What the Eagles’ Super Bowl journey means to Philadelphia 

There is nothing I love more than an underdog; it makes success significantly sweeter. I was born in Northeast Philadelphia, and, out there, we know a thing or two about being doubted. It is in our blood to prove the world wrong, and that is a common theme for the city of Philadelphia. Thus, it is easy to see why we care about the Eagles more than anything else on this planet right now.

I was eight years old when the Eagles last went to the Super Bowl and I had never felt more excitement in my life. I cried for days after they lost to the Patriots, and the city felt lifeless for weeks. Philadelphians know disappointment intimately, and while losing like that hurt, none of us were too surprised.

This season has been a whirlwind, and I noticed that every time I talked to someone about the Eagles, the response would be “sure, they’re playing great, but we all know that they’ll let us down in the end.”

Still, it was hard to keep hope down as whispers of Minnesota began to stir, but in true Philadelphia fashion, the Eagles could not let us sleep easy – and when Carson Wentz tore his ACL in week thirteen, the dream started to slip away.

If Philadelphians know anything, though, it’s that doubt can be powerful. Once again the underdogs, the Eagles skidded through the end of the regular season and the divisional round of the playoffs – but the Vikings? There wasn’t a person outside of this city who thought the Birds could pull that one off. That’s what the people of Philly wanted, though – the more doubt the rest of the country placed on us, the more our hopes grew.

I bought my tickets to the game and couldn’t help but smile as I walked through the Xfinity Gate, with shaking hands and excitement bubbling in my chest. I turned to the first stranger I saw and uttered in disbelief, “I can’t believe it.” He tugged on my shoulder and yelled in reply, “We’re really here.”

Throughout the evening, as the Eagles completely dominated a team that was expected to crush them, there was lots of screaming, singing, chanting, and on my part, a lot of tears.

As the crowd started to chant “We want Brady,” I looked back at my uncle, a few rows behind, who’s been waiting over 65 years for this. I thought of my dad, who’s nearly as old as the Super Bowl itself, and still hasn’t seen the Eagles win the championship. I thought of eight-year-old me, who wanted nothing more than to watch her team beat Tom Brady, and to be able to share the Eagles’ win with the people she loved.

My dad, my uncle and I, as well as the rest of this wonderful city get one last chance to beat Brady on Feb. 4, and we are once again the underdogs. That would cause uneasiness  for any other city, but here it brings a fire to each of us that can’t be put out. Hope is dangerously high as we rest on the precipice of greatness.

Looking at you, New England. Go Birds.