SUPER. FREAKY. WACKY. CREEPY?

The Losers Bracket: Eagles Fans

They call him "The Tatt Man."

A shirtless Chuck Solomon settles into the chair at Bone Daddy's tattoo parlor in Darby, PA. Artist Jay Goat spreads a drawing of Veterans' Stadium on an easel where it will be easy to see as he works. In the picture, the Vet, former home of the Philadelphia Eagles and Phillies, is mid-implosion. In the tattoo gradually taking shape on Chuck's stomach and chest, the Vince Lombardi Trophy is rising out of the rubble.

Solomon began the tattoo at the beginning of the football season and has returned to Bone Daddy's every few weeks to have a bit more ink added. That way, as his team got closer and closer to the trophy, so did he. But the tattooing—Chuck estimates that he has 60 Eagles tattoos—is just one of The Tatt Man's rituals to help the Eagles win.

Normally, on game days, Solomon rises at 4:15 in the morning. He's out of the house by 5. He climbs into his green-painted, Eagles-decorated 1978 Minnie Winnebago—dubbed The Tatt Mobile—and heads to the deli up the street to pick up food for his tailgate from the cold box. "They're not open yet, but I have a way to get in," he says. He stops at the same Wawa every week, puts gas in the Winnebago and his generator and gets himself some breakfast. By 5:30, he's in the lot at Lincoln Financial field. He is joined by other Green Fans from Scotty's Express, an Eagles school bus, and the Eagles Rescue Ambulance, which carries everything—from paper plates to band aids — to help a tailgater in need. Solomon will cook and eat and spin CD's until game time.

Even the dog can feel the despair.

But this weekend, the Eagles are in Arizona, so the tailgate has moved to Solomon's home in Clifton Heights, PA. Chuck's friend Cheese Steak Head scored a ticket to Arizona, so he is there, along with their lucky Eagles gnome, representing the group. The Minnie Winnie is in Solomon's driveway. The TV is on in his Eagles den, which is painted green and decorated with every kind of Eagles paraphernalia imaginable. Solomon's wife and four kids and forty of his closest friends are there. His two golden retrievers have their own jerseys. The cheer: E — A — G — L — E — S. They sing "Fly, Eagles, Fly, On The Road to Victory." They watch the Cardinals take a 24-6 lead into the second half. They watch their Birds score three touchdowns to make up the deficit. But in the end, their Eagles lose. With tears in his eyes, Solomon flicks off the neon Eagles light over his couch. A neighbor gestures toward the incomplete tattoo on his stomach, the skin around it still red and puffy from yesterday's fresh ink.

"No more," Solomon says. "It will have to wait until next year."

Just like Eagles fans.

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