For one brilliant afternoon Nick Foles was a quarterback god, flinging footballs inflated with divinity

He held Thor’s thunderbolts in his right hand, the touchdown passes began billowing out, and the possibilities suddenly seemed enormous.

He kept spraying that pigskin all over the field. Sprssssshhh.

And before the Earth had turned much farther, he had transformed himself a pillar of perfection, awesome to behold.

What he had wrought had been miraculous and immaculate.

The Eagles’ Nick Foles absolutely shredded the Oakland Raiders 49-20 Sunday, reducing what had been a good Raiders secondary into a sinking, babbling ship of fools.

Foles was unreal, surreal. Historically majestic.

He threw for an NFL record-tying seven touchdown passes, all within the first three quarters, and finished 22 of 28 for 406 yards and perfect quarterback rating of 158.3.

Only in the NFL is perfection quantified as 158.3.

So how in the name of seventh heaven did a guy who was totally dismantled and concussed by the Dallas Cowboys two weeks ago accomplish this?

Who the hell knows?

The NFL has morphed into a totally ephemeral experience.

What you see today is not what you saw yesterday or will see tomorrow.

There are no lasting truths etched into tablets, stone or digital.

There is only the truth of the moment, as fleeting as a shadow floating across a room.

Foles seized a moment of magnificence in his right hand yesterday and squeezed it until the juice ran down his arm.


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