Some people are fans of the Philadelphia Eagles. But many, many more people are NOT fans of the Philadelphia Eagles. This 2025 Defector NFL team preview is for those in the latter group. Read all the previews so far here.
Your team: Philadelphia Eagles.
Your 2024 record: 14-3. Super Bowl champions. It didn’t have to be this way. This team was on the verge of imploding as recently as 2023, when they went 1-5 down the stretch and bombed out of the Wild Card round in Tampa. Matt Patricia was somehow involved. Eagles fans demanded heads on spikes (whiz wit!), and were crushed when ownership refused to give them satisfaction. I too was disappointed, because I hate the lot of you.
But a 2-2 start to the 2024 campaign raised my hopes—cruelly, in retrospect—that the dysfunction had carried over. The Eagles lost at home to a painfully mediocre Atlanta team. They barely beat New Orleans, and then got absolutely fucking torched by Tampa Bay the week after. A desultory home win over Cleveland after that did little to soothe Philly fans’ angst (only rewatching Rocky III while yelling slurs at Clubber Lang can do that). In fact, they were so pissed off at the team’s performance that they got into a televised screaming match with their yippy terrier of a head coach. Everything was just as broken as it had been the season before. I clapped like a seal in elation.
So when the Eagles won 12 of their last 13 games to close out the season, they did so under relative cover of darkness. Everyone marveled at the running back doing butt stuff against Jacksonville in that one game. But otherwise, most of us were too busy paying attention to a knife fight atop the NFC North for the conference’s top seed to notice the Eagles beating the shit out of just about everyone else left on their schedule. I know I wasn’t paying close attention. I tend to enjoy life more when Philadelphia isn’t top of mind.
Then the Eagles blew through the playoffs and knocked the Chiefs off the mountaintop in the Super Bowl. I heard about that part. God, I fucking heard about it. Every five seconds it was TUSH PUSH TUSH PUSH MOMMY KELCE BROTHERLY SHOVE TAYLOR SWIFT FLEW HERE FROM JAPAN TUSH THAT PUSH. The tush push is now settled law in the NFL, but I’m still gonna hear about it 900 times a game because the announcers want to make a funny. And so do the brands now.
I’d say I wish I was dead, but that’s going too far. I’ll settle for the entire city of Philadelphia to be bombed with jellied chlorine.
That said: I am, above all else, a proponent of good sportsmanship. And so this is the part of the writeup where I recognize the 2024 Eagles for everything they managed to pull off. Because think of all the people who helped make that title run happen. You gotta hand it to owner Jeffrey Lurie for sticking with his braintrust when he could have blown the whole thing up. And what about offensive coordinator Kellen Moore, who somehow transmogrified Martyball into a scheme that was nigh unstoppable? And look at defensive coordinator Vic Fangio! Vic finally got himself a ring, and he didn’t even have to call a blitz to do it! And oh my god HOWIE ROSEMAN! I’m sorry, but is the Howdog not the best GM in the NFL, if not all sports? You gotta give these guys all the credit in the world!
Your coach: But not this guy.
In between tush push mentions, I will be subjected to lord knows how many takes from the color guy demanding that Nick Sirianni be considered one of the best coaches in the game. The man has won two NFC titles in just four years on the job. You HAVE to recognize what he’s managed to achieve with this team, Kevin. Nah. I’m not giving MENSA points to a coach who looks like he spends every weekend on the losing end of a bar fight. I hope Nick Sirianni gets eaten by a dog.
Moore fucked off to New Orleans to become head coach, a decision he almost certainly already regrets. Your new offensive coordinator is Kevin Patullo. I am unmoved.
Your quarterback: Jalen Hurts, who may as well legally change his name to Is Jalen Hurts Elite? after all of the dishwasher-dull offseason arguments regarding him. The only interesting thing about Jalen Hurts is his personal best in the squat. Otherwise, he’s the most boring athlete in the fucking universe.
When I enter the room, his large hands are casually tapping an iPad that has a case covered in motivational quotes. On the back, a black-and-white sticker reads, in all caps, “if your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more, and become more, you are a leader.”
Fascinating. Anyone who attempts to get decent copy out of this wooden plank deserves time and a half.
As for the football stuff, Hurts is your reigning Super Bowl MVP because he threw just enough touchdown passes (two) to give voters an excuse not to give that award to an Eagles defender. Hurts only needed to throw 22 passes in that rout. In fact, Hurts only attempted more than 30 passes five times last season. All five occasions came during the regular season, and four of them came during that hideous 2-2 start.
So what happens when if the run game sputters, or the defense has an off night? What happens when Jalen Hurts actually has to throw the ball? Well, Captain Quadriceps here has had five games in his career in which he’s attempted more than 40 passes. The Eagles lost all of them. Not the purest passer who ever lived. Keep that in mind whenever our man gets dinged up and has to play like an actual quarterback for once.
Your backup was Tanner McKee before he broke his thumb in camp. Your new backup is former Commander/Seahawk Sam Howell. Minnesota traded for Howell on Day 3 of April’s draft, brought him into training camp, and hated him so much that they traded him to the Eagles two weeks ago.
What’s new that sucks: Death by a thousand cuts. Nearly every position group is jussst a bit weaker than it was a year ago. Out goes former depth RB Kenneth Gainwell, in comes former Packer RB A.J. Dillon. Announcers will rave about the size of this man’s quads as he’s being tackled for a 2.34 yard gain. Out goes G Mekhi Becton, in comes third-round pick Tyler Steen, whom this team benched a year ago. The only depth wideouts are former Commanders bust Jahan Dotson and former Texan John Metchie, who has as many career touchdowns as he has cancer diagnoses.
Over on defense, say goodbye to edge rushers Bryce Huff and Josh Sweat, widely reviled S C.J. Gardner-Johnson, DT Milton Williams, and CBs Isaiah Rodgers, Avonte Maddox and Darius Slay. LB Nakobe Dean tore his patellar tendon in the postseason, so first-rounder Jihaad Campbell will have to get up to speed pretty fast to help make up for the loss. Roseman inked a few other bodies for depth—including edge rushers Ogbonnia Okoronkwo and Josh Uche, plus CB Adoree Jackson—but otherwise everything will depend, more than last year, on an admittedly loaded starting group. DT Jalen Carter, LB Nolan Smith, LB Zach Baun, CB Cooper DeJean … dudes like that. This team will still be heavily favored to win the NFC, and I don’t see anyone else in field dethroning them.
Unless RB Saquon Barkley gets hurt after crossing the dreaded 370-carry threshold a season ago (or if some grifter wearing a cross around his neck bilks the running back out of all his money).
Unless players like G Landon Dickerson and WR A.J. “I read books!” Brown re-aggravate their preseason injuries.
Or unless they have to give CB Kelee Ringo more playing time.
This is how it works when you win a title. Every other team raids your cupboard and your margin for error shrinks to a level where you’re not able to plug every hole that springs up. Ask Kansas City’s current offensive line if you doubt me. Nothing lasts forever, except for the boiled ham pictured below:
That’s spiritual Jan. 6 rioter Big Dom, now in charge of gameday coaching operations. Big Dom is like if Fireman Ed were allowed to bring a gun into the stadium. He fucking sucks. And so does your governor. And so will attending Eagles games, now that the city’s public transit system has been brotherly shoved out of usefulness. You fans will have to get up bright and early if you want to get to the tailgate in time to beat an old lady with a hammer.
The only reason you beat the Rams was because it snowed.
What has always sucked: Look at yourselves, Eagles fans. You people are fucking embarrassing. You make Trump look less needy by comparison. It doesn’t matter whether or not the Eagles win or lose, all you slobs really care about is that the world pay attention to you, and your average-ass city, all the time. You’ll scale any lamppost, rip off any shirt, swim in any dumpster, and barge into any message board just to scream LOOK AT ME! NEVER STOP LOOKING AT ME! I DEMAND YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT WHEN I TALK ABOUT DELCO! I EAT SANDWICHES FROM A GAS STATION!
What’s the point of your existence? Do you even have a job? Why are you so proud? You live the shittiest, most inconvenient borough of New York City. You have no real pride to speak of, so you shriek “Go Birds” into a bullhorn at passing school kids to make up the difference. Shit, you people would walk around wearing neon-pink nipple tassels all day long if it got you more attention.
Because why else would anyone notice you? You’re as boring as you are ugly, and you spend every year pretending that you invented the very idea of sports fandom. I can find more culture at the bottom of a McDonald’s bag. And the victimhood would make Jussie Smollett gasp. I’ve had white Eagles fans tell me that they’re the only minority it’s safe to make fun of in woke America. Do you assholes ever listen to yourselves, or did you go deaf from your own screeching? You people are worse than Boston. You’re worse than death by hippo bite. I wish the Chiefs had three-peated and then Harrison Butker married your mom.
So fuck you. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK you. Fuck your team. Fuck your coach. Fuck your running back, and his flying butt. Fuck your rent-a-cop. Fuck whatever neighborhood you live in that you expect me to know the name of. Fuck the Kelces. Fuck Go Birds. And TRIPLE fuck the tush push. I hope that Cam Jurgens eats a tainted bean burrito the night before a game and then, mid-push, his asshole goes KABOOM like a keg of dynamite. And then all the Eagles players get corn-dotted shit all over their hands, and everyone in the stands starts barfing (even the freaks who are usually into poop), and then everyone watching from home barfs, too. I hope you’re one of the barfers. I hope your barf is Kelly green, and that it poisons your dog. Fuck Philadelphia, and fuck you and your family with the Rocky statue.
What might not suck: Eh, they’ll probably win the Super Bowl again. I promise not to pay attention this time.
HEAR IT FROM EAGLES FANS!
Todd:
Imagine if the most annoying, obnoxious person you know who deserves nothing, and is tiring to even be in the same room with, won the lottery and started dating Sydney Sweeney.
Matt:
Imagine the amount of denial it takes to look at Nick Sirianni and being like, “Oh yeah this guy is cool.”
Adam:
Saquon took all the goodwill earned from what is likely the best season a running back this team will have in a century and promptly wiped his ass with it.
Michael:
We still suck, and John Fetterman can fuck himself with a bunker buster.
Zach:
Of all the possible worthy contributors, we had Big Dom speak at the parade. Our karmic retribution for this will be swift, thorough, and entirely justified.
Josh:
Again, an annual reminder that the fight song is dumb. Fly, Eagles, Fly, on the road to victory? WHAT ROAD? Eagles don’t FLY ON ROADS!!!!
Wawa Tom:
The Birds needed Sirianni to shave his head to beat the stinkin’ Browns, and for the players to realize they didn’t have to listen to this bozo anymore.
Ben:
Jason Kelce’s condiment of choice for an Italian hoagie is mayonnaise. Gross.
Atesh:
AJ Brown, if you are reading this, your book collection scans like that of a chronically online Tate incel.
Sean:
90% of the people who identify as hardscrabble Philadelphians are descendants of white flighters that reside in some surrounding county and drive an SUV worth more than a down payment on a house in North Philly. Philadelphians like to brag about their mentally tough demeanor and their thick skin, but they’re more emotionally fragile than a Nashville bachelorette party and twice as drunk. They wear shirts that say, “No one likes us, we don’t care” and then proceed to spiral down emotionally at the receipt of the slightest criticism. We’re the Atlanta of the North, and we saved Sherman most of the work.
Craig:
I’m an Eagles fan, largely because my mom told me that my grandfather had been drafted by the Eagles, but never played for them because he went to go fight in World War II.
In the years since, I’ve found zero evidence of that claim. By the time I started poking holes in the story, my grandfather, who could have cleared this up once and for all, was dead. When I asked my mom, she backtracked and said she thought it was the Eagles and that they maybe approached him about signing a deal rather than drafting him.
Konstantin:
By week 10, the Mummers Parade regulars we have for fans will be on WIP demanding that Tanner McKee becomes the starting QB.
Ben:
Anyone who thinks the national coverage of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce is bad hasn’t had to put up with the local coverage. Did you know she’s from Bucks County? Also, would you like to know what every other Kelce family member ate for lunch today? You know, the ones who don’t play football anymore, even the ones who never played football at all? The Philadelphia Inquirer is here for you!
Kevin:
Our beloved governor has spent more time working on his Obama impersonation and planning his Third Way-ass presidential run than fixing our collapsing roads and transit systems.
Jack:
I have a friend who embodies the typical Eagles fanatic: blue-collar Irish Catholic who’s a union member with season tickets and a liver the size of a Hyundai. He often invites me to tailgates that start at 9 a.m. and the deal is that if any of his ticketed friends drink themselves into a coma before kickoff, I get their seat. This pays off often. They start drinking at 9 whether the game is at 1, 4:15, or 8:30 p.m. for SNF. They regularly rent a U-haul to transport a mobile dance club replete with a stripper pole. The longer the tailgate goes, the more tragic the pole dancers get. Including guys.
Paul:
Our quarterback is the best version of Russell Wilson with even more cringe aphorisms.
Matt:
“Nick Sirianni” is the greatest piece of performance art I’ve ever seen Adam Sandler stage.
Brendan:
The PA General Assembly is currently defunding SEPTA and fucking up gameday commutes because even their own commonwealth is tired of the Eagles’ shit.
Will:
The phrase “Super Bowl Champion Nick Sirianni” triggers the same reaction as “Health Secretary RFK Jr.”
John:
Some guy named Colin Goddamn Brisket will be returning punts by Week 7 because half the roster’s on IR and our trainer just accepted a job with the Sixers.
Ray:
Every white host on WIP still spends 80% of their show questioning Jalen Hurts’ and his “intangibles.”
Daniel:
They won the Super Bowl in dominating fashion and I still won’t be happy until Jalen Hurts is universally acknowledged as a top 5 QB, something that very well may (justifiably) never happen.
Alex:
For a few weeks, my one-year old would only fall asleep if I laid on the ground next to her crib and sang the Eagles fight song. It was cute…the first time. Not so much after that.
Sam:
I look forward to being cocky about the Eagles repeating as Super Bowl champions until week 4 when we get pantsed in Tampa. God, I’m the worst.
KB:
This team sucks because they’ve given me nothing to complain about.
Nick:
Fuck Carson Wentz with a crossbow. The lowkey best part of the Super Bowl was denying him a second ring from the bench.
Jeff:
We will inevitably boo Barkley Week 1 if he doesn’t “do a Saquon” by the 4th quarter.
Jon:
My family recently spent 10 days in London, Normandy and Paris retracing my grandfather’s steps during WWII. It was an incredible, humbling experience. At one point, I whipped out my phone to text my cousin, a lieutenant commander in the Navy. What prompted the need to text, you ask? Was it stepping on the hallowed ground of Omaha Beach? Was it seeing the monument erected in tribute to Papa’s squadron at the site where they built a temporary airfield? Was it seeing a short film about the airfield’s construction at the Utah Beach D-Day Museum?
It was none of those things, of course. It was when I passed a guy in an Eagles shirt in Paris and exchanged a “Go Birds” with him.
Jack:
We’re not champions. We’re the douchebag berating the waiter at a 5-star restaurant because we ordered our stake medium, and this is clearly medium-rare.
Mitch:
Two Super Bowl appearances in two years and we’ll still be hollering to fire everyone when we go 11-6 and lose to the Bucs in the Wild Card.
Bill:
Nearly every day since the Super Bowl has been an unmitigated disaster. I haven’t worked in nearly a year. I built up significant savings through summer of 2024, but that’s now long gone, and unemployment ran out months ago. I’ve had one job interview in the ensuing months, and I’ve been turned down for hundreds of jobs, everything from work within my to fucking Target and Amazon. From a financial standpoint, I will be literally worthless within days. I may not even be able to afford to maintain my Defector subscription to see if this entry makes it in. My brother-in-law died in March, leaving my sister as a 41-year-old widow and my six-year-old nephew without his father. My car has been on its last legs for the past five years, because even when things were going well, I haven’t been able to replace it, as I’ve been supporting my sister’s family. I haven’t paid rent since October, and it is only my roommate/landlord’s largesse (thankfully he’s also my best friend) that has kept me off the streets. Every daily action taken by our duly-elected adjudicated rapist-in-chief seems tailor-made to hurt me and those I love, and it’s only a matter of time before life as I know it is destroyed. And those are just the major crises.
This is apparently the Faustian bargain that we Philadelphia fans make. We suffer eternally for a brief moment of happiness, and our penance for that is an even worse Hell than the one we briefly were able to escape or ignore. Since early February, there have been exactly three good moments for me, and one was NFL owners deciding to NOT ban the tush push.
At least we can finally say that someone named Barkley won something for Philly.
Special thanks to all of the writers, readers, and fans who helped make this year’s NFL previews possible. Enjoy the season, everyone.