September 26-October 2, 2002

The Vet

The final season of the most controversial stadium in America.

Photos by Michael T. Regan

Text by Daryl Gale

When she opened in 1971 at a cost of $50 million, she was America’s most expensive sports venue. In the 31 years she has loomed over the south end of Broad Street, she has withstood insults, humiliation and political thunderstorms. Her sagging structure has given way on national television during her most famous annual event, the Army-Navy football game, sending cadets and midshipmen tumbling to the ground. The rats that patrol the bowels of the building are legendary for their size and willingness to fight, and for years the playing surface has been the subject of scorn from the National Football League’s players and coaches. In fact, she holds the distinction of being the only stadium to ever have an NFL game canceled over turf problems.


Twins Konrad and Klaus Hagen, Eagles fans all their lives, love coming to the Vet. The foam eagle makes an appearance with them at every game.	Keith the bartender pours a beer at his elaborate tailgate party. Everyone's welcome. He sets up his portable bar Sunday morning and makes sure all are having a good time.

Bill Smith checks the filet mignon at Jerry T's tailgate party. Bill is a cop who's had season tickets in the family since 1964. Every week is a new menu.	Terrence Roach catches a pass from his father in the parking lot. They arrived at 10:30 a.m. to tailgate and warm up for the game.

Norma Moss proudly displays her Eagles bus.	Fans pour into the stadium they love to hate.

So why is there a teary-eyed nostalgia for Veterans Stadium in this, the last Eagles season she will ever see?

For answers, you have merely to talk to the 65,000 fans who pack this place every Sunday during the fall. All this season, City Paper will chronicle the last days of Veterans Stadium, from the tailgaters to the guy who runs the scoreboard. We'll talk to the fans, the food workers, the electricians, the groundskeepers and everyone else who makes Sunday in South Philly so much more than just a football game. (Starting next week, new installments will appear online the Thursday after each home game at citypaper.net/vet.)

Take for example the 700 level, the most famous section of seats of any stadium in professional sports. Here in the nosebleed section, every fan is a diehard, and every seat seems to be occupied by a screaming banshee festooned from head to toe in midnight green and silver. A 700 level season-ticket holder who will only identify himself as Frank, a trucker from King of Prussia, is working on what is obviously not his first beer of the day. Frank reflects the feelings of many of his brethren as he drunkenly professes his love for the Vet.

"This is where the blue-collar fans live," Frank slurs. "We're the heart and soul of this team, and this is our holy temple. Sure it's a piece of shit, but it's our piece of shit."


Tom Stone and Craig Mack show their colors in the 700 level.	Tom Magloskey cheers as the second half gets under way. Eagles face paint is part of his game ritual.

Luis Bonilla, wearing his Emmit Smith jersey. "I've been called an asshole and told to get out of town," he says while smiling at a nearby tormentor who seems to delight in screaming "Dallas sucks!" over and over.	Donald Daglistino watches from the 700 level.

Frank Paczynski with his "Go Birds" sign. When asked how long he's been an Eagles fan, he says, "As long as I can remember, way before your time."	Chris Bellanova, wearing an Aikman jersey, encounters Todd Richter, wearing a Staley jersey, in the hotdog line.

Opening day 2002 is spectacular. Conditions could not be more perfect for the Philadelphia Eagles' home opener against the despised Dallas Cowboys. It's 80 beautiful degrees, the sun is shining brightly in a cloudless sky, and the smell of barbecue is everywhere, thanks to hundreds of tailgaters. In the parking lot of Veterans Stadium, tailgating has been taken to a high art. Grills of all sizes and shapes roast meats of every description, and beer flows copiously. One enterprising fan even sets up a sort of mini-bar, with several kegs pumping at once. There is a camaraderie here that exists nowhere else in the city. No one wearing Eagles colors is allowed to pass by without being subjected to high-fives, hugs and shouts of encouragement. Then the hapless stranger is force-fed burgers and ribs and beer until he too is whooping "E-A-G-L-E-S" with his new friends. It's pretty easy to question Philadelphia's nickname, "The City of Brotherly Love," anywhere in town except here. At the Vet on Sundays during football season, there is no rich or poor, there is no black, white or brown. There is only green. You're either an Eagles fan and therefore a beloved brother, or a fan of the other team and therefore a sworn enemy. There is no room for debate or compromise.


	Pottstown hairdresser Anita Lastoskie is pissed. "This is just insane," she fumes. "More than $600 a year for tickets and 10 bucks a shot to park your car, and you can't get a [free] cup of water on a hot day?"

Mike Dimaria (center) celebrates with Tom Simko (right) after McNabb connects with Antonio Freeman for a 59-yard touchdown early in the third quarter.	Fans in the 700 level give a Dallas fan the traditional Philly welcome.

Men's room at halftime. "Asshole" chants echo through the smokey room as a Dallas fan dares to walk in.	Sister Teresa Soltys cheers as McNabb runs in for a touchdown. Her father was a big Eagles fan and he got her involved. She traveled from Reading for the game with Sister Barbara ann Kemmerer.

She has been called the "Broad Street Folly" and "The Concrete Doughnut." And despite her faults and the valid complaints from numerous detractors, she is the site of some of Philadelphia's fondest memories. Like a ramshackle old house that looks horrible to passersby, her true value is sentimental, known only to those who grew up there; those who laughed, cried, lived, died and loved behind those crumbling walls.

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