

“No, you can’t punch her,” I replied, cementing my nomination for Father of the Year, Bare Minimum category.

The “her” in this conversation was my 14-year-old daughter. She has autism and an intellectual disability, which both explains A) why her normally sweet-as-pie 11-year-old sister sometimes contemplates violence and B) why she’s a diehard Eagles fan (hey-oh!).

This was the state I was in Sunday evening. I have a 11-year-old who is Taylor-crazy, and thus is a Chiefs fan, and a 14-year-old who — for reasons I cannot explain — has been an Eagles fan since forever. 

Now, we live in Central Jersey, which may help explain her Birds fandom, but I’m not an Eagles fan, so … who knows.

As for the 11-year-old? She’s Taylor Swift first, Taylor Swift second, and Taylor Swift third. The Chiefs are merely a branch of the Swiftie lifestyle.

But they both will sit there and watch football with me. And they did it again on Super Bowl Sunday.

Violence never solved anything

My 11-year-old was not happy. This was the first time in her short football-centric life that the Chiefs were not going to be champs. She was not handling it well, resorting to inquiring about violence.

My 14-year-old? Well, two years ago she threw herself into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably after the Eagles lost 38-35 to the Chiefs. This time around, after the Eagles went up 34-0 and I said, “It is over!” she parroted it, saying something to the effect of, “Yeah baby! Let’s go!” and then, to her sister, “Chiefs suck.”

Fun times in the Edelstein household. 

Speaking of fun times … all this was going on with A) some friends over, B) me sweating all my stupid longshot bets, none of which cashed, and C) me quietly losing my mind after Hollywood Brown’s touchdown in the fourth quarter got called back after JuJu Smith-Sh*thead did his best impersonation of Draymond Green and set what amounted to a moving pick.

See, I had a DraftKings Showdown lineup hovering in the top 1,000 (out of roughly 327,000). Hollywood scores with 2:45 left, and I’m seeing visions of top 100 glory. Then comes the flag, followed by DeAndre Hopkins scoring, then Xavier Worthy’s 50-yard touchdown dash, and suddenly my dreams of riches transformed into a cool $2 profit.

So that was pretty much my Super Bowl.

And while I stewed for a bit after those Showdown shenanigans, it was all kind of worth it when Kenny Pickett kneeled and I said, “It’s really over” and my 14-year-old said, “Really?” and I said, “Yes!” and she stood up, starting flapping around (like an eagle, not like someone with autism) and sang a new version of the Eagles fight song.

Fly Eagles fly

On the road to victory

Fly Eagles fly

They won the Super Bowl and not the Chiefs

And at that point, the 11-year-old yelled, “Shut up!” and went upstairs to sleep.

I cracked a (deserved) fifth beer.