NEW ORLEANS — The Philadelphia Eagles have entered their golden era. They've been to three Super Bowls in eight years, and now they've won two. They have talent to burn, but they have something else.

Something more.

Connection. Compassion. Empathy.

They win together. They lose together. More than anything, though, they stay together. When the coach goes off the rails, when the quarterback loses games, when the diva receiver preens, and when the players struggle mentally to make sense of a cold, cruel world, they are, almost always, together.

The constant here, the architect of it all, is one man:

Jeffrey Robert Lurie.

He bought the team in 1994, built it to relevance with coaches Ray Rhodes and Andy Reid, took a step back with Chip Kelly, then adjusted course with Doug Pederson, who won Super Bowl LII, and, now, with Nick Sirianni, who barely lost the Super Bowl two years ago, then destroyed Reid and the Chiefs in Super Bowl LIX here Sunday night, 40-22.

Afterward, as green and white and silver confetti settled on the lapels of his navy suit, Lurie basked in the glow of the culture he created. A culture of excellence. A culture of professionalism. A culture of togetherness.

"We love our culture. We built it over a long time," Lurie told me Sunday.

That building process began when Lurie hired Reid in 1999 but it accelerated in 2016, when Reid, now in Kansas City, recommended Pederson to Lurie as a replacement for Kelly, an offensive innovator but an impersonal leader. No one else considered Pederson a head coaching candidate, but Lurie raved about Pederson's "emotional intelligence." Two years later, the Eagles had their first Lombardi Trophy. Pederson faltered, but Lurie — now following the recommendation of former Eagles offensive coordinator Frank Reich, who'd become the coach in Indianapolis — in 2021 hired Sirianni, another non-candidate everywhere else.

Lurie is probably the most sensitive owner in sports history. He has a master's degree in psychology, has a Ph.D. in social policy, and he once taught psych at Boston University. He might not be able to judge a wide receiver's catch radius, but he sure knows people.

"We have a certain way of doing things," Lurie said Sunday. "I've never picked a coach that was interviewed by anyone else."

He has consistently picked winners. Rhodes and Reid both won Coach of the Year. Pederson and Sirianni probably should have, but creating culture doesn't resonate with voters. What's so special about the Eagles' culture?

For one, they monitor each other's mental health; former Pro Bowl guard Brandon Brooks, current Pro Bowl tackle Lane Johnson, and star wide receiver A.J. Brown all are open about their mental health issues, and all advocate to erase the stigma.

They give each other space and grace. When Brandon Graham said this year that the friendship between Brown and quarterback Jalen Hurts had, in his eyes, deteriorated, Graham was quickly corrected, and just as quickly forgiven.

Sure, they bicker like brothers, but they always seem to make up. Lurie, GM Howie Roseman, and Big Dom DiSandro, Roseman's senior adviser and head of security who researches players' backgrounds and counsels them through rough patches, combine to make sure that's the sort of player the Eagles acquire.

They seek players with both extreme talent and high character. They understand that young men might make bad decisions, but, if they believe those young men are pure of heart, they are willing to give them second chances. They put in place cornerstone leaders like Jason Kelce, Fletcher Cox, Johnson, and Graham to create a culture that could absorb and modulate players whose profiles didn't quite color within the lines of productive team-building.

"This team is incredibly talented, top to bottom, with star power and with depth," Lurie said last week. "But it's also humble and team-oriented."

In the transactional world of the NFL, in which some teams treat players like commodities, Lurie, his front office, and his coaches actively work to develop the players wearing the uniforms into better people.

Brown and defensive backs Darius Slay and C.J. Gardner-Johnson arrived in Philly with reputations as disruptive self-promoters. All three are now productive team leaders.

Young defensive tackles Jalen Carter and Jordan Davis, both drafted out of Georgia, arrived with reputations as poorly conditioned, undisciplined knuckleheads. On Sunday, they anchored one of the best defenses in NFL playoff history, one that sacked Patrick Mahomes, the league's best player, six times. All five made mistakes on and off the field, but by Super Bowl Sunday, they had corrected their courses.

The culture even saved Sirianni. Since he taunted Eagles fans after a home game in Week 6, Sirianni has been the model of enthused reticence.

From the top, the team emphasizes culture over everything else. Yes, sometimes it gets corny, but it is a genuine thing.

Sirianni wore a T-shirt most of this season that read, "Tough. Detailed. Together." He seldom makes it through an interview without dropping his motto: "You can't be great without the greatness of others."

Hurts, without fail, credits his teammates when asked about his own exploits. He won the MVP award Sunday night with an epic performance; two passing touchdowns, a rushing touchdown, and 72 rushing yards, which broke his own Super Bowl record for a quarterback. As Terry Bradshaw handed him the silver football, the first thing out of Hurts' mouth was, "Couldn't be here without my teammates. The effort, the determination everybody displayed to get to this point. It's never been about what any one of us does, it's always been about what we do."

The baton passes. Kelce and Cox retired after last season. That left Johnson, a reticent type, and Graham, a comical sort, to bear the load, and they did so masterfully. Hurts is naturally quiet, too, but he became more communicative, and therefore a much better leader. The Eagles drafted Quinyon Mitchell and Cooper DeJean to replace Slay, and he took the rookie corners under his wing, calling them his "little brothers." DeJean on Sunday returned an interception 38 yards for a first-half touchdown.

Slay and Graham are 30-somethings who might not be here next season. Johnson might retire after next season. Are there ready replacements? Absolutely. Left tackle Jordan Mailata and left guard Landon Dickerson already act as spokesmen. Davis is a level-headed constant. Wide receiver DeVonta Smith was wise out of the womb.

Anyone who wants a glimpse at the selflessness, at the togetherness, only needs to hit social media and check out the postgame locker room scene. They would see shirtless running back Saquon Barkley, from Penn State, shotgunning a beer with backup quarterback Kenny Pickett, who went to Pitt.

They would see defensive end Nolan Smith, drafted in 2023 expressly to replace Graham, celebrating Brandon Graham, hugging him, and shouting, "He's the OG! He's the OG!" For two years, the OG has been teaching the young buck all of his tricks.

That's the culture Lurie has built. The culture that sent teams to the Super Bowl after 2017, 2022, and 2024.

"They're all incredible teams," Lurie said. "I think some of the similarities, though, are that they are humble, team-oriented, with a super culture."

Pederson and Super Bowl LII hero Nick Foles played outsized roles in all of this.

There's a statue outside of Lincoln Financial Field commemorating the Philly Special, a fourth-down trick play that helped beat Bill Belichick, Tom Brady, and the dynastic New England Patriots seven years ago. I've been covering the Eagles for 30 years, and that, for me, is only the second most memorable moment of this era.

The most remarkable moment for me happened in the playoffs the following year, after the 2018 season. It came in a divisional round loss here in the Big Easy. With just over 2 minutes to play, trailing by six at the Saints' 27-yard line, a pass to Alshon Jeffery bounced off his hands and into the hands of a defender. It sealed the loss.

Other quarterbacks might have yelled at their teammate, or maybe spun on their heel and stormed off the field. Not Foles. He immediately went over to console Jeffery, who was sitting on the field at this same Superdome, utterly dejected. A few moments, later, on the sideline, Pederson gave Jeffery a hug. Jeffery lay his helmeted head on Pederson's shoulder as his eyes began to tear.

Six years ago, the Eagles put connection and compassion first. Six years later, the song remains the same.

As long as Jeffrey Robert Lurie is the owner, that tune will never change.

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