A Love Letter to the Philadelphia Eagles
I’ve been bleeding midnight green for as long as I can remember. I grew up curled on the couch with my family, Sunday after Sunday, watching the Birds fly (and sometimes fall) while we screamed at the TV like our voices could actually reach the Linc. I was an original McNabb girl, loyal even through the heart-stopping interceptions, because no matter how many times we stumbled, the Eagles were our team. They still are.
There’s a kind of love only Philly fans understand. It’s the love that survives heartbreak after heartbreak: the blown leads, the almost seasons, the times we swore we were done but still showed up in green the next week. It’s the love that turned Broad Street into a sea of tears and laughter when we finally won it all in 2017. It’s the love that roared back even louder last season when the Birds soared and brought home the Lombardi again. Back-to-back decades, two trophies, a city that still hasn’t caught its breath.
Since then, my Eagles memories keep stacking up. Last season alone, I must have watched half our games shoulder to shoulder with friends at Philly bars, pints spilling, everyone chanting, the whole place vibrating every time Jalen Hurts powered into the end zone. Tailgates that smelled like beer, cheesesteaks, and hope. Autumn afternoons where nothing else mattered except the clock, the score, and the dream.
Now I live in the city I love so much, about to watch the season opener surrounded by the best fans in football. The kind of fans who boo Santa but would hand you their last soft pretzel in overtime. The kind of fans who still dissect the Philly Special like scripture. Here, being an Eagles fan isn’t a hobby. It’s a heartbeat.
And the roster? Forget it. I’m smitten. Jalen Hurts is everything I want in a quarterback: steady, unshakable, relentless. A.J. Brown brings fire every snap, and Reed Blankenship feels like the kind of grinder Philly always rallies around. Cooper DeJean might be my real love (sorry, Eric, but he’s got that dawg in him). And Saquon Barkley in midnight green? Unreal. The future looks electric.
Why do I love the Eagles? Because they’ve been my constant, from childhood living room Sundays to that once-in-a-lifetime (and twice now) Super Bowl parade, to standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers who feel like family. I even have “Go Birds” tattooed on me, a permanent reminder of the team that has shaped so many seasons of my life.
We won it all last season, and I’m already hungry for a repeat. If we pull off the opener, I’ll be drunk and dancing like Jason Kelce tonight, losing my voice somewhere on a crowded Philly sidewalk. Let’s make Broad Street a river of green one more time.
Fly Eagles Fly.
-D