The Reids Talk

Andy and Tammy Reid do exclusive interview with Philly Magazine about their sons

Andy and Tammy Reid have finally spoken about their sons and the interview will appear in Philly Magazine on December 29th.

In addition, Andy Reid will answer questions about his sons related to this interview at his press conference today.

In the interview they discuss the trials and tribulations with their drug-addled sons Brit and Garrett Reid.

On the Morning Show on WIP Angelo Cataldi had the whole interview and gave some sneak peeks. Apparently things got so bad with Britt Reid that he was homeless in Arizona while the Eagles were off their second straight NFC Championship appearance.

The Reids did everything possible for their sons and they still were getting in trouble. It's a testament to Andy Reid's strength as a person that he could focus on coaching while having all of this going on in his life.

The interview will come out in the Philadelphia Magazine on December 29th.

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Charlie Manuel a poet?

For those of you who think Charlie Manuel is a dope, here's proof he isn't or at least wasn't (when he wrote this poem) about then-team mate Harmen Killebrew. He was apparently very fond of the Hall of Famer.

It's a very well written and nice tribute to the Twins great.

This is courteousy of Philly.com and the poem also appeared on the Cleveland Indians' website when Manuel was their manager.
My Most Memorable Day
By Charlie Manuel

It was a warm day in August when history was made,

And the fans in the boxes were looking for shade.

The bases were loaded, it was the last inning.

From the sound of the crowd, you knew we weren't winning.

When out of the dugout came No. 3,

The last hope for the Twins it was sure to be.

Now legend tells of Casey at the bat,

But today it was the Killer who tipped his hat.

Cursing and swearing came from the stands,

When Harmon was waved back by Rigney's hand.

An astonishing look came over the Brew's face,

When Rigney said, "Manuel is taking your place."

A disbelieving look as he turned around,

Placed his bat in the rack without a sound.

Then from the bench came No. 9,

Who'd been warming the pine for a long, long time.

As he stepped from the dugout came a yell from the stands,

"You can't hit, Manuel, the Killer's our man."

Never before in history had they pinch-hit for the Brew,

Especially with some hillbilly hitting .182.

This was a mockery, a dirty rotten shame,

To pinch-hit for a man who's a sure Hall of Fame.

But Charlie heard not a word as he strode to the plate.

He only noticed the crowd's eyes; they were filled with hate.

"God, help me this one time," kept going through his mind.

"If I ever get a hit, let it be this time."

Jim Palmer looked in and thought, "This should be a cinch,

I'll throw three by this rider of the bench."

Down came the ball with a little white glare,

As Manuel stood watching for he knew it was there.

"Strike one," came the call from the man in blue,

And four pitches later it was 3 and 2.

Now everything rode on the very last pitch.

Would Charlie stay a poor boy or would he suddenly be rich?

The crack of the bat and a long drive to right,

The back of Blair's uniform is the only thing in sight.

The roar from the stands gave a deafening scream . . .

Then Charlie fell out of bed, it was only a dream.