This Philly bar in San Diego is an Eagles nest. It even makes its own pretzels.

The door was always open, allowing the Southern California sunlight to slightly brighten the dark dive bar near the Pacific Ocean. The carpets were old and the air was musty, but there was a group of Eagles fans in the corner every Sunday.

“I felt like I was at home,” said John Paul Iacoangelo, who grew up in Delaware County and moved west nearly 25 years ago as a 20-year-old trying to find his way.

He was 3,000 miles away from the friends who knew him as “Boomer.” But the Sports Harbour — a small spot with good TVs in Marina del Rey, Calif. — felt like a slice of Delco.

He watched the Birds with other transplants who arrived from Philly years earlier. Those guys became like mentors, cheering for Boomer every time he landed a new gig in Hollywood and supporting him when he moved to San Diego to see about a girl.

“They always had my back,” said Iacoangelo, 44. “They were like my family.”

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It was that feeling that Iacoangelo wanted to capture when he left behind the film industry to open his own spot — Pretzels & Pints — in San Diego. It wouldn’t just be a bar that served pretzels. It would be a Philly bar, a place to feel like home when you’re 3,000 miles away.

“Philadelphians, no matter where they live in the world, will always have each other’s back,” Iacoangelo said.

Nearly every city has a nest where Birds fans gather on Sundays and most spots are just regular bars that flip their TVs to the Eagles game.

But some cities have bars dedicated every day to Philly. Portland, Ore., has Lombard House. London has Passyunk Avenue. And Jackson Hole, Wyo., has Cutty’s, which serves cheesesteaks on Amoroso’s rolls.

“It’s easier than it sounds,” said Cutty’s owner Jerry Fasy, who grew up in Ambler. “I think Amoroso flash-freezes them and ships them out nationwide. There’s times when you open up the bags and they’re perfect. You would’ve thought they came right out of the oven.”

Iacoangelo met his wife, Lauren, while living in Los Angeles and working in TV. He traveled nearly 10 months a year and found success working as a camera operator on shows such as Shark Tank, The Apprentice, and Top Chef. But Iacoangelo knew he wanted more.

“I saw it on sets. A crew member Skyping with their kids,” Iacoangelo said. “After they hung up, they’d have a look of sorrow on their face. I felt bad for them and said, ‘You OK?’ They said, ‘You know, my daughter is 5 years old and I haven’t been to a birthday party since she was born.’ But that’s that industry and I knew I didn’t want to be the father that wasn’t around.”

He quit his TV gig and moved to San Diego, where his future wife — who grew up in Doylestown — was living. They married in 2015 and Iacoangelo opened his bar a year later.

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He found a condemned building that operated as everything from a pillow factory to an adult book store and turned it into a small bar with four taps.

“I had all this Philly stuff on the wall,” Iacoangelo said. “I was like, ‘Come on in, man.’ But I was really nervous. I was busting my ass.”

The spot slowly started to pick up steam. First there were 10 people. Then 20. Soon there were 30. In 2018, Iacoangelo had more than 100 people at his bar when the Eagles won the Super Bowl.

“I’m choking up thinking about it,” Iacoangelo said. “Because at that point, I knew we were on the map here. Just the joy and the smiles and the love that was throughout this establishment. I knew I was going to see these guys next season. No one is going anywhere. As long as they’re here in San Diego, they’ll keep coming back.”

The bar is packed now every Sunday and Iacoangelo refers to his regulars as the 700 Level. Every Sunday, it’s a rowdy place in laid-back San Diego. They sing the fight song, spell out Eagles, and Iacoangelo blares a siren. It’s like watching a game in Jetro but with warmer weather.

“As they’re saying, ‘E-A,’ I hold up an empty keg and have a giant plumbing wrench,” Iacoangelo said. “I’m banging it and it’s really loud. It’s electric.”

Iacoangelo’s son, Luca, came home from school recently with a Golden State Warriors hat he grabbed from the lost-and-found bin.

“I was like, ‘Get that out of here. We don’t wear that,‘” said Iacoangelo, who also has twin daughters Mia and Emma. “I mean, it was a nice hat, but nope. We’re not even returning it to school. I’m just throwing it away.”

He’s a six-hour flight from Delco, but Iacoangelo has not forgotten his roots. His family lives near the bar, but Iacoangelo said they’re “a Philly family.” So of course, his bar is a Philly bar.

Iacoangelo agreed to sponsor a team in the local Little League under one condition: The kids wore Phillies colors. He has framed newspapers on the wall from when Philly won, banners of every team, and even an homage to Al Alberts Showcase. It’s Philly in San Diego. They even bake their own pretzels.

“That’s what makes this place unique. You can get an IPA anywhere in this neighborhood,” Iacoangelo said. “We have Philly pretzels, Munich pretzels, New York pretzels, pretzel sandwiches, pretzel pizzas. Pretty much 95% of our menu deals with pretzels. But they’re also completely different. We have a pretzel bagel with cream cheese. We have a spicy turkey melt on a pretzel roll. A grilled cheese on a pretzel roll. I was surprised by how many people really love pretzels. I knew in Philly people loved pretzels. My mom eats two pretzels a day.”

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The marriage of beer and pretzels proved to be perfect. But it’s been more than the menu that keeps people coming back.

For many, Iacoangelo’s Philly bar has been their Sports Harbour. Twenty years later, the kid who stumbled into that bar near L.A. is the one giving out advice. He reminds his staff how they should be saving their money and tells them about Roth IRAs.

“I give all the credit to my regulars,” Iacoangelo said. “Those are the ones who show up every week. This is my job. I have to be here. They don’t have to be here. They choose to be here. The compliments go back and forth. I say, ‘Thank you, guys. This is all for you guys.’ Then they say, ‘You know what, Boomer? We would’ve never met these people or been here if it wasn’t for you. What you created is so special. Some people go to church, this is our Church on Sundays.’”

Iacoangelo is now the mentor, helping other Philly transplants find their way just like he did years ago. On Sunday, he’ll be the guy banging the keg with a wrench.

“I’m living the dream,” Iacoangelo said. “I’m so far away from home, but I’m actually living in a place where I want to be. But I eat a slice of pie from home every day when people come in here. I still hear the accents.”