Jackson may be just the guy to cheer up dour Birds fans

Here's a rundown of Philadelphia-tinged, sports-related observations from A.J. Daulerio, editor of Deadspin.com and suburban Philadelphia zero who is the proud owner of a Mike Mamula autographed picture.

The best e-mail I received from another Eagles fan the day after the 38-3 blowout of the Rams:

"If [DeSean] Jackson scored on that punt return, my pants were coming off."

I have no idea what that means, but I couldn't agree more.

There are not enough laudatory adjectives in a Philadelphia sportswriter's thesaurus to talk about this guy. But for every positive, "real deal" assessment there's always the sobering disclaimers: It's one game. It's the Rams. There was a crescent moon. Rams secondary coach Ron Milus was huffing paint thinner between quarters.

Sure, Jackson still has plenty of time to underwhelm, underachieve, and become the next Chris T. Jones. But he's not. He can't be! We've been waiting for an offensive player like this to emerge from our laughable wide receiver draft picks for what seems like an eternity.

And this one game might be enough to reverse a collective fan base's dour attitude. He's the type of player who can conceivably get by on this one game alone, forever in the good graces of fickle Philly fandom just by virtue that he's an Eagles draft pick who, for once, exceeded extraordinarily high expectations.

He could disappear for the next five games, catch one ball, average 10 yards per return, but we know that he'll eventually pop something, change the game, and fill us with a dizzying high once only achieved by purchasing 10 nitrous balloons in the Linc parking lot before game time. He's given us hope beyond this season. He's that guy, the elusive playmaker most Eagles fans were willing to give up 17 draft picks, a limb, and their first-born daughters for in free agency.

He's Barack Obama in tiny shoulder pads for this city. (Or Sarah Palin to the rabid hockey moms in Philadelphia.) But he's ours. He might just be the guy that forces me to finally incinerate my Gizmo Williams jersey.

Seriously, are we karmically messed up if we root for Brett Myers?

One of the most remarkable turnarounds in this rickety Phillies season is the resurgence of one Brett Allen Myers, a pitcher seemingly on the precipice of suffering a Rick Ankiel-esque meltdown in midseason when he was shipped off to IronPigs purgatory only to reemerge as the second coming of Robin Roberts.

But is it just me, or is it a little weird to be thinking this guy is a "feel-good" story given his penchant for obnoxious blowups?

I love Myers on the mound right now, and he possesses everything you'd want out of a top-of-the-rotation guy. His competitive snarl is infectious, and should the Phillies somehow overtake the Mets (or slink into the wild card), he could be the most dominating pitcher coming into the postseason. (I don't think I'd even take the chubby guy in Milwaukee right now over Myers.)

But has there ever been a more conscience-vexing 180 in a local athlete's career arc? When Myers was struggling, it was the ultimate in schadenfreude. Given the awful, awful circumstances of what happened two years ago in Boston, it seemed fitting that this guy's combustible head would ultimately ruin his career. Now? Well, the Phillies have done a masterful job at erasing the incident from our memory. (Hey, the sub-2 ERA the last month helps as well. We're also at fault.)

But should his good fortune continue, does he owe us some explanation? Just give me the SportsNight sit-down with Leslie Gudel talking about how he's found God or donates half of his salary to women's shelters or he's watched The Burning Bed 12 times since the incident and completely reprogrammed himself before we get too wrapped up in his comeback.

If not, it's still hard to get behind him 100 percent. I want to. I do. But for a team that always seems to be desperately searching for character, maybe it's time to step up and make this right well before Brett Myers bobblehead day.

When the Phillies re-signed second baseman Tadahito Iguchi off waivers from the San Diego Padres on Friday, it opened up the possibilities for an upper-deck fan club: the Gooch Brothers. Best part is, if So Taguchi is playing and Iguchi is on the bench, it could just as easily work for him, too.

And speaking of Iguchi . . .

Philadelphia sports jersey I wish they'd sell in Modell's:

Dave Yammamoto. Since this is the second time Iguchi's translator will be in town (and sitting in the dugout again in uniform), he deserves to be immortalized.

One other unfortunate outcome of Kris Benson's release:

AnnaBenson.net is still under construction. (She clearly needed that roster bonus money to finish the html coding.)