Dear Mr. Wentz,

There is very little chance we should ever meet each other in person, but I need you to understand one thing: we share a very special bond, and we always will.

You see, yesterday was easily the most enjoyable day I’ve spent on this planet since I became an Eagles fan–which covers a time span I’d rather not elaborate upon in this venue since it equates to a sum that is roughly 90 times greater than the aggregate of your social security number.  I know you had a good day as well, my friend, because both of us watched the last domino of the Chip Kelly era tumble out of view.

With Bradford shipped off to Minneapolis and a replenishment of draft picks set to arrive in Howie’s office via evil sorcery, the future is now the present here in Philadelphia. And you, Mr. Wentz, are the beating heart in the chest of that future.

So, I have a bit of advice for you, since the QB/fan relationship hasn’t been all that sparkling throughout the history of this franchise. I mean, we once had a guy lead the team to nine playoff victories, an NFC title, and a Super Bowl berth and all he has to show for it is this:

We had another guy take us to our only other Super Bowl appearance, then settle into the area as an employer, commentator, philanthropist, and champion Arena League owner, only to endure shit like this:

But, hey, you may actually be entering the scene at just the right time, because things have been pretty shitty at your position since we sold D-Mac off to the enemies. The last five horses on the merry-go-round have looked like this: Sam Bradford (19 TDs, 14 INTs, 3725 YDs), Mark Sanchez (18 TDs/15 INTs/3030 YDs), Nick Foles *(46/19/6653), Mike Vick *(57/33/10000), Kevin Kolb **(11/10/2082). Not a pretty sight.

The way I see it, if you follow these simple guidelines, you have an opportunity to be canonized by the most brutal (but also the most caring, knowledgeable, and reverent) fans on the planet. And, with that, comes an eternal key to the city of Philadelphia. If you don’t believe me, ask someone like Bernie Parent or Chase Utley or Brian Dawkins. Inside the city limits, these men are Gods. And they always will be because this is what they understood:

1. Never, ever take credit for anything you accomplish on or off the field. We don’t care if you throw sixteen touchdown passes in the fourth quarter and run for eight more. It’s always because the receivers put themselves in position to make plays or the offensive line was giving you time. Always.
2. Don’t ever pay attention to the cruel, hurtful things we will undoubtedly say to or about you–myself included. These are inevitable outbursts of passion, and only show that we care. Trust me, don’t respond. Just go out there and throw a touchdown pass. Our memories will magically disappear.
3. Don’t listen to WIP or the Fanatic or any of those bullshit radio shows. Most of these guys are 47-year-old comic book collectors living in their parents’ basements and eating ramen three times a day. Listen to internet radio, or the voices in your head, or a fucking air raid signal. Anything but Philly sports talk. We need your head right on Sundays.
4. Get involved in the community. We notice, and we’ll love you for becoming more than just an athlete in this town.
5. Never say anything bad about Wawa, cheesesteaks, cream cheese, The Fresh Prince, Harry Kalas, any of the Rocky movies, Kate Smith, or any of the Broad Street Bullies. You’ve been warned.
6. Always talk trash on the Dallas Cowboys, their fans, coaching staff, players, previous players, and other assorted supporters. Your loyalty will not go unnoticed.
7. Learn the word ‘jawn’ and use it liberally.
8. Be a team leader, but don’t try to do too much. This is a franchise that has long been defined by its defensive heroes–the Reggie Whites, the Jerome Browns. Let guys like this share the burden of leading the locker room. To be more blunt: sew yourself to Malcolm Jenkins’ leg. Observe. Learn something.
9. Be a Giant killer. See this.
10. Always play gritty.  This is a city fueled by the magic of a Pete Rose head-first slide, or an Allen Iverson drive in amongst the trees. It’s a city captivated by toughness and that’s why you’re here. Leave it all out there on the field come Sunday. We’ll be right there with you, standing tall in the pocket.

Carson, I wish you the best of luck as you embark on what will surely be a unique journey. Who knows? You may even find it enjoyable (at times).  Here’s to a new day in Philadelphia football.

Yours in the Bond,

Frank Morelli

*stats padded by one good season in a multi-year career.

** straight pathetic