There are really only a few things that fairly scream 'Philly!'
The Mummers would be one of them. You don't really explain the Mummers to outsiders. You simply tell them it's something you have to experience.
Same can be said for 'Rocky,' and why every visitor simply must run up the steps of the Art Museum, then raise their hands in victory with the city skyline in the background.
Then, of course, there is Wing Bowl.
No, we did not make the Super Bowl again this year. That honor goes to Denver and Seattle, which will meet Sunday in balmy 40-degree weather in North Jersey.
Once again this year here in the Philadelphia area must ease our pain by chomping on wings, swilling beer at 5 a.m. and leering at scantily clad women.
Yep, must be time for Wing Bowl.
What started 22 years ago with a couple of plates of wings in the lobby of the Wyndham Franklin Plaza has now grown into a monster event that packs the Wells Fargo Center.
Really, name me one other city that you think could pull this thing off.
It's becoming increasingly popular to badmouth this decidedly debauched event.
I have to admit I've never actually been to Wing Bowl. I also can admit it looks like a blast.
Uncouth? Absolutely.
Low-class? Speak for yourself.
Me? I think it screams Philly, and I will war the badge proudly.
It also tells me something else. It tells me we have survived another January. That now all we have to do is gut out February, and we may be out of the woods.
And one other thing. The minute Wing Bowl is over, the countdown can begin for pitchers and catchers.
That's what we do in Philly.
Wear it proud, folks.
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