My brother Bill, who lives just across the Walt Whitman Bridge from Lincoln Financial Field, home of his beloved Philadelphia Eagles, is having cornea-transplant surgery tomorrow morning.

And, being the loving, caring brother I am, I called him to see how he was doing. He has already undergone the same surgery on his right eye. It went well, so I was surprised at his reaction when I talked with him last week.

"I'm nervous," he told me. "Real nervous. I'm worried. I lost faith. I can't eat. I can't sleep. Instead of counting sheep, I'm counting things that can go wrong. A slip here. An error in judgment there. It all be could be gone so fast."

This wasn't the same guy I talked to before the first surgery. One thing about my brother, he's eternally optimistic. His tone concerned me. I wondered to myself if maybe he should postpone the surgery.

"I know we've been through this before, but that doesn't make it any easier," he said. "As far as I'm concerned this is like starting from scratch. And let's be honest — there were problems the last time. I've just never talked about them. There was a lot of pain the next day and it has stayed with me a long time."

He never told me about the pain, and I felt guilty for not knowing.

"It was so bad the last time," he said. "Nothing seemed clear to me. Even now it's all like a blur. The cold, dark day. The missed opportunities. The drops. Pinkston."

"I'm talking about the Birds, the NFC Championship Game against Carolina last year," my brother said. "What did you think about I was talking about? This silly surgery coming up? Piece of cake. Total confidence. I'm not worried about the eye. I'm worried about the Eagles."

Now the conversation was making sense. This is the mood in Philadelphia today — for The City of Brotherly Angst. The collective health of the entire Delaware Valley is wrapped up in this team.

Minor annoyances like major surgeries are secondary to the many story lines that will play out today between the Eagles and the Atlanta Falcons. The possibilities for failure seem endless.

"Why is something always going wrong with these guys?" my brother lamented. "Two years ago, (Donovan) McNabb was rusty after just returning from missing six weeks with a broken ankle. Last year, they were without (running back) Brian Westbrook, and McNabb got hurt early. And this year there's no T.O. (Terrell Owens). We're cursed, I tell you. Worse than the Buffalo Bills.

"And have you checked your Doppler? They're talking winds as high as 40 miles an hour. What's that going to do to (kicker) David Akers? How will that affect Donovan's passing? I'm telling you, wind is bad. You ever hear of an ill wind? This looks like one of them. It favors the Falcons and their running game."

Everybody in the area is looking for omens. Looking for signs away from football that this game, this year will be different.

For the third straight year, the Philadelphia Eagles will be the host for the NFC Championship Game. No team has hosted the game three years in a row. And this will be the Eagles' fourth straight appearance in the conference championship. They've lost the past three.

I told my brother I would be doing my part to help the team.

I've been in the stadium for the past two championship-game losses. I never heard silence like the kind that fell on Veterans Stadium on Jan. 19, 2003, when Ronde Barber intercepted McNabb's pass and returned it for a touchdown, clinching Tampa Bay's 27-10 defeat of the Eagles.

And last year, I was sentenced to sit by Carolina coach John Fox's wife, who hammered on the table and lifted her fists in the air with every ebb and flow of the game.

McNabb was hurt early. Eagles receivers Pinkston and James Thrash couldn't get off the line of scrimmage. Quietly, I witnessed another tortured loss, 14-3.

There's nothing worse than trying to be objective in a working press box while the team you've cheered for 50 years is in free-fall and the wife of the opposing coach is punching the air in joy just a few feet away.

This year, I told my brother I'm staying in Seattle. I promised I wouldn't be within 2,500 miles of the Linc.

"Are you serious?' my brother asked. "Maybe there's hope at last. You promise you'll stay safely on the other side of the Rockies. I won't be seeing you.

"Look, this is great news. I've got to go. I've got to tell my friends. Got to tell my surgeon. He's as jittery as I am. This news will calm him down. This is it, the break we've needed. And, do me one other favor — please don't call me on Sunday afternoon. I'm going to be busy."

I wished my brother luck. And told him I also hope the cornea transplant goes well.

Steve Kelley: 206-464-2176 or skelley@seattletimes.com.