I’ve written before about my hometown team, the reigning Super Bowl champion Philadelphia Eagles. Being a Philadelphia sports fan isn’t always easy, as we’re mocked across the NFL fandom as the “worst fans” which translates into blue-collar passion, and jealousy from other fandoms. If you don’t need a jail and judge underneath your stadium to manage all the wild goings-on during games, are you even loyal to your team?
After 56 years of waiting, I finally attended my first Eagles game last weekend, the NFC Wild Card matchup against the 49ers in Philly. My brothers, knowing I’ve mostly been at the hospital since my mother’s brain cancer diagnosis at Christmas, bought me tickets in “make a wish kid” style, and I was excited to visit Lincoln Financial Field after seeing it countless times on TV. I invited my college sophomore son to attend. Although he’s a lifetime Baltimore Ravens fan (all four of my kids were born and raised in Maryland) still in mourning from seeing his team’s rookie kicker blow it to keep them out of the playoffs against the Steelers, I figured he’d like to see the NFL playoff game. My brothers said he had to wear one piece of Philly gear, something he hadn’t done since he was a baby.
We had a parking pass in the heart of the tailgate zone, arriving three hours before the game to experience that cultural phenomenon, and it didn’t disappoint. The elaborate music, food, gaming, bar and decor setups, U-hauls, RVs and company trucks was impressive. My son and I hung out on the tailgate of my SUV with homemade hoagies on Amoroso rolls, observing eagle-shaped kites, marching bands, random daytime fireworks, a homeless vet selling flag pins.
The atmosphere in the stadium was electric. I know it’s nerdy but I had a tear in my eye hearing Merrill Reese live for the first time after hearing him on radios for more than half a century, and seeing the trained bald eagle fly around the stadium at sunset as the green lights began to light up the city, complete with military flyover, was majestic.
My son did complete his obligation to my brothers in choosing a cool khaki Eagles hat; I chose a large fluffy warm Eagles blanket that I could give to my dad after the game: he’s always cold from blood thinners, and thanks to many health care workers, will move in with my mom at a facility this week.
As for the Eagles game itself, well, green fireworks and confetti aside, they lost. It was a bummer, and as far as extreme superstition things go, I’ll never be able to go to an Eagles game or wear any of that gear again. But I loved hearing the rowdy fans; I think one guy screamed “bunch of degenerates!” (an Eagles fan, at our own team, naturally) about three dozen times. Say what you want about Birds fans, but this fandom is honest. They don’t participation-trophy clap. If you play like you suck, you get booed worse than they boo the other team. Miss a kick? Boo. Act like AJ Brown and chirp on Twitter about not getting enough passes, then drop touchdowns in the playoff game and go bark at the coach about not getting a pass interference call? Get booed out of the stadium. It’s a fandom of accountability. The kid who went viral after the game was relatable to me.
But although it was sad they lost, it didn’t take away from the experience of attending a game. I’ll never forget how much fun I had wrapped up in a blanket, the vendor bringing Dunkin Donuts hot cocoa to me, screaming “Fly Eagles Fly” with the fans, listening to my son scream curses with the locals, on a beautiful winter night in Philadelphia.