The Life, Love, and Legacy of Philadelphia Eagles Fans
A Philadelphia Eagles fan is a confusing phenomenon to understand. When our team wins, we’re on top of the world, literally dangling from poles along Broad Street, throwing fireworks into the air. Yet when our team loses, no matter our season record, our lives might as well be over; our quarterback has been garbage all season anyway. In fact, the whole team is garbage. For those on the outside looking in at our dumpster fire of a fanbase, it’s typical to hold an attitude of hatred.
Our fans act ridiculous, unserious, and mocking, oftentimes so completely insufferable that few opposing fans feel confident enough to wear a jersey other than our own at Lincoln Financial Field. While in line for bathrooms at a tailgate, the smell of beer and cooked cheesesteaks burning my nose, I spotted a poor, naive Green Bay fan walking by.
Within seconds of his jacket slipping to reveal his Packers tee, the entire line of fans ahead of me immediately turned, engaging in a level of taunting almost to the point of humiliation. But under these loud layers of sarcasm and annoyance, deep within our fans lies a true sense of defiance and camaraderie, a core value of loyalty that can’t be found anywhere else.
Born outside of Philadelphia in Berwyn, PA, I was raised in a household steeped in love for the Eagles. It’s a home where Superbowl LII is watched regularly like a favorite movie when Silver Linings Playbook isn’t an option, Chip Kelly’s name has been cursed often, and Jason Kelce is referred to as a national hero. We watch football on Sundays, yet the outcome of the game often trickles through the rest of the week, where the pain of a loss is still felt on a Wednesday afternoon. My parents' first date was watching an Eagles game on a Sunday in 1992. While many women would be offended to see their date pay more attention to the TV than them, it couldn’t have been more different for my mom. With generations of my family being die-hard Eagles fans, I felt the need to share some insight into this mania. The madness of our fans during playoff season is unlike any other time of the year and hits a new peak at the tailgates outside Lincoln Financial Field.
It was at one of these tailgates that I felt a sense of fanaticism outside of my friends and family. When I arrived at the Linc before the divisional round at a brisk 9:00 a.m., we were scheduled to face the LA Rams six hours later. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the lots closest to the Linc as fans began cooking breakfast on everything from a proper Blackstone to tinfoil and a lighter.
One gentleman decked in green and white striped overalls and a beanie in the shape of a bald eagle told me he arrived at the tailgate at 5:45 that morning as he continued to load up a hefty cheesesteak into a green bun. When I asked why such an early call time, he narrowed his brows and frowned before telling me, “Well, you have to get here that early,” stating this as though it were an obvious answer to a ridiculous question. I scanned the largely empty neighboring lots stretched around us before turning back to him, “Of course, of course,” I nodded.
Even in the biting cold, there remain fans who never leave the stadium throughout the duration of the game, constructing living rooms in the parking lots with TVs and folding chairs. Bands parade with drums and trumpets, surrounded by crowds of Eagles fans oblivious to the hail, rain, or snow around them.
Due to the energy of our fan base, one that sweeps anyone nearby into the whirlwind of hazing and chants, the origins of our fans vary. While many come from generations of Eagles fans and Philly natives, as I do, brought up in homes where Sundays are sacred days not simply for God but for Jalen Hurts as well, not every fan is from Philadelphia. Many students at Drexel University speak of how they had no choice but to conform to the intensity of our fans. Jared Letwat, a senior at Drexel from the North Shore suburbs of Chicago, spoke of how he “has never been super passionate about sports.” Still, Philadelphia’s sports customs “almost felt like a culture shock.” Letwat stated, "If I wasn’t a huge Eagles fan, I would be left out of the lifestyle surrounding Drexel and Philly as well, where most of my friends, classmates, and peers grew up.” For those who have never lived in a city where game days involve rituals embedded into a way of life, the jolt of Philly energy can come as quite a surprise.
Whether our fans were born in Philly or on the other side of the globe, we share a uniting denominator soaked in Kelly Green. During the wild card game against the Green Bay Packers, I strolled through the tailgates of green tents and running children catching footballs. When I stumbled before a giant, bright green school bus, I knew I had to step inside. The owner, Brian Thompson, was more than willing to invite me onto the bus to photograph his Eagles shrine on wheels.
All types of Eagles memorabilia crawled up and over the curved ceiling of the bus, with a “Go Birds” sign visible from wherever you sat. As I continued moving the lots, many fans gladly posed for the camera, with nearby strangers often hopping in as well. Looking back at my photos, it was difficult to discern which fans knew each other and which didn't, proving the power of our team in making strangers feel like family.
After weeks of visiting tailgates and speaking to amped fans throughout the season, their energy reached new heights before the Superbowl. For two weeks, the Superbowl became a filler in conversations; it was a reminder that everyone had this game sitting in the back of their mind, like an impatient kid waiting for his mom to finish shopping. After unbearable weeks of listening to relentless skepticism from morning sports shows and radio hosts, when the Superbowl did arrive, the entire game felt surreal. Reluctant to leave the couch as others started putting on jackets for Broad Street, years of losses had conditioned my superstitious mind that leaving too early could be detrimental. Finally convinced the game was truly over, stepping outside the streets of Philadelphia had never looked more foreign. Cars were deadlocked in bumper-to-bumper traffic, with fans standing on their hoods, jumping and dancing. What few kids were brought outside were hoisted onto their parents’ shoulders, surely scarred by the burning of Kermit the Frog by City Hall.
People dangled from any surface that would support them, from poles and traffic lights to garbage trucks and hotel overhangs, overseeing the chaos unfolding on the sidewalks and packing into the streets. Smoke from fireworks and revved engines lingered to form an apocalyptic backdrop for the joyous mayhem that was now our city.
Celebrations continued for days as over a million people flocked from Broad Street and Pattison to the art museum, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the players and organization.
With hundreds of pounds of confetti, jumbotrons surrounding the museum, and even fans camping at Ben Franklin Parkway, packing Wawa hoagies as they slept outside for the best seats, the entire day felt more like a festival.
In the media, talk show hosts apologized publicly for doubting Jalen Hurts, highlights replayed endlessly, and Merrill Reese’s sweet voice sounded as comforting and familiar as your favorite homecooked meal. After such a season, some may wonder what exactly it means to be a Philadelphia Eagles fan. Why is there such unruly and unfiltered energy from our city? Philadelphia in the winter is far from paradise, yet from the humming energy of these tailgates and celebrations, it feels as though the entire city is warm and alive.
Being an Eagles fan is not just about rooting for the same team but sharing a bond beyond the confines of the Linc. After the Superbowl, fans were reported celebrating at Saints Peter and Paul cemeteries, draping jerseys over headstones, and turning on radios because that’s who our fans are. It’s a love that ties people together tight enough that not even the ground beneath our feet can seem to shatter it.
Being an Eagles fan is heart-wrenching and painful to the point where you can curse the team and all they stand for, yet you're still wearing their colors the next day. It’s a kid perched on their father’s shoulders on Broad Street, seeing Philadelphia in all its unhinged pride. It’s sharing a drink in a cemetery with a frosted headstone. In these moments, our fans hold onto a deeply rooted love that pulses throughout the city and into the hearts of its citizens. For Philadelphia Eagles fans, even the coldest weather can’t compete with our rare, unwavering loyalty, a special energy that is remarkably ours, found only in our city.
