By Chloe Cramutola
My Filipino family loves the Eagles.
Naturally, that makes me an Eagles fan. And while I once had to forgive my stepdad for being a Steelers supporter, I admit I sport black and gold every once in a while, too.
But my grandmother? My uncle? Only green shines in their eyes. It’s the kind of Philly Phanatic antics only Philadephians and South Jerseyans admire, and I am all for it.
Sure, more often than not I avert my gaze from the cacophony of our community. We’ve got roiling, ear-grating chants: “It’s a Philly Thing,” “Fly, Eagles Fly” and “Hurts so Good.” We can get annoying, but we have pride. It’s more unity and spirit than anything else.
Think of the sports bar and family room scream-fests, the drunken discussions dissecting Hurts and Mahomes and – yes, still – Brady. That pride is a blend of love and frustration which my family gleefully takes part in, too.
Before Super Bowl LIX, we had one title under our belt thanks to a 2018 victory that was 57 years in the making. What’s even better? We beat the Patriots.
But before I get ahead of myself, the wingspan of Philly’s reign doesn’t stretch that far. The Eagles’ history doesn’t scream “legacy” or “dynasty.” At least not yet.
In Super Bowl LVII in 2023, when they lost to the Chiefs in Arizona, no one took it harder than my Uncle Leon and grandmother, Lola.
My mom, uncle and grandmother grew up in the Philippines. But in 1985, they came to South Jersey, and they fell in love with Philadelphia. Aside from my mom and me, all of our family moved to Las Vegas in the ’90s. But even then, the Birds flew after them.
In 2022, I had never seen Uncle Leon and Lola so full of Philly pride. They flew to New Jersey with the Birds literally on their backs. Lola and my step grandfather, Tito Raph, stayed for about a week, while my uncle came a few weeks after them. Every day of that week, Lola wore her Eagles gear. Her beanie blinked with green lights, and eagle heads dotted her purse.
Tito Raph moved to the US four years ago. His brow bent at plays he didn’t quite understand, but every time the ball flew up in the air, his arms flew, too.
“Touchdown coming!” he would shout.
When Uncle Leon arrived, he had already donned his Eagles jacket, jersey and fresh sneakers to complement a clean-shaven head. Of course, even in the heart of Philly, they all proudly announced their Vegas origins.
It was at Dalessandro’s Steaks, a popular joint searing and selling some of the best local cheesesteaks in Pennsylvania, where Lola flaunted her pride. After ordering through a window, you get a cheesesteak big enough for two – melty, tender, packed with onions and mushrooms.
In the line of hungry customers, a Dallas dweller noticed Lola wearing Eagles gear.
“Cowboys are gonna beat you guys next game,” he said.
Lola grinned, and in her thick Filipino accent she replied, “The Eagles are the number one seed. Where are you?”
They had a good laugh, and the guy was rather impressed to find my grandmother rooting for the Birds from the far side of the country.
When my family left Jersey and it came time to watch the Super Bowl, Uncle Leon and Lola called us at every Eagles touchdown. In Jersey, our hearts leapt when the phone rang. We knew it was them.
“Don’t answer it,” my stepdad and I hissed, our eyes pinned to the TV as the Birds huddled for a sneak into touchdown territory.
Unfortunately, the West Coast broadcast was two minutes ahead of ours. My mom didn’t heed our warnings, and soon we heard “Fly Eagles Fly” projecting from the phone. We stopped my uncle and Lola with frantic screams of our own. Then, we saw the touchdown.
Two Sundays ago, being an Eagles fan felt even sweeter.
I’m in Boston for school, so I didn’t get to spend the Super Bowl with my family. I did bake nachos, though, and shared the cheesy pile with a bunch of friends. I convinced a Patriots fan to fry up some wings and got a Seahawks supporter to lug over a TV.
The truth is I don’t watch football on a regular basis. I don’t know who is ranked where at every moment, and I don’t care that Jason Kelce’s brother is dating Taylor Swift.
But I do care about the Eagles, not so much for the team itself, or Hurts, or South Jersey either. Maybe it isn’t a Philly thing. Maybe it’s a family thing. A togetherness thing. A jawn hollering for homemade nachos on Sunday, and touchdown phone calls and fresh kicks to go with an Eagles jacket.
Those are chants I can get behind.
