Christine M. Flowers: When it comes to Philadelphia sports, Someone Up There is watching

IF I WERE forced to name my two favorite voices of conscience at this paper, it would have to be Signe Wilkinson and Stu Bykofsky.

Given what's happened to cartoonist Mollie Norris on the West Coast, the Pulitzered Signe has shown admirable intestinal fortitude in attacking radical Islam when it has offended her finely honed sensibilities for its violence against women - just as she's done to my church when she believed it was warranted. (And the fact that she hasn't been forced to hang out with Tommy Two-Fingers in witness protection is a tribute to her savvy.)

Byko has that same type of moxie when taking on threats of a more mundane - yet equally annoying - nature, like the cyclists who make this city a living hell for pedestrians and motorists alike and the trendy restaurateurs who eat up valuable pavement space for their chichi patrons at the expense of the average pedestrian.

God bless them for pulling back the veil (or in Signe's case, the burka) on injustice and arrogance.

Last week, Stu was at it again, criticizing the Eagles for making Michael Vick the new face of the team.

Anyone who read the column of mine that conveniently appeared the same day as Stu's knows that he and I diverge on the issue of whether a true fan can or should root for the Birds when the team has chosen a convicted-yet-allegedly-reforming felon as its leader. While I agree that Vick is hardly the role model that we all want for our kids, I'm not about to abandon my team for what I think is a temporary moral fumble.

Still, after watching last Sunday's game, I'm beginning to think that Stu was on to something: While I haven't abandoned the Eagles, it seems that the deity that I believe in has.

Could it be mere coincidence that at the precise moment when he appeared to be vindicating his coronation as the Eagles' starting QB, Michael Vick suffered an injury that may very well keep him out of the game for the next month?

This is just enough time to put us in a deep hole in the division, so you can't help but wonder if biblical karma isn't at work. In terms of divine punishment, it wasn't as obvious as turning someone into a pillar of salt or the Angel of Death taking your firstborn, but it definitely sent a message.

And if you add in the divine events at Citizens Bank Park on Wednesday night, I don't believe the Vick message is the only one he was sending. Roy Halladay's no-hitter was only the second time that happened in postseason play in the history of big-league baseball. (The last time, both President Obama and yours truly were aged negative-5.)

By all accounts, Halladay is a wonderful guy in the Gary Cooper-as-Lou Gehrig mold, modest and humble. He doesn't make a big deal about what is indeed a big deal, his magnificent arm.

He does his job, supports his team and still manages to let the fans know he's having fun. Doc is not an anomaly on this baseball team. From their Philadelphia-via-Mayberry manager Charlie to their youngest star Domonic, the Phillies are generally considered to be the classiest operation ever to grace this sports-rabid city. (Not that we need class to love our boys. Remember the Bullies?)

But there's something truly wonderful about having a team that has Hall of Fame character to go with its Hall of Fame lineup.

And after the events of this last week, I'm convinced that the big fellow up in the sky feels the same way. How else to explain the unfortunate series of events that have beset our football team since we let Lucifer write our playbook?

Injury after injury. Penalties. The game-winning ball falling into - and plucked by an invisible hand out of - Jason Avant's grasp. An embarrassing comeuppance in exactly the game we didn't want it: Donovan McNabb's homecoming.

YOU COULD, of course, argue that our divinity is too busy dealing with Lindsay Lohan and Mel Gibson to trouble himself with the soap opera that is Philadelphia sports. And there's evidence that he has closed a celestial eye to other instances of wrongdoing. Exhibit A: allowing Pittsburgh to have a winning record despite keeping Ben "The Pervert" Roethlisberger on the roster.

But there's something strangely appealing about the idea of cosmic justice that derives from a divinity who smiles on the worthy and punishes the evildoers. We like to see the good guys win, and the bad guys falter. That is, of course, unless the bad guys are playing for the home team. In which case, it pays to be an atheist.

Christine M. Flowers is a lawyer.

E-mail cflowers1961@yahoo.com.