Life Is Magic: My Inspiring Journey from Tragedy to Self-Discovery by Larry Platt

Author:Larry Platt [Platt, Larry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster
Published: 2019-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

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Like most long snappers, I’d long been a mercenary. But then, in Philly, the damnedest thing happened. I’d found security in the Eagles family, and in the city as a whole. Generally, long snappers toil in anonymity. No one knows what we do, let alone who we are. But in Philly, the most sports-crazed of towns, something happened. Shortly after I arrived, a local reporter, Joe Santoliquito, approached me and commented on how serendipitous it was that the song “Wind Beneath My Wings” was sung at my mom’s funeral—with its line about flying higher than an eagle—and here I was, playing for the Eagles. Whoa. “You’re going to do great things here,” that writer said, and his words became a type of self-fulfilling prophecy. Not only did that Bette Midler song instantly become the pregame soundtrack in my headphones—while my teammates psyched themselves to rap backbeats or ear-splitting heavy metal, but the city and I just clicked, like it was destiny. People started recognizing me. Out to dinner, I’d get high fives. At the supermarket, a fan might yell “Magic man!” and ask for an autograph.

The Eagles asked me to host a weekly TV show during the season. I’d interview my teammates, make them the victim of my card tricks. How sick is this: in 2009, I won an Emmy, for best host. Suddenly I started seeing fans wearing Eagles number 46 jerseys. With my name on the back. What the…? I’d go up to strangers on the street who were wearing my jersey and offer to sign it for them. “You do know I’m just a long snapper, right?” I’d say to them.

People sensed that I was more than a hired gun. I was an Eagle. I was a Philadelphian. My family had shattered when I was twelve, and without really planning it, my team and this amazing city had become my extended family. Before, snapping a football was a job. Now, quite by accident, I’d found a higher purpose. When our team owner, Jeffrey Lurie, got married, I was the only player invited to the wedding. “You’re family,” he said, and I beamed inside.

It wasn’t unrelated that my play improved year after year. After all, wouldn’t you go all out for your family? In 2010, I made the Pro Bowl, and would again five years later. Ever since 1979, when the disco song “We Are Family” was the theme song for the World Series champion Pittsburgh Pirates, sports-team marketing departments have painted their franchises as families. But for me, the idea of the Eagles as family wasn’t just some sports-page cliché. For me, it meant bringing to our relationship the same type of commitment we all bring to our actual families.

One day, for example, the team doc brought some grave news. I had torn ligaments in my ankle. Out six to eight weeks, at least. Big Red came to see me. “I’m not going to put you on injured reserve,” he said. “If we make the playoffs, I want you there.

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