Hangover? You suck. Eagles? You too. Cross-promotion? Same to you, pal.

As fun as Saturday was, Sunday was flat-out miserable. As you can guess by the title, the fun of Saturday led directly to part of Sunday's misery.

After months of planning, we finally sprung a surprise party for my wife's 30th birthday (which technically happens Monday). One thing led to another - more tellingly, one drink led to another - and we cabbed home since none of us was in any shape to drive.

A mix of Yuengling, scotch, Red Death, wine and a couple of shots swirled around my stomach and left my liver feeling like it had gone the distance in a heavyweight title bout. Needless to say, said stomach and liver and the rest of me were pretty pissed off when I woke up this morning.

I didn't have a headache, thankfully, but felt plenty shitty nonetheless: woozy, nauseous, you name it. I even managed to string a few dry heaves together, which felt like I was getting kicked in the gut each time. (And dry heaves are the worst. When you puke, at least there's a sense of accomplishment and finality - wow, I finally got that out of my system - but with dry heaves, there's all the accompanying misery without anything to show for it.)

After a while of sitting around trying to recover, I felt well enough - though still not great - to take home a friend who'd stayed over with us. (I was concerned that having to watch the NFL pregame shows would've again sent me running to the baño, but thankfully that was not the case.)

I returned just in time to see my hopes lifted, if only for a little while. The Eagles were absolutely killing the Giants, and it was wonderful to watch McNabb pick apart the Giants' secondary while watching Eli Manning continue to suck.

But, as I'm sure you know by now, it didn't last. Philly lost all momentum in the second half and pissed a double-digit lead down its feather-encased leg. A Jay Feely field goal in the final seconds of regulation pushed the game into overtime which, predictably, the Eagles lost.

There is plenty of blame to spread for the second-half collapse. But for me, the bulk of it goes to Trent Cole, the Eagles' defensive end who reportedly kicked a Giants player in the groin late in the fourth quarter. His 15-yard personal foul gave the notably shaky Feely a 35-yard field goal attempt, not the far more daunting 50-yarder he would have faced without the penalty. For how awful Philly was in the second half, if Feely misses a 50-yarder, the Eagles win and overtime is averted.

As you can probably guess, there were f-bombs aplenty lobbed around the apartment in the fourth quarter. Honestly, it's games like these when I wonder why it's worth the agony of being a fan. Outside of Cleveland, there's no worse place to be a fan than in Philly. No matter what happens and no matter how rosy things seem to be, you know there's a stinkbug in the middle of that rose. Philly teams always come up a yard short, a run short, a goal short or a free throw short. (The Phillies are a game out of the wild card the last I checked, but there's no real possibility they'll make it. And even if they do, they'll match up well against whoever they'd play in the first round - likely St. Louis - and lose then. Or make it to the seventh game of the World Series and lose it in the bottom of the ninth, like they did in '93.) You can't spell failure with out a "PH".

Anyway, we left to pick up my car before overtime started. I just had no interest in football after the Feely field goal. Like here's honestly what I know of Week 2 in the NFL: Baltimore beat Oakland, Minnesota ran a fake field goal and the Eagles lost. Oh, and the Redskins were losing in Dallas. Other than that, my appetite for the NFL is about as great as my appetite for a glass of scotch.

After returning home with my car, we kicked back and enjoyed the rest of the evening. We were disappointed at the lack of viewing options at 7:30 after the Simpsons were over. So we managed to take in a little bit of America's Funniest Home Videos (again, there was nothing else on). AFV is usually good for a chuckle or two despite the fact that a) host Tom Bergeron is decidedly unfunny and b) the funniest videos are never among the three at the end.

To make matters worse, we were forced to listen Bergeron ramble on in between clips about how awesome Dancing with the Stars is. Look chief, I have no interest in that damned show and your continued gushing about it does not sway my opinion. Of course, it's probably not Bergeron's idea, since no one does cross-promotion better (or worse) than the Mouse.

Surely there's not been a show on ABC in prime-time that hasn't been mentioned on ESPN's SportsCenter at least seven times. ("Clinton Portis could've used a visit to the folks at Grey's Anatomy. Portis missed Sunday night's game in Dallas with a bum shoulder." Or whatever drivel they spew on SC.) ABC Sports is dead; now anything on ABC is branded with ESPN. ESPN The Weekend at Walt Disney World.

It's enough to make me sicker than I was this morning.

(Photos from sidesplitters.catastrophe.net and AP via Yahoo)