Buddy Ryan, the lovable loser

BUDDY RYAN was a backwoods thug who won exactly zero playoff games. So why do we still consider him the greatest Eagles coach ever?

In 1999, when Andy Reid - red, jolly and offensive-minded - was first introduced to Philadelphia, we were told he'd come to rescue the Eagles from the mess former coach Ray Rhodes had created. Five years earlier, Rhodes - black, surly and defensive-minded - had come to town to rescue the team from the clutches of Rich Kotite.

And everyone in this city knew whom Kotite - Long Islandah, cartoonish, chart-minded - had come to Philly to replace: James David "Buddy" Ryan, a stout Oklahoma farm boy, who upon his arrival stepped to the podium and famously declared, "You've got a winner in town."

Buddy's refrain was bold and inspiring, meant to perk up the reporters and fans who had no longer cared about the Eagles since Dick Vermeil shuffled away in a tearful goodbye. But Buddy never lived up to his own expectations. In his five years as head coach, he won the NFC East only once and lost three times in the playoffs, yet he's shaped Philadelphia's fanaticism more directly than any other sports figure since the Broad Street Bullies shattered the orbital sockets of the NHL more than 30 years ago. So why is this hillbilly menace considered Knute Rockne, even though every one of those head coaches who followed him actually won a playoff game?

Because I, like many other Philadelphia sports fans, am a sucker for a spectacle. And Ryan was the biggest, most brazen, manure-spittin' crazyman the town has ever seen.

Ryan was a walking, talking version of the mythology Philadelphia fans idolize about themselves, even if his collar was not actually blue, and his nose did not have real pieces of granite inside it, and he did not, in fact, tote a lunch pail to the practice field every day. Buddyball was enough to humiliate the Cowboys and incite an actual snowball riot at the Vet. A spectacle was guaranteed - even when a Super Bowl was not. Ryan somehow managed to instill a winner's attitude into his players and the fans without ever winning anything other than national headlines for attempting to incentivize his players to injure a 5-6 kicker named Luis Zendejas. Yet when he was fired from Philadelphia and headed off to the Houston Oilers as defensive coordinator, the city's identity seemed to wilt.

When Buddy moved on, the city tried to, too, but it wasn't the same. I was envious of the Oilers the day Ryan threw a punch at offensive coordinator Kevin Gilbride on the sidelines. It was a move that was ludicrous, yet also symbolic of the man's one-sided coaching philosophy. (The Oilers were actually up 14-0 going into the half prior to the haymaker.)

"God, I miss him," I thought.

But what did I miss? The snarl? The show? The feeling that, even without a championship (or even a wild-card victory), the team was one step away from dominance, even if there were meteor-size holes on the offensive side of the ball?

Today we have Andy Reid, the most successful coach in Philadelphia Eagles history, a pillar of consistency, whose reign in Philadelphia won't inspire many fond memories because his teams consistently fell one or two games short of being truly dominant. His sound bites become noteworthy only because of their brevity and circumlocution. But even those wheezy postgame pressers, during which he sounds like Tony Soprano fresh off a treadmill, Andy's still completely devoid of the emotional blood-spitting required for me to be joyful for him in victory and, especially, pity him over another frustrating defeat. Indeed, we're now three games into the 13th version of the Andy Reid Show, and my admiration of his accomplishments hasn't grown at all since the 2002 NFC Championship Game.

More often than not, in fact, I wish Buddy Ryan would climb out of the Gatorade bucket and whack the damn red mustache off Andy Reid's face. Even though it's illogical and irrational and, well, criminal to think that way about one of the better coaches in this city's professional-sports history, it's just never meant to be. If any Philadelphia fan picks Andy Reid (and his five NFC Championship Game appearances) over Buddy (and his zero NFC Championship Game appearances) in a best-Eagles-coach-ever discussion (let's pretend Dick Vermeil is excluded), I will show you a person who's in dire need of a defibrillator. And those people are right, in the statistical, logical and pragmatic sense. But when does thinking like that ever benefit anybody? Especially with less than 2 minutes to go and no timeouts left.

Contributor A.J. Daulerio is the editor of Deadspin.com