Philadelphia has lived through a Black Friday turning on it before. The one at the Vet nearly fifty years ago, when everything felt secure—until it wasn’t.
Burt Hooton losing the plate to four straight walks. Vic Davalillo dropping the drag bunt that whispered danger from the moment it rolled down the third base line. Manny Mota’s drive glancing off Greg Luzinski’s glove and off the wall. A hop off Mike Schmidt’s foot that Larry Bowa one-handed and fired to first, beating L.A.’s Davey Lopes to the bag but being called safe anyway. Bill Russell driving in the run that froze an entire stadium.
A sequence so strange and sudden, all coming with two outs and nobody on in the 9th inning of Game 3 of the NLCS, that it felt less like baseball and more like a trapdoor opening beneath the city. That night settled into Philadelphia’s bones like a London fog—seeping into the marrow of its residents like a Dickensian tale of regretful pasts and foreshadowing fate.
Almost a half-century later, the Ghost of Black Friday’s Past reared its ugly head again in South Philadelphia. Three and a half hours later, it felt like it was spelled by the guy who says nothing—but when he points to your headstone, you pretty much know what’s coming next.
That all-too-triggering feeling of something faint and familiar drifted over Lincoln Financial Field today—a chill that didn’t match the weather, a heaviness that didn’t align with the kind of presence you sense before you understand it. The kind Charles Dickens pressed into the fog of old London, a warning folded quietly into the air.
As the Chicago Bears visited the Philadelphia Eagles’ end zone three times and left with a 24-15 victory, that eerie sensation lingered—a whisper from the Ghost of Black Friday’s Past.
The Eagles stepped into it and never found their way through.
### No Big Birds’ Energy
From the opening snap, Philadelphia moved without their edge. There was no spark, urgency, or tempo. They looked like a team waiting for the day to wake them up instead of taking control of it.
Jalen Hurts couldn’t find rhythm. Two turnovers—each quieter than they should have been—drained what little life the building tried to generate. A crowd ready to explode to exorcise the team’s epic meltdown in Dallas just five days ago spent most of the afternoon caught between frustration and disbelief.
Chicago didn’t need fireworks. They simply owned the line of scrimmage. The Bears finished with 281 rushing yards—a ground assault that came in steady, unhurried waves. Kyle Monangai ran for 130 yards on 22 carries, D’Andre Swift added 125 on 18, and both had cracked 100 yards with still three minutes left in the third quarter.
They didn’t just run well; they ran with confidence, anger, rhythm, and control—something the Eagles never found. Meanwhile, Philadelphia finished with just 87 rushing yards—a number that only felt smaller as the minutes passed.
### A Tush-Push Nightmare
There was one stretch—albeit brief and fragile—when the game felt ready to tilt. Saquon Barkley began cutting with purpose on a short field given to him by defensive teammate Jalyx Hunt, who picked off Bears quarterback Caleb Williams in the left flat.
The line finally leaned forward. The offense breathed for the first time. The crowd stirred, recognizing a flicker of something they’d been waiting all afternoon to feel.
And then the moment that turned the day.
Third and long at the Bears’ 12-yard line—the kind of down Philadelphia usually bends to its will. This time, they rolled out old faithful: the Tush Push, their signature play that the Detroit Lions stopped on back-to-back snaps late in the game two weeks ago. A play that doesn’t appear as automatic as it once was.
Chicago didn’t hesitate. Nashon Wright shot through the crease, met Hurts at the line, and ripped the ball free—causing a fumble that landed with the cold finality of a dropped curtain. One of the biggest plays of the afternoon, delivered by a name no one expected to hear in the moment that mattered most.
And just like that, the air shifted.
On the very next play, Monangai ripped off a 31-yard run straight up the middle—a run that didn’t need misdirection or trickery. A run that sliced through hesitation and poor leverage. A run that told you everything you needed to know about how the rest of the afternoon would unfold.
Monangai capped off the drive a few plays later with a nine-yard waltz to the end zone early in the fourth quarter, and the Birds never fully recovered after that.
### No-Make Jake’s Costly Missed PAT
But the turning points didn’t end there.
Jake Elliott, one of the most reliable kickers in the league, missed an extra point after A.J. Brown’s first touchdown—a simple point-after that should have tied the game at 10 early in the third quarter. Instead, it left the Eagles chasing, forcing their hand in ways that never aligned with the rhythm of the day.
When they eventually needed a two-point conversion—after Brown scored his second touchdown with under four minutes left—they didn’t get it.
A simple miss early in the third quarter that hung over everything that followed.
Brown was one of the few bright spots. He finished with 10 catches, 132 yards, and two touchdowns. A performance good enough to win on most days. But not this one.
### Bears Dominate the Stats
The Bears doubled the Eagles in first downs, 28 to 14, controlled nearly 40 minutes of possession, and outgained them 425 to 317. At no point did the numbers lie. At no point did it look like Philadelphia was the steadier team.
Chicago finished the first half with an imbalanced time of possession—21 minutes to nine—and 16 first downs to just two for the Eagles.
Yes, it was that bad.
It was so bad, it made Ebenezer Scrooge’s night out with the Ghosts of Christmas Past feel like a trip to Epcot.
### The Weight of the Past
As the game settled into its final stretch, the same uneasy feeling from before kickoff thickened—the kind that doesn’t announce itself until it does. The kind that settles on your shoulders like something old is returning to check in.
The Eagles never led. Never played from a position of strength. Never punched back long enough to make Chicago blink.
### A Nightmare Before Christmas
And so, another Black Friday will go down in the annals of Philly sports lore as an epic sports tragedy—a nightmare of sorts that will evoke a plethora of emotions different from the one spewed from the outcome of their baseball counterpart’s ghastly haunting.
Separated from that one by fifty years, it will still carry the same sort of shame-shivers and reverberating regret as the 1977 debacle did.
Not because the games matched. Not because the disasters aligned.
But because the day carried that same strange shadow the city knows too well.
Hint: it rhymes with Smitty’s nickname—the Slim Reaper.
The Ghosts of Black Friday’s Past came through the fog again with all the weight of a Jacob Marley guilt trip and the drag of the chains he forged in life.
https://heavy.com/sports/nfl/philadelphia-eagles/ghosts-of-black-fridays-past-haunt-eagles-like-a-wasted-burt-hooton-melt-down/
