Drew Mukuba is the American Dream the Philadelphia Eagles need
Life will get crazy in Philadelphia this season. As always. Zimbabwe to Philly, meet the young safety who can supply the mentality this team desperately needs. "At one point. I barely had anything.”
PHILADELPHIA — Here, if he wants water, all Drew Mukuba must do is make eye contact with the waitress across the diner and ask for a glass. She’s pretty rough around the edges — mid-70s, raspy voice, a tooth (or two) missing — but refers to all male patrons as “baby.” Best guess is that he’d receive water in three minutes tops. The clanking of plates and glassware synchronizes with Classix Philly 107.9 on the FM dial above. Flyers, Phillies and Eagles banners hang on the window. Life is good.
As a kid, growing up on the other side of the world, the process of acquiring one of life’s most basic essentials was painstaking. He lived in Zimbabwe up to the age of nine.
The nearest water pump to their refugee camp was approximately three miles away.
“I ain’t going to lie to you,” says Mukuba. “It was a walk.”
He’d trudge all the way to that pump, fill his bucket to the top and — by the time he returned home? — that bucket was only half full. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible not to spill. There was no choice but to make three round trips at a time because the Mukubas needed water to cook, bathe, drink. Mom and Dad had six kids with a seventh in the future.
Everyone in their community made the same long walk.
Nobody viewed the exercise as perilous. Rather, protocol.
“This is life. This is my normal,” Mukuba says. “It’s the norm to me. It seemed normal looking around. But looking back? It’s insane.”
All memories remain vivid. Especially one burning desire to get to America.
All roads naturally steered Mukuba to the country’s birthplace: Philadelphia, Pa.
A perfect fit considering NFL life deemed normal here is insane everywhere else. This league’s ripe with fan bases that’d sacrifice their liver on the black market for just one championship and the desperate Bird Gang just might’ve boasted the most potential donors before triumphing over the New England Patriots in 2017. The coach was eventually fired. A new coach was hired. Philly clawed their way right back to another Super Bowl in 2022, lost by a field goal, then thoroughly flogged Patrick Mahomes and the Kansas City Chiefs in Super Bowl LIX.
Two rounds of confetti buy most franchises a lifetime of goodwill.
Not here. The 2025 season was consumed more like a brain-rot reality show on Netflix. Its content equal parts addictive and disturbing.
All shine glistening off the two Lombardis gave way to internal strife, the egging of an offensive coordinator’s home, wild Reddit theories and one report that the Super Bowl MVP quarterback was uncoachable. GM Howie Roseman went Full Howie, again, replenishing both the roster and coaching staff with fresh blood. All chess moves help. A paradigm shift is now required beyond those transactions. Buffalo must learn how to attack on pure instinct, so Joe Brady is the new head coach. Green Bay seeks a killer instinct, and Javon Bullard is much obliged. Meanwhile, inside MetLife Stadium, Calvin Austin III is aiming to administer electroshock therapy to the New York Giants.
Spoiler alert: Expect more turmoil in Philly. More boos. The pressure ratchets up too high.
Mukuba digs the college atmosphere — how emotions swing violently both directions. “How they talk shit?” he adds, “it’s deeper than just football to them.”
Mukuba also knows the team itself cannot ride the same tidal wave as its constituents.
Calm is required. A deeper level of “appreciation.” For football, for the team-provided meal in the cafeteria, for everything.
“If I would say something to the team — or anybody — it’s to be thankful,” Mukuba says. “Because there’s a lot of people that don’t get to experience this. There’s a lot of people dying to get to the NFL. I know there’s somebody right now that would die to be in my position. Looking at how I grew up, what I was around, who I was being around, guys that didn’t make it? I’m a professional athlete. It doesn’t get any better than that. My job is to play football, something that I love to do. I couldn’t ask for more.
“A level of appreciation will take you a long way.”
The concept of dysfunction inside a locker room doesn’t register to someone growing up in such a primitive land.
His words are prescient for a club that resides in deafening, demanding terrain.
“Despite everything going on, you’re your own person,” he says. “You still have to go out there and do your job or you’re putting yourself in jeopardy. I like that mindset for everybody. In the NFL, you’re on your own. You’ve got to survive on your own. If you don’t take care of your own business — if you don’t do what you’re supposed to do? — it’ll get you gone.”
He doesn’t believe any inner-squabbling created distractions.
But even if it did? Even an issue arises this year? He jumps in.
“It’s none of your business. Do your job.”
Every defensive back is bound to face-plant in front of millions of viewers and every defensive player whose boss is named Vic Fangio is bound to experience the old-school coach’s rage. These film sessions are straight out of the 90s with humiliation in high supply. At one point last season, his voice bellowed Mukuba’s name with damning disdain.
It was at that exact moment Mukuba needed to make a choice.