Plasencia cigar smoke barrels through the door of the now-opened Philadelphia Eagles locker room, where a pack of players is jammed together, dead center, jumping to the beat of the song “Lil Demon” by Future.
Put a yacht out the coast, yeah (what's up?)
Put a yacht on the coast, yeah (who you with?)
La Cosa Nostra (say, gang)
They ready to vote me in (skrrt, skkrt)
Push the Royce like a Rover (who you with?)
I get love from the vultures (yeah)
Came up with the roaches (yeah)
Between each line, players fill the milliseconds of silence, shouting, “Ayy!” “Ayyy!” Soothing their shouted-out throats with swigs of Armand de Brignac Ace of Spade Champagne. Each bottle is shimmering gold and costs nearly $300. For those who prefer a more workingman’s beverage, cases of Open brand beer are being torn ajar, shaken and sprayed over the 100-plus people making their way around America’s most raucous Super Bowl party.
A tour of this year’s locker room is far different than the one from two years prior. After an absolute demolition of the two-time defending Super Bowl champions sets off a celebration that is equal parts party and exorcism. As one team executive bobs his head to the music, he agrees that he’s never seen anything quite like this. The team, he says, was built the right way. Now, the team is threatening to implode the Caesars Superdome, with a never-ending hip-hop playlist played at front-row concert decibels.
A staffer at the front door of the locker room is wearing backward ski goggles and a black T-shirt with a black-and-white silhouette of team security guard “Big” Dom DiSandro. The only color on the shirt is an Italian flag emblazoned on Dom’s hat. The shirt says BIG DOM REVENGE TOUR 2024—likely a nod to DiSandro’s suspension last season for his involvement in an on-field scrap with the San Francisco 49ers. On the back was the team’s schedule and scores for the year.
The real DiSandro was unfurling a gigantic Italian flag and holding it up for pictures, before passing it off to fellow Italian, long snapper Rick Lovato.
Vic Fangio, the team’s defensive coordinator, walks out of the coach’s locker room in a blue pullover, blue jeans and Hokas. He’s just finished a hot dog by himself.
“I was hoping we’d be able to play the game without pressuring much,” Fangio says in what may be the understatement of the year, having just finished a game with an astounding 38% pressure rate and not a single blitz. “And that happened.”
Fangio says the season has been great for him. He remembers growing up an hour north of Philly, in Dunmore, and rooting for the Eagles—“They weren’t very good in the ’60s and ’70s, in fact, they were s---y, he says”—and adds that he’s spent more time around his family and friends this year. Some are here. He’s asked about his mom specifically.
“My mother is 98; she can’t travel like that,” he says.
But has he heard from her, someone asks?
“I’m sure I have. She don’t text, though.”
Eagles general manager Howie Roseman, who’s been buzzing throughout the locker room and will be included in several dozen ridiculous photos of him jutting the Lombardi Trophy into the air throughout the night, half-soaked from the font of alcohol being sprayed and drenched in sweat, pokes his head into a small scrum of reporters and yells at Fangio: “YOU CAME TO PHILADELPHIA TO BE A WORLD CHAMPION!”
Brandon Graham arrives, still mostly assembled in his uniform. His kids are running around the locker room, pinching their noses to avoid the cigar smoke. One of them races in for a hug, knocking a white beer can clear out of his grasp.
“We knew that last time, we let one slip,” Graham says, now sitting at his locker with a World Champions hat on, referencing the team’s 38–35 loss to Kansas City in the Super Bowl two years ago. “This time, we felt that. We had that chip all week.”
Many players simply stand in their locker stalls like padded go-go dancers, shouting out the lyrics to songs. Others take turns playing master of ceremonies on the black stool that somehow made its way into the center of the soiree.
Game MVP Jalen Hurts eventually makes his way into the haze following an unending series of press conferences, both on the field and in a separate corner of the stadium. Out in the hallway, after placing his back against the wall and slumping to the ground with the Lombardi Trophy in his hand, he appears to be simply floating. Landon Dickerson wraps him in a bear hug before Hurts connects with Graham, and the two pose for a handful of pictures together while puffing on their cigars. He moves with the purpose of someone who is starring in their own music video, and a trail of cameras follows Hurts to each corner of the room. Around his head are gold-tinged, Jordan Brand ski goggles to guard him from the blasts of beer and champagne.
Back near the front door, a line of snack food, packaged avocado spread, chips and salsa sit unopened. Nick Sirianni remains cloistered inside the coach’s locker room where, just outside, stands owner Jeffrey Lurie in a blue button-down, green tie and kelly green watch. For the last hour or so, he’s been just off to the side of the throbbing dance party sipping on a bottle of water.
For the second time in eight years, his Eagles have dethroned one of the sport’s great dynasties, one of its great coaches, one of its best quarterbacks. Maybe now, from here on out, everyone in this room will be spoken of with the same reverence.
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This article was originally published on www.si.com as Revenge Tastes Like Champagne in the Eagles’ Locker Room.
