How farming and family forged Eagles center Cam Jurgens

CAM JURGENS' WHITE Dodge Ram pickup truck crunches the gravel as he pulls up to his boyhood home on the outskirts of Pickrell, Nebraska, population 186. Three generations of Jurgens live on this half-mile of farmland with corn, cows and sky stretching as far as the eye can see.

With tousled red hair, the 6-foot-3, 303-pound Philadelphia Eagles center walks through the door of the modest 1,400-square foot home. "Made it!" his mom Beth says in a happy sing-song voice from the kitchen.

It's the third week of June -- the summer solstice -- and the sun will shine brightly on Cam Jurgens this weekend. Tonight, Beatrice High School, his alma mater, is dedicating its football field to him. Tomorrow, the Super Bowl champion who gutted through the entire season with a herniated disc will be the grand marshal at the town's Homestead Days parade.

Jurgens, who has been signing T-shirts since he walked through the door, says there are many parallels between football and farming. He motions to his dad, Ted.

"He's had a lot of injuries working the farm," Jurgens says.

Ted sighs.

Years ago, when Cam was a kid, Ted was working on the farm when he accidentally dropped a forklift attachment on his knee. It was winter, it was zero degrees out, and Ted was sweating profusely because his kneecap had slid down his leg.

"I wasn't gonna do anything about it," Ted says. "I still had to do chores, and I'm thinking, 'Well, I have to walk this thing off.'"

He worked for about an hour before he got help, eventually learning he'd torn his ACL, MCL -- just about every acronym you can think of.

Jurgens experienced his own pain last winter. The herniated disc, he says, was no big deal. But things escalated during the playoffs, and suddenly his left leg was in intense pain. What Jurgens didn't know then was that part of the disc had broken off and lodged into his sciatic nerve, which is problematic for someone who needs to stand on both legs and block large men.

But Jurgens, and the Eagles, prevailed. He had back surgery and signed a four-year, $68 million contract extension during the offseason.

He's moving around much better now.

Beth, a seven-time track and field national champion in college with a four-inch scar running down her leg from knee replacement surgery, prepares an early supper of baked potatoes, salad and pork chops. Everyone gathers at the kitchen table to eat.

Occasional squeaks punctuate the family conversation. They emanate from a tiny crate near the kitchen. "We got a kitten in here," Cam says. She is the runt of the litter, the weakling, and the other barn cats aren't letting her eat. One of her ears is even turned down. Beth is tending to her, keeping her safe from the hot Nebraska summer and the coyotes prowling the fields looking for easy prey.

Out here, only the strong survive.

BEATRICE IS NINE miles south of Pickrell, and with 12,261 people, it's a metropolis, with restaurants, gas stations and a Walmart. Back in 1863, it was home to the country's first homesteader, Daniel Freeman, who planted corn, wheat and oats on his 160 acres.

Before the Jurgens family left for the field ceremony, Beth quietly said she hoped people would show up.

The weather was the biggest threat to turnout -- an extreme heat warning gripped the plains all weekend, with temperatures soaring into the 100s. But as the sun slid down, the stadium started to fill.

Families planted lawn chairs in the parking lot to listen to Jurgens speak over the PA system and watch the fireworks afterward. His old high school teammates sat on a bench along the sideline facing him.

At the podium, Jurgens thanked them for coming and shared a few inglorious memories. "I remember ... catching some touchdowns down there," Jurgens says, pointing at the end zone. "Breaking my ankle right over there at the 20. Hyperextending my elbow over there. I've hurt myself a lot on this field.

"I just remember so many times with these guys coming out here, running the stairs. Puking. I puked all over this place. And now with the blood, sweat and tears, my name's going up, too."

In the stands, school administrators spun the Amazing Stories of Cam Jurgens. Like the time he dunked a basketball in the junior varsity game, and it was so electrifying that he revved up not only his JV squad but also the varsity team that played afterward.

And how he played fullback, linebacker, punter and on the offensive and defensive lines against Elkhorn during his senior year, "and he was a difference-maker every place they put him," says James Ford, Beatrice High's principal.

Jurgens was the state's consensus No. 1 player as a senior, a four-star tight end. He dreamed of being a Cornhusker since he was a child and idolized Ndamukong Suh. Then-coach Mike Riley offered Jurgens a scholarship after his freshman year. But so did many other schools, including LSU. The Tigers were the only official recruiting trip he took besides Nebraska, and he wonders, now, what it would've been like if he'd gone to Baton Rouge.

"I liked it down there," Jurgens says. "If I would have went, I would have won a national championship with Joe Burrow."

But the thought is brief. If he hadn't taken this road, would he be where he is now? Who would he be if things were easier?

Riley was fired in November 2017, during Jurgens' senior year of high school. That same fall, Beatrice was playing Norris when Jurgens took a direct snap and ran. He broke a tackle and kept going. Then another defender jumped on him and dragged him down. Jurgens felt a snap. He looked down at his foot, which was sideways. His leg was broken, and his ankle dislocated.

Jurgens missed the rest of football season and all of basketball. In the spring, his run at winning four state championships in the discus was in jeopardy. He threw twice his senior year -- once at districts, the other at state. He took gold again.

By then, Nebraska had hired Scott Frost as head coach. Frost was a former quarterback at Nebraska, a legend because he led the Cornhuskers to their last national championship in 1997. In Jurgens' first months on campus, he was a fourth-string tight end. But he caught Frost's eye one practice on a slice block on a defensive end.

"I ended up going through him," Jurgens says, "and I broke his helmet. I remember breaking his face mask off ... I felt like I had a really good practice. I was really happy."

Frost called him into his office. "Cam," Jurgens recalls Frost telling him, "what does it mean for you to play at Nebraska?"

The coach told him that he wanted to move him to the offensive line, that he wanted him to be the team's center the next season. Like anyone who's scored touchdowns instead of paving the way for someone else to do it, Jurgens didn't love the news. But he was intent on doing anything he could to help the team.

A few weeks in the O-line room led to a revelation for Jurgens: He was an offensive lineman.

"I'm like, 'I get to hit somebody every play,'" he says, "'and I don't have to run 30 yards downfield for them just to not throw me the ball.' I'm like, 'Tight end kind of sucks.'"

He had to gain a massive amount of weight in a short period of time and suffered fractures in both feet. He didn't get to practice in fall camp before his debut season as a redshirt freshman in 2019.

He was learning how to snap the ball on the fly without reps. Growing up with Nebraska football as the soundtrack of fall Saturdays, Jurgens knew how much the team meant to the state, and did not want to mess up. But of course he'd mess up.

"I definitely struggled," he says. "And a lot of people in the state hated me because I wasn't snapping it well.

"But you know, if I was a fan, I probably would have been upset, too."

No bench press could measure the strength, and restraint, it took for Beth to keep herself from defending her son from the critics.

The good news is that Jurgens wasn't much of a social media guy. He'd go home after practice and snap the football to his roommates, linebacker Will Honas and receiver Levi Falck, inside their home.

Nebraska went 5-7 in 2019. It wound up being the winningest season in the five-year Frost era. Jurgens hated losing, but if there was any light, it was that he got pretty good at that center position. In his third season, he made the 2021 watch list for the Rimington Trophy, awarded to college football's best center. But in early November, in the midst of a 3-9 season, Jurgens' position coach Greg Austin was fired, along with three other assistants.

With all the instability, Jurgens pondered declaring for the NFL draft. He had two seasons of eligibility left counting the COVID year, and predictably, the coaching staff implored him to stay.

Jurgens says Frost told him that leaving early would be "the worst mistake of your life."

"Which is tough," Jurgens says, "because I felt like I grew up here. I love Nebraska, and I gave it everything -- all the energy and effort. And so just to not get that support ...

"I'm like, 'Well, I'm just gonna bet on myself.'"

Frost, through a school official at UCF -- where he's head coach -- declined to comment.

Jurgens did declare for the draft. A few months later, he saw Frost at Nebraska's pro day. Jurgens says Frost apologized to him.

"But I was right in moving you to center ..." he told Jurgens.

The lineman said thanks.

PREDRAFT VISITS weren't always encouraging for Jurgens in the spring of 2022.

Miami coach Mike McDaniel spent five minutes talking about Jurgens' mustache. Mike Vrabel, then the coach of the Tennessee Titans, turned a handshake into a battle of wills.

"He puts me in a death grip," Jurgens says. "And we're staring at each other dead in the eyes, squeezing each other's hands, and I'm trying to break his hand off. I'm squeezing so hard, trying to twist his wrist, and he's like, 'Is that as hard as you can shake my hand?'"

Philadelphia was different. It can be an intimidating stop because the Eagles' O-line is so accomplished that they are among the stars of the team, and center Jason Kelce, at that time, was becoming a celebrity. It was before the Taylor Swift-Travis Kelce union, but the future Hall of Famer's play, plus his gregarious demeanor -- Jason Kelce dressed in a Mummers costume during the 2018 Super Bowl parade -- made him a fan favorite.

By 2022, the Eagles were planning for the future and hoped to find a candidate to be Kelce's successor. A converted tight end from Nebraska with zero bowl games might not have sounded like an ideal choice. But Jurgens felt comfortable. He thought about Kelce's path, and how he was a linebacker at the University of Cincinnati. Neither fit the cookie-cutter image of an O-lineman. They were athletes. So Jurgens was hopeful when he went over film with Philadelphia O-line coach Jeff Stoutland, who quizzed him on fronts and coverages.

Then Kelce walked in, introduced himself, and "kind of took over the meeting," Jurgens says. He peppered Jurgens with questions about ... cattle. Kelce had just bought some, and he knew Jurgens' family had cows on their farm. Jurgens wondered if Stoutland was annoyed, hoping to gauge a potential draftee's acumen and desire, and winding up in a feedlot.

They eventually talked about other things, and the conversation flowed.

"If I get drafted here," Jurgens told Kelce, "you can help me play football, and I can help you be a cattle farmer."

On April 29, 2022, the Eagles selected Jurgens in the second round with the 51st pick. Jurgens didn't have much time to celebrate, though. Pickrell was under a tornado warning, and the family had to run to the basement.

The idea of someday replacing Kelce seemed daunting, but Jurgens reminded himself of his freshman year, when Nebraska announced that he was moving to center. Frost told some people that he thought Jurgens would be the next Dave Rimington. The guy on the Rimington Trophy.

So Jurgens took the same approach he did in college: Listen to the coaches and veteran linemen and focus on yourself and what you can do to get better. Instead of trying to fill someone else's shoes, he put on his own.

During his rookie year with the Eagles, Jurgens was playing scout-team offense when the Eagles signed Suh, a giant, intimidating defensive tackle who was one of the last vestiges of the Cornhuskers' dominance. Jurgens was nervous to approach him.

One day in a walk-through practice, a defensive tackle threw Jurgens to the ground. Players go at different speeds during walk-throughs, and Jurgens figured that was a sign that he should kick things up a notch.

He knocked Suh off his spot, and Suh grabbed him.

"He's like, 'Don't you ever hit me again like that,'" Jurgens says.

"I was like, 'Yes sir, Suh, sir. I'm so sorry.'"

He played special teams that season during the Eagles' run to the Super Bowl in 2022, where they fell to the Chiefs. He ended up having a "great relationship" with Suh.

Jurgens started at right guard the following season, surrounded by veterans and mentors on the O-line.

If he wanted to talk to someone about the pressure of replacing someone like Kelce, he found offensive tackle Lane Johnson, who hailed from Groveton, Texas, population 918. In 2013, Philadelphia picked him in the first round, fourth overall, to eventually replace nine-time Pro Bowler Jason Peters.

"You're either going to be labeled a boom or a bust the rest of your life," Johnson says. "[But] I think with that pressure, it allows a deeper level of focus and maybe gives us the edge when you kind of have everything on the line.

"I think Cam's probably a lot more mature than I was at his age. But it's really about being yourself. And as a football player, man, everybody is their own artist. Everybody has their own attributes that make them special, so you just try to show them the best you can, game after game."

Kelce announced his retirement on March 4, 2024, turning the center reins over to Jurgens. And then came the herniated disc. Sometime toward the end of the season, an MRI revealed that it had gotten smaller. Jurgens thought that was good news -- maybe it meant that it shrank.

He didn't know a piece of the disc had travelled to his sciatic nerve. If it was just a back issue, Jurgens says, he would've been fine. But during the postseason, his left leg betrayed him. His hamstring cramped; his calf ached and weakened so much he couldn't hold up his leg. He couldn't feel his foot, either.

By the time the NFC championship rolled around, jolts of pain shot down his leg. He couldn't practice and could barely sit. He spent much of the week draped over a giant physio ball, belly down, watching his teammates work out for the biggest game of his life.

Guard Landon Dickerson started in Jurgens' place against the Commanders, and Jurgens suited up in case of an emergency. Dickerson went down with a knee injury.

"I'm like telling the coach, 'Hey, I'm hurt, I'm banged up, but I'm not that bad. I can play the second half. Let me go,'" Jurgens says.

Jurgens managed to get through the game, which turned into a 55-23 blowout. The next day, he got an epidural -- an injection often used during childbirth -- and it provided some relief.

Enough to allow him to help the Eagles crush the Chiefs 40-22 in the Super Bowl.

THE TITLE CAME after a rough year for the Jurgens family.

In May, back in Pickrell, Ted Jurgens had just finished up planting soybeans when he joined his wife for some gardening. Ted was planting the tomatoes too closely -- he often does -- and Beth made a comment, something like, "You can't ever put the tomatoes the way they're supposed to?" and she noticed that Ted had sweat rolling down his face.

He didn't tell her initially that he wasn't feeling right, and when he did, Beth told him to stop, but he wouldn't. He had to get the job done.

He finally got a lemonade and laid down by a tree, but he wasn't getting any better. She told him he needed to see a doctor, but he didn't want to. Beth was a schoolteacher for more than three decades, so she knows how to get stubborn people to do things. She mentioned that he'd met his insurance deductible, and he decided to go.

On the drive to Beatrice, Ted said his lips felt numb. They went to the ER. They were directed to a bigger hospital in Lincoln, about a half hour away, because Ted was having a heart attack.

"Well," he said, "do I just drive myself up there?"

In the back of the ambulance, Ted Jurgens thought to himself, "Well, I had a heart attack. Big deal." In recovery, he was told he'd just had a massive heart attack called a widowmaker.

Ted isn't one to worry about things, but he has thought about what would've happened if his wife wasn't home that day.

He wouldn't have gotten to watch his son's 2024 season, the Super Bowl, or harvested the corn that will likely come early because of drought.

He wouldn't be there for his kids -- his daughter Courtney is a pharmacist in Kentucky, and his oldest son Colby is in construction and runs one of their farms.

"I could have went into the house and just laid down on the couch," Ted says, "and never got up."

TWO DAYS AFTER the Super Bowl, Jurgens and his linemates sat in a dressing room, waiting to appear on "The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon." Running back Saquon Barkley had been invited by the show, and he insisted that his linemen come, too.

Jurgens felt out of place. He saw Kelly Clarkson (in a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt) and they exchanged hellos. Jurgens looked around the dressing room, at the fancy waters and makeup -- which he wouldn't wear -- and turned to his linemates.

"We shouldn't be here, guys," Jurgens told them. "This is not us."

Then a producer came in and told them that all they really needed to do was go out and shotgun beers, and Jurgens was back in his element.

At the Eagles' Super Bowl parade in Philadelphia a few days later, Bud Light was Jurgens' choice of beer. He used it mostly to self-medicate the pain.

Jurgens was mesmerized by all the people -- at least one million of them -- hanging out of buildings, shouting from the streets.

Four months later, at another parade, he was moved in a different way. Hundreds of people lined the streets of Beatrice, waiting to see him. He drove a massive Exmark lawn mower manufactured at a nearby plant. His dad works there, and so did his grandmother, Karen. She was the first woman to work full-time on the production line.

The Boy Scouts marched first, followed by motorcyclists with American flags and the local VFW. When Jurgens puttered through on the mower, the children yelled, "Hiiiiiiii, Cam!" and he smiled and waved.

The afternoon was dangerously hot, with the only relief coming in the form of a 30 mph wind that kicked up rocks and dirt. His grandparents, two of whom are in their 80s, braved the elements. They waited near the finish line, then stuck around for an hour afterward just to talk.

FARMING, LIKE FOOTBALL, is marked by seasons.

Autumn is harvest season, and it's Jurgens' favorite time because the family is working together, sharing a meal afterward.

It's Labor Day weekend, and the sky is slate gray on an unseasonably cool day. Ted Jurgens, who also has a full-time job as a welder, is not taking the day off. He's in the garage, repairing a grain cart. He emerges with grease covering his hands and sits down on the porch with Beth.

Their corn will have to be harvested earlier than usual this fall, Ted says, because of Pickrell's dry summer. Cam won't be here to help, obviously. He started training camp with limited reps, but in August was cleared to go full speed.

He made headlines during camp when he appeared on "Pardon My Take" and was asked about a video in which he appeared to be practicing blocking techniques with a calf on the family farm. Soon, he was all over social media -- "CAM JURGENS TRAINS WITH BULLS IN THE OFFSEASON!"

His parents say the video is actually from 2021. He was at Nebraska and bored during the pandemic. Some of the Cornhuskers' offensive linemen were out on the farm, and they decided to try and wrestle the calves. "There's no way they're gonna beat that calf," Ted says.

The Eagles opened the season on Sept. 4, in a Thursday night prime-time game against the Dallas Cowboys. The team unveiled the Super Bowl banner that night.

In a group locker room interview days before the game, Jurgens, the healthiest he has been in nearly a year, seemed ready to close the book on 2024. "Who gives a damn if we're hanging something or whatever? We're playing the Cowboys," he said.

After a lightning delay, Philadelphia beat Dallas 24-20. Jurgens took his parents to a steakhouse afterward, and they ordered sushi. Beth was hesitant to eat it -- she's a meat-and-potatoes woman. "But it wasn't bad," she says. "I can't say I didn't like it."

In a Week 2 Super Bowl rematch Sunday, the Eagles beat the Chiefs 20-17 in Kansas City.

Then it was back to Pickrell, because Ted and Beth have a long fall of work ahead. The cattle need to be fed; the crops need to be collected.

"I'll farm till I'm gone," Ted says.

"It's in your blood. I can't just go sit down. I couldn't sit down forever. I've got to do something. You're not gonna last very long if you go sit in your recliner."

Another rehab had a successful conclusion recently.

The scraggly little orange kitten grew bigger and stronger and her ears pointed straight. The Jurgens family named her Yeller. She runs around and wreaks havoc, steeled by the land under her feet.