Five Signature Moments from Philadelphia Eagles History
Miracles, Specials, a few surprise choices, and lots of excuses to extend this segment to more than five moments.
I’ve never been much of a Chuck Bednarik fanboy.
Bednarik was one of the greatest players in pro football history. To this day, he might still be the greatest Eagles player ever. His accomplishments for the 1960 NFL Champions loomed large in the Philly sports fan psyche for nearly 60 years. A little too large.
Bednarik was a product of the Greatest Generation, and he wasn’t afraid to tell you. He could out-boomer any boomer. Whenever an Eagles team failed, Bednarik could be counted upon to provide an interview reminding us that he and his teammates did NOT fail, because the men of his day had tight haircuts and real jobs. And if Bednarik himself didn’t tell you, your buddy’s uncle or the old guy in the corner of the bar would do it for him.
Dick Vermeil burned out because he wasn’t Bednarik enough. Randall Cunningham failed because he wasn’t Bednarik enough. Mike Schmidt couldn’t bring the Phillies a second World Series because he wasn’t Bednarik enough. The Sixers could never hope to be Bednarik enough. Donovan McNabb and Andy Reid’s Eagles were not Bednarik enough, except for Brian Dawkins, who could not be Bednarik enough for everyone else. Eric Lindros wasn’t Dave Schultz enough, and Schultz was basically Bednarik on Ice. Buddy Ryan … too Bednarik? No, there was no such thing as too Bednarik.
Bednarik’s legacy browbeat my generation of fans. We held our teams, and ourselves, to a standard of toughness that bordered on reckless brutality, one which was neither achievable nor laudable.
The Giants segment began with the famous photo of Y.A. Tittle kneeling in the end zone after a wicked hit in 1964. Symmetry requires me to begin the Eagles segment with the Bednarik photo. And I am indeed leading with that image, and with Bednarik, who was both a legend and, by all accounts, a fine individual, even during his 40-plus years as a salty old coot.
Part of me, however, cannot help but think of Bednarik as a tormenting demon who was finally exorcised in February of 2018, or at least as a howling banshee who can now finally rest in peace. The Giants redeemed Tittle’s sacrifice in the 1980s. The Eagles took decades longer to escape the shadow of their past. Bednarik isn’t responsible for Philly phandom’s unique/regrettable reputation or self-image. But I wonder if my youth would have been any different if the enduring image of 1960 was, say, Tommy McDonald celebrating a touchdown instead of Bednarik taunting an opponent that he just clotheslined.
Having paid due respect to Bednarik, let’s consign him to that past and focus on some signature moments folks under age 75 can claim as our own.
(You can watch footage of Bednarik flattening Gifford at the end of the video below. It’s indeed a “signature” moment. I’d prefer to not celebrate and cherish it.)
5. Miracle at the Meadowlands: A New Hope
Date: November 19th, 1978
One of the simplest plays in football, a handoff to the fullback, was messed up by the Giants today and, with 20 seconds remaining, Herm Edwards of Philadelphia ran the ensuing fumble 26 yards for a touchdown to give the Eagles an unbelievable 19‐17 victory.
Unbelievable, because the Giants had a 17‐12 victory with 31 seconds remaining when Joe Pisarcik, against his better judgment and that of most of his teammates in the preceding huddle, took the center snap from Jim Clack and started to hand off to Larry Csonka.
The Eagles had no timeouts remaining.
The clock was running.
All the Giants had to do was fall on the ball, and the victory was theirs.
“I never had control,” said Pisarcik after Andy Robustelli fetched the quarterback from the sanctity of the trainer's room.
“That's the most horrifying ending to a ball game I've ever seen,” said shaken Coach John McVay, whose job is now in real danger. — Michael Katz, New York Times, November 20, 1978
Some brief context: the end-of-game kneel was not yet an accepted tactic in 1978. Quarterbacks ran sneaks to kill the clock. Pisarcik ran some sort of sneak (a rollout and slide, really) on the previous down and got shoved by an Eagles defender. Handing off to the fullback to kill the clock was not that uncommon, but the sudden change of tactics clearly unnerved the Giants in the huddle. And yes, John McVay was Sean’s grandpa.
The Eagles endured 11 straight losing seasons before the original Miracle at the Meadowlands. The team would have later cold snaps, but they would never sink to generational irrelevance again. The Miracle is essentially The Big Bang of modern Eagles history.
It’s also one of my very early childhood memories. I was about to turn 8. I missed the game because my parents dragged me along so my brother could tour the local Catholic prep school, which we could not remotely afford. The school had an AV room, which I found exciting. Televisions! Audio equipment! Maybe an early VHS! The students guiding the tour of the room said that the televisions indeed worked, and that they could watch the Eagles game. I asked what the score was. Some parents chuckled. My mother acted embarrassed, because gosh what a strange question that was to ask, right? Anyway, I was told the Giants were winning. Only later, on the local news, did I see the play and learn that they had won.
There were many later Miracles at the Meadowlands. Clyde Simmons retrieved a blocked Eagles field goal for an overtime touchdown in 1988, almost 10 years to the day after the OG Miracle. Brian Westbrook returned a last-minute punt for a touchdown in 2003. Desean Jackson bobbled a punt with seven seconds left, retrieved it and ran for a game-winning touchdown in 2011.
The Miracles only ceased because the Giants stopped mattering. But the Giants will someday rise again, and the Eagles will once again beat them on some improbable bounce, giving the world Miracle V: The Legasequel.
4. Terrell Owens’ Driveway Protest
Date: August 10th, 2005
Until about four months ago, Philly sports success always came with a Monkey’s Paw curse.
After the 1960 Eagles championship, quarterback Norm Van Brocklin threw a snit and retired.
After the Phillies won the 1980 World Series, major league baseball shut down for half a year.
After the 1980 Eagles lost Super Bowl XV, they replaced their strength-and-conditioning coach with a giant bag of cocaine.
After the 1983 Sixers championship, their owner began angrily dismantling the team, eventually trading Moses Malone for a pack of knee-high sweatsocks.
After the 1993 Phillies nearly won the World Series, major league baseball cancelled the next one.
Eric Lindros sacrificed his brain to help the Flyers reach the 1996-97 Stanley Cup Final, then got blamed for not being Bednarik enough to bring them back.
Allen Iverson led the 2001 Sixers to the Finals, then went cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
Then came T.O., who was Faustian ironic punishment personified.
Terrell Owens is an egocentric, all-about-me, Donovan McNabb-dissing, ESPN-hissy-fitting, no-concept-of-the-real-world clown of a professional athlete. Drew Rosenhaus, his paid ventriloquist, is a geek-chic, tattered-jeans-wearing, money-grubbing, $49-million-is-not-enough-for-my-client-whining cretin of an agent.
And I can't wait till they are both on television again, making their entertaining, if sorry, case to the viewing public.
Show T.O. the money.
Cuba Gooding Jr. could play Owens. Tom Cruise could play Rosenhaus. With each new "revelation" of disrespect from Owens, each "bombshell" of an utterance from Rosenhaus — "He doesn't want to be a distraction, but his heart was broken" — they both had me at hello.
Pennant races, the PGA Championship and a docket of NFL preseason games pass for good theater this weekend. But the daily implosion of the Philadelphia Eagles is better.
Reid kicked Owens out of camp after an oral altercation between the two. Reid told Owens to "Shut up," and Owens shot back. "I said, 'My name is Terrell Owens, not Terrell Reid. My mom had me.' I am not a son of his. He was ultimately disrespectful. So I returned that."
Before McNabb, Owens skewered Jeff Garcia, his quarterback in San Francisco. At one point, he implied Garcia was gay. Owens doesn't burn bridges; he detonates them.
This whole affair is the adult equivalent of a child holding his breath in front of his parents until they agree to give him ice cream. But Owens's pursuit of more money is much more damaging. He insults his co-workers, belittles them for his own benefit.
The money issue can be resolved. Killing McNabb with criticism cannot. The damage is done, and it's irreparable.
Say goodbye to Terrell Owens, Philly; T.O. must go. – Mike Wise, August 13, 2005
Yes, the boomer energy in that Wise column is just a teensy bit poisonous. But Owens received a little too much image rehabilitation during his two years of Pro Football Hall of Fame “snubs.” Wise captures how it felt to watch an Eagles team which had just fought the Patriots to a 12-round decision and had been Super Bowl contenders for half a decade get torn asunder, its coach undermined and its quarterback belittled, by a saboteur concerned only with his ego and wallet.
The Eagles’ 2023 late-season collapse contained echoes of both their 1981 snow-blind collapse and the seething turmoil of 2005. Super Bowl LIX redeemed Philly sports teams across eras and sports: it proved that championships – or even near misses – don’t have to be meted out with a generational eyedropper.
(For more context on Owens’ Hall of Fame candidacy in the mid-2010s, read this!)
3. Randall Cunningham’s Fake Kneel
Date: October 25th, 1987
Rooting for Buddy Ryan’s Eagles was like rooting for a wrasslin’ villain. Eagles fans could never hope for a Super Bowl victory, so we found joy in what we had: the sucker punches, the cheap shots, the chances to make the heroes look silly.
Yet it is extremely important, when discussing this particular play, to remember who ran up the score on whom, who engaged in the absolute worst in sportsmanship and who the true shitheels were.
Ray Didinger takes us back to the replacement games, just a few weeks before Cunningham’s fake kneel:
A number of Cowboys veterans crossed the picket line to play with the replacements, including quarterback Danny White, running back Tony Dorsett, and defensive tackle Randy White. So when Ryan went into Texas Stadium with his lineup of Scott Tinsley, Guido Merkens, and Topper Clemons, he knew he had no chance. Of course, Dallas coach Tom Landry knew it, too, so he opened the game with a little razzle-dazzle - an end-around - that resulted in a 62-yard touchdown.
Ryan watched, arms folded across his chest, steaming. The Cowboys pushed the Eagles' scrubs around all day, opening a 41-10 lead. In the fourth quarter, Landry pulled his regulars, including Too Tall Jones, and put his scrubs in the game. The Eagles managed to score two touchdowns and late in the game they were driving again. Landry had the game won but he didn't want the Eagles to score again so he sent his veterans back onto the field to snuff out the drive and end the game.
Ryan didn't forget. Two weeks later, when the strike ended and the veterans returned, the Cowboys came to the Vet and Ryan got his revenge. Leading 30-20 with seconds remaining, Ryan had Cunningham fake a kneel down, stand up, and throw deep to Mike Quick. Pass interference was called so the Eagles got a first down at the 1-yard line. Ryan sent Keith Byars up the middle for an in-your-face touchdown that made the final score 37-20.
Buddy hadn't smiled in a long time but he was smiling when he headed up the tunnel that day. – Ray Didinger, November 16, 1987
Cunningham’s fake kneel was an act of defiance, retribution and come-uppance, not just against the Cowboys but the greed of the NFL owners and complicity of his fellow coaches. Buddy could not have become more of a Folk Hero in Philly unless he actually won the Super Bowl.
Yes, Buddy’s teams underdelivered in the playoffs. Yes, the legacies of the Bounty Bowl and the Body Bag Game game have aged poorly. But one reason wrestling heels are so popular is because we can relate to the way they thumb their nose at the establishment, especially when the establishment deserves it.