When my family and I attended the parade just weeks ago, we stayed at a hotel near Chinatown the night before. In the morning, dozens and dozens of strangers wearing Eagles caps, ski hats, jerseys, hoodies, sweatshirts and countless versions of jackets ate together, helped each other find the creamer, talked with one another, and cheered when highlights were shown on TV. Many took selfies with strangers. “Fly Eagles, Fly” was heard everywhere.

For those people in the hotel lobby, Go Eagles, Go — go to the White House. Enjoy your decisive, impressive victory. Take a victory lap. Enjoy the ride. 

When we left the hotel, we walked forever from Chinatown to the Art Museum, settling down at Eakins Oval. We walked past fans in strollers up through fans with walkers, people dancing, people in wheelchairs — smiling, laughing, singing, recreating the Cooper DeJean pick-six and the DeVonta Smith touchdown. We smiled, high-fived, posed for pictures, took pictures, and smiled at police officers from all over the tri-state area. We sang “We are the Champions” with Jordan Mailata.

For those who walked miles, stood for hours and cheered, sang and danced with strangers, go to the White House.

We want the celebration to continue. We want the “high” to continue.

And we all need normalcy — for things to go on like they always have, predictably. Without angst.

President Ulysses Grant invited the first champions — the Cincinnati Red Stockings — to the White House in 1869. In a nation that was still divided, trying to heal from the Civil War, they traveled from Cincinnati to Washington, D.C.

The first football Super Bowl champs to be invited to the White House were the Steelers. They traveled from Pittsburgh to meet President Jimmy Carter.

I’m not sure if my favorite, “Mean Joe” Green — the leader of the “steel curtain,” and Coke TV spokesperson — voted for Ford or Carter in 1976, or if he even voted at all. But he and his team went and celebrated in the Oval Office.

Sports is fun and exciting. They are “pastimes” — getaways. And in America — Philadelphia especially — they are a huge part of our lives. Heck, we have TV sports channels, two major radio stations, dozens of reporters, countless podcasts, and even more conversations and debates in bars, homes, schools, and fields.

We go and cheer for fun, and to get away or pause life — the laundry, mowing the lawn, making kids’ lunches, going to the grocery store, writing that report for work. Maybe you were fighting with dad at home before the game, but an Eagles win heals many wounds on a Sunday night.

Sports bring us together. And going to the White House is a tradition. The offer has been extended — live on television by President Trump.

Go, Eagles, Go — please go to the White House.

The day of the Eagles-Commanders NFC Championship game, I was returning home from Clearwater, in a Phillies jersey and an Eagles cap—yes, sports is a true passion. Waiting for the flight to depart, hundreds of us in the terminal watched on TV. We cheered and yelled as Barkley rushed for the first touchdown on the first play. A spontaneous Fly, Eagles, Fly erupted.

I have no idea the political party of my fellow singers — nor do I care. As we were in the boarding line, many of us tried to get the game on our phones. Fans helped each other with the apps — or held our phones up with the speaker on full volume. A woman behind me helped me navigate getting the game on my phone. I have no idea what she thinks of “school choice,” the Ukraine-Russia war or Larry Krasner, nor did she know anything about me.

Our bond was that we are fans. For those moments, all the other (very important) stuff didn’t matter. Sports brings us together—especially in a world of deep division. 

Visiting the White House, going to the Oval Office, is something 99 percent of Americans never get to do. It’s not a GOP rally or a MAGA event any more than the Steelers visit in 1978 was a rally for Carter.

It’s tradition. It’s custom. It extends the celebration. Each player and each coach earned it.

Going would be a small step towards normalcy and unity. Declining the invitation would make it “political.” And it would unnecessarily put politics in football.

The White House visit means you’re special, that you’ve accomplished something earning praise.

For the strangers I high-fived when Wilbert Montgomery scored against the Cowboys in 1980; for my friends who watched me cry when Brandon Graham strip-sacked Tom Brady; for the lady who showed me how to get the game on my phone — and for my dad and brother, Gregg, who suffered through decades of failure and watched the Super Bowl wins in heaven: go to the White House.

It’s a special moment. Please keep it special and unifying. “Spike the football.” Go Eagles, Go. And thank you.

Guy Ciarrocchi is an Eagles — and Phillies — fan of decades, who has high-fived and hugged more strangers at the Vet, the Linc and the Bank than he can remember. A Senior Fellow with the Commonwealth Foundation, he writes for Broad + Liberty and RealClear Pennsylvania. Follow Guy @PaSuburbsGuy.