Typically, the Bird Droppings is a post in which we regale – win or lose – in tiny tales and factoids in a joyous and festive manner. It’s about celebrating the ridiculousness of sport, while also discussing the game. It’s one of my favorite recurring posts, perhaps second to only the old Morning Woods. The reason for the latter’s demise hiatus is that the pacing of these posts doesn’t work when the team is bad. You can still have fun and fire when discussing a tough loss or relative blip on the radar of a long, competitive season. But when the going gets too tough, niggling over ultimately trivial pursuits proves meaningless, and the droppings that comprise Bird Droppings – the little quick-hitting sections with analysis, screen grabs and nonsense – all feel so silly. So, after this most terrible of losses to the Dolphins, I shall, rather than produce the droppings, just give you a big ol’ pile of shit, which is what the Eagles handed out to fans yesterday.

It’s a damn near miracle the Eagles were even in the game when you consider that they finished without their starting left tackle and best player (Jason Peters), starting quarterback (Sam Bradford, unfortunately), most effective running back (Ryan Mathews), and with Riley Cooper and Miles Austin being on the field for 97 combined snaps:

Gross.

[Yes I know the Eagles started without Peters. They finished without him, too.]

That is not a recipe for success, and it explains why Brent Celek and Zach Ertz accounted for 11 combined receptions, and the tight ends and running backs combined for 24 compared the wide receivers’ 9. Can that be right? Oh yes it can. The 19 points the Eagles scored, and only three after the first quarter, were their realistic ceiling yesterday. It’s a credit to the defense that they were enough to have multiple chances to win the game in the fourth quarter. But, problem, the Eagles aren’t built to win defensive battles:

For all the strides the defense has made, it’s still not winning games.

That’s really all there is to say. The Eagles were not equipped to win the game yesterday, and they were hamstrung by a series of ancillary factors… and oh fine, let’s pinch off a few drops onto this South Philly steamer:

 

Miles Fucking Austin

I’ll just excerpt myself here: In the second half alone, that useless, no-good, waste of uniform numbers cost the Eagles at least two touchdowns, maybe a third, and a probable first down on their final drive.

Of course, this Tweet, referencing Austin’s poor timing, does the trick, too:

Or this one:

 

Riley Cooper

Look, Riles, with your Coop Cut, if you’re going to be a complete waste in the passing game, at least stay out of everyone else’s way:

You’re what the French call les incompetent.

Anyone else ever have that experience when you were younger playing a sport you weren’t great at or on a level you weren’t ready for? Like, I was pretty decent at baseball and hockey growing up, but not so much basketball. So I can remember, in like the eighth grade, being able to do little more than dribble effectively with my right hand and hit a 10-foot jumper if wide open. That was about it, skills-wise. So I would work my ass off rebounding, playing defense, and trying to create general havoc on the court in my team’s favor. That sort of thing actually works at that level. I redefined scrappy, finishing the season with, I think, eight points, 700 scuffs and two nosebleeds. I knew I didn’t contribute much, so I just tried to stay out of the way and will the ball into favorable scenarios for the skilled players. Then, there were the few occasions where I did get in the way, tripping up our center as he was going for an easy layup or jumping the lane on a late-game free-throw.* That sort of thing.

That’s Riley Cooper in the NFL.

He’s not skilled, but he’s able enough and outputs enough effort to block effectively and generally not get in the way of those around him… until he does. Until he negates the probable game-winning touchdown because he’s a goddamn idiot who net-negatived his team yesterday, much to the chagrin of Zach Ertz, who most assuredly does not want Coop to be his neighbor despite what this sweater has to say about it:

*I can’t recall specific scenarios, so in the absence of Ben Carson-ing myself, I’ll just leave it at being able to recall the feeling on minor but costly screw-ups which I do not remember.

 

Zach Ertz

 

Mark Sanchez

Fashion editor Dan send me this text after the game yesterday with which I agree:

Honestly, I like Sanchez more than Bradford, but I’m under no delusion that neither is more than a mediocre quarterback.

Nailed it. I think the reason we took so well to Sanchez last year, and briefly yesterday, is that despite his lack of skill (Bradford has more), he has a leadership quality about him and runs the tempo offense much better than Bradford. The pace is just there with Sanchez. We’ve hardly seen it at all this season from Bradford. [For real, it’s almost like Bradford is an idiot.] But Sanchez has his limitations, relegating him to mediocre quarterback – decent backup – status. Still, he did throw two touchdown passes yesterday – one didn’t count because Miles Fucking Austin, and the other because Coop’s Cut for Kids – and another pass that could’ve been a touchdown, or at least not an interception, had Miles not been, you know, Fucking Austin.

That said, it’s inexcusable for Sanchez to have timing issues on handoffs, and only slightly more forgivable to have timing issues on this pass between DeMarco Murrary’s numbers. On the back of his jersey:

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This will be corrected in a future Madden update.

And then there was the (FIVE YARD!) fourth down pass to Jordan Matthews on the Eagles’ last drive:

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This was a bad decision by Sanchez, but also a terrible, lazy route by Matthews, who appeared to be finding open space IN FRONT OF THE FIRST DOWN MARKER. Still, can’t really fault Matthews, because he may have been dead.

 

Sanchez does what no Bradford could before him and finally gets Matthews killed

I can only imagine how jealous Bradford was when he saw this play through a thick haze in the locker room: I wanted to kill Jordan! I wanted it to be me! Me! ME!!!!! What time does President Lincoln speak?

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The NFL, ladies and gentlemen. The Eagles, everyone. Let’s shut it down. It stinks in here.