One Year Later
Yes, my sabbatical has brought another blog
posting. It’s been a year, and I felt since these get more responses than my radio program did at times, I felt maybe I should post another one. I know I had left off at the tide of things turning last November. In hindsight it was for the best, and the farther you get from some things, the more you realize how more revitalized and smarter you were for doing so. In the last year, I have had some wanted and unwanted tests…and still continue to pass them without cheating. And it’s not that I have stopped writing, not even in the least bit. To reveal without revealing, I am writing a trilogy of stories that basically have nothing to do with one another. More on this later. But this is only one thing of many occurring. I have continued to write in other veins, but not to the magnitude of response the blogs used to get. I felt, if I can’t write something of any worth while here, why should I share? It’s like making a really good album and trying to follow it up with the same formula. It just doesn’t work. After the theft of my dying neutron star, the show has moved along and become as always, stronger and reinvented at certain intervals. Cuts and breaks have been tended, mended, and cared for, while others haven’t been fed the nutrition that’s needed. But I digress. Things have shaped up oddly in the last year. I have become more introspective and quiet as of late, yet slowly started enjoying my life as a hermit while not losing sight of what has to be accomplished week to week. If there is one thing I have learned in the course of the last year is when push comes to shove and things happen to those close to you, the trivialities of life mean nothing and don’t weigh as much. It’s almost an automatic default response. Cancer has unfortunately decided to rear its ugly head this year. The news all came along during the ironic anniversary of the fallout where I was finally set free one night while sitting on my back porch. But that’s how life works. You move past one thing, only to get challenged by another. The news was saddening, shocking, and humbling. All of the sudden, there was an internal battle….one to maintain balance and stability in the face of family support, and only allowing my emotions to disclose when alone amidst the darkness. I found myself recoiling for the next setback. It takes a lot to shake these feelings when you take things in love and life like you do your sports teams. It shook my foundation of who I am, and I found myself angry at god and, at the world. I still to this day beg that I could have it in place of my mother, or anyone else in my family. I mean, my brother and sister have kids….my father and mother want to see them grow up…like they watched us do and hoped to do with grandkids. Me? I have had a good life, I have traveled to a degree, I have loved, I have seen the best and worst of people, and I’ve enjoyed this ‘circus’ called life. Why can’t I have the cancer instead? I have no children, wife, lover, or ties. I have had a blast here. Why can’t I take the cancer….god only knows I would deserve it more than my mother would. But, it’s nothing you can change. This is how the cards are dealt. The best I could do and have done is to be a smiling and reassuring face in unsure times. I showed my support and sacrificed what I took so much pride in over the years…my hair. My mother prided herself on hers, and when she lost it, I knew it bothered her despite her resilience to ignore it. So off it came. My family was stunned and couldn’t understand why. But later they did after repeated trips to treatment and seeing others who’d done it. It wasn’t for me, it was for her. And if I did get anything out of it, it made me enjoy my knit caps a bit more. (I love hats)
Muck The Fetts Part V or “you stand there with your fixed expression, casting doubt on all I’ve had to say”
September was an odd month. Amidst all the personal chaos, there was the Phillies. They again became the opium to all the problems that ensued in all facets of life. I never had any hope that they would repeat 2007, let alone make the playoffs again this year. But as the season drew to a close that month, the butterflies began to churn. Greg’s Swinefest preparation
s had us all united under a grey sky of hope as they would beat the Nationals yet again to secure a division title, and I would revel in the pain of the fans of the other New York team that’s not the Yankees. The Phillies would play Milwaukee in the first round of the playoffs. Game one would be a gem by Cole Hamels while I sat at work with a tiny radio praying that my row of computers wouldn’t interfere with the AM waves that blessed its little speaker. The Phillies would beat them 3-1, to mark their first win in the playoffs since 1993 when I was just a young DJ driving in a car with no breaks, and a girlfriend at college 2 hours away. Ok, it’s only game 1. But a lot was let go that day in the terms of anticipation. The next day, in what I called the best game of the playoffs, was the game where Brett Myers pitched 7 great innings and shook the confidence of the unstoppable CC Sabathia. Phillies would win that one 5-2 while I sat celebrating by myself in the office. They didn’t play on my birthday, but commenced the next day. Amidst doing production for the radio show, I saw the Phillies get their asses handed to them at the hands of the Brewers in Milwaukee. The dinosaur Jamie Moyer was no match for the hot bats of the Brewers, and his 42 MPH fast ball wasn’t going to ‘fool’ anyone today. I went to the radio show that night thinking, ok, that does it. It’s over. I would be crucified by my friends and family for being negative. But when you are a Philly fan in general, you are used to this. Am I wrong? Did something happen today to change this? The next day, Agent Bradley decided I needed to get away from my life and take the young Parson Jack Russell Li’Le out in the Pine Barrens. Yes, I know, totally unconventional. The Phillies are playing, and the Eagles are playing Washington. Dude, are you nuts? Who misses this stuff? First off it’s Sunday. This is an action packed day of pivotal sports in the city of brotherly love. One not watching and witnessing should be burned at the stake. So there we were heading into the Pines. The Eagles had taken a 14-0 lead over the Redskins, and the Phillies were up 1-0 in the first inning off J-Roll’s home run. We made our first stop at Hampton Furnace. I was getting anxiety thinking I really should be home watching this game. But just then on the radio, Burrell and Werth sent bombs out of the park to ensure the Phillies would win their first playoff series since 1993. We sat at Batsto and listened to the final out while Li’Le and her now browned coat 
from running through piles of the stinky, mud infested puddles on the Atsion tract permeated the interior of my Jeep. But alas, the Phillies won. We won round one. The next series would be the Phillies versus the Los Angeles Dodgers. A flashback to when I was 12 and the belief that they could win with a bunch of old guys. I remembered back when the Phillies played the Dodgers in the regular season in 1983, they had gone 1-11 against them, and then would beat them 3-1 in the playoffs. I had bad feelings 25 years later. My thought was with a rejuvenated Derek Lowe, and the addition of Manny Ramirez, the Phillies wouldn’t have a shot. I mean come on, it’s Philly. This is how it’s supposed to go. In Game 1, the Phillies were down 2-0 for what seemed like an eternity. But once Lowe got rattled with Victorino at 2nd, the game and ultimately the series would change complexion. The Phillies would win 3-2. In game two, the Phillies bullpen would reign supreme after Myers outing to tame the Dodgers offense and win 8-5. Wow. The Phillies were up 2-0 in the series. Game three would be on a Sunday night in L.A. Jamie Moyer would come out and again get shellacked in the first inning. It wasn’t good. I was nauseous. There was no way we would win this game. My thoughts were, well, we won 4 at home against them in the regular season, while they won 4 on their house as well. The series was taking the same kind of vibe. But something happened. Victorino became head hunted by cowardly Hiroki Kuroda, the pitcher for the Dodgers. And although the Phillies lost 7-2, I was angry, and so were they. You could see it. You could feel it. Fuck the Dodgers. Fuck those Hollywood elte. Fuck Jon Lovitz, fuck Mia Hamm, fuck Tommy Lasorda, fuck Josh Brolin, oh and fuck Joe Buck, again. I was starting to feel it. I was 11 again. I was yelling BEAT LA BEAT LA. Down 5-3 in game 4, the Phillies roared back with 2 of the most clutch home runs I ever saw in my life. First Victorino hit a 2 run homer, only to have it followed by a pinch hit by Ruiz, and the biggest home run of the season that still hasn’t landed as of yet from the old Canadian, Matt Stairs. I admit it. I started to well up. I thought, oh my god. We are going to win this series. Ok, ok, settle down. Nothing is final yet. Relax. Stop. Sitting in my apartment alone didn’t help because I wanted to call people, but I didn’t want to get overly excited over something that wasn’t done yet. So on comes Wednesday. Cole Hamels would pitch, and any Dodger comeback would be thwarted early by the tone the Phillies set with Jimmy Rollins early home run. The Dodgers would implode in the 
game causing three errors allowing the Phillies to win 5-1. When the game ended, I just repeated the same thing over and over again. Oh my god. We won. Oh my god. I can’t believe it. We won. Oh my god. We are going to the World Series. I could hear my neighbors cheering…people screaming in the streets, pots and pans banging…and this was only the League championship series! As I tried to make my way to Frankford and Cottman, I stopped. Besides traffic being impossible that chilly Wednesday night, I said to myself, let’s go home, and wait to celebrate the series if we can win it. Don’t buy any shirts; don’t buy any hats, nothing yet. Let’s wait. I turned around and went home and smiled. I felt the most for my mother because the chemo had been so overwhelming; all she could do was sleep. To her, this was very bitter sweet. So what would seem like a month, the Phillies would have to wait for the outcome of the Rays/Red Sox ALCS. Time was of the essence….
Room 333
By Monday the 22nd, my mother was not well. Chemo and the aftereffects were wearing her down. By Tuesday, things took a turn for the worse. My mother would be rushed to the hospital Wednesday morning. She was weak. Unable to fight infections, her temperature rose. I left my jobs and made my way to the hospital. It was tough. The toughest thing I had experienced in a long while. She was placed in the ER for most of the morning, day, and night. Finally, at the beginning of the World Series game 1, she was placed in an isolation room. While everyone family wise had gone home, I decided I would stay. In and out of sleep, my mother would ask me the score. I sat in the chair and watched. I could see she wanted to watch, but the opiates would make her fade in and out. The Phillies would walk away winners 3-2 in game one. My mom weakly did what we always did at end of a Phillies victory, the fist punch. Her hand shaking really got me. I broke down, but not in front of her. I was talking to her about the game as if we were at home and nothing was wrong. I think it had to be the strongest I ever was despite what was going on with her. When I went home, that was a different story. When the Phillies lost game two, 4-2, I was back in traditional Philly mode. “Series is over, forget it….that was it, hope you had fun folks.” My mother was the one in her weakened state that said to me, “Stop being that way. Stop it. Don’t be negative.” I was silent the rest of the series. Then on that Saturday, I spent most of the day in the hospital with her. Little did I know at that point, we were amidst a perfect Philadelphia sports weekend. The Flyers had won on Friday night over New Jersey, 6-3. Then on Saturday, we beat them again 3-2 with the help of a smoke bomb thrown on the ice (Only in philly). So after hanging out with mom at Virtua, I went back home to finish production for the radio program. Who could do a radio show with all this going on? By the time the Phillies game started with the rain delay, I had just started the radio show. Great. Now I have to do my show, try not to be distracted with a TV on in the lobby, hope my brother in law can give me the best updates he can as the asshole umpires try to decide the fate of my home team in the biggest series of the year. The score was 4-3 Phils by the 7th. In the top of the eighth inning, B.J. Upton led off with a single, stole second….then third, and scored on a throwing error to tie the game. I was ready to puke. But then Eric Bruntlett was nailed by a pitch leading off the bottom of the ninth, then moved to second on a wild pitch and then to third on a throwing error! Now keep in mind, I was getting all of this through Instant Messenger from Agent Bradley because I was on the air. Then coach Joe Maddon decided to use his intriguing coaching tactics by intentionally walking the next two batters to load the bases, and brought in Ben Zobrist from right field to play as a fifth infielder behind second base. Basically, a 5 man infield….I hadn’t seen this in about 25 years. But then, Ruiz got a blooper hit in what would become the only time a walk off infield single would win a game. And as a long play CD played on the air, I remember just pumping my fist and yelling in a sharp quick breath, “WE WIN” in the lobby of the radio station. The Phillies took a 2–1 lead in the series. It was just then that Pole, the master of Swinefest extended his offer to see the Eagles play against Atlanta that next day. Can we stay perfect, win wise as a city? Let’s review:
Friday: Flyers 6, NJ Devils 3
Saturday: Flyers 3, NJ Devils 2; Penn State 13, OSU 6; Phillies 5, Rays 4
The Sexfecta
Sunday morning was a bit rough after only having a few hours after the radio show for sleep. But that’s ok. I am not used to sleeping anyway. The plan was to get to Pole’s house as quick as possible so we could intake massive amounts of alcohol in the hopes the Eagles could beat the Falcons. My mom, still at Virtua but getting better, insisted I go and spend the day having fun. She couldn’t understand why I’d spend so much time in the hospital to begin with, but we all
know why. Nevertheless, I took Greg’s offer and a day of Philadelphia sports was ahead of us. We arrived at the stadium and began drinking and slamming hoagies down. I had a good feeling about that day.
Something told me it would be a weekend to remember. So we arrived at our seats to find some hot girls sitting in our seats. Now anyone who knows me knows that when I am at a football game that women are the last thing on my mind. Salma Hayek could be sitting in our seat and I would still be saying, “Um, yeah kick off is about to happen and you are in our seats. You are in the wrong section.” So as we sit down, there is a guy in a gorilla suit sitting behind me. Why? I have heard of the Rally Monkey, but dude, um, you know you are wearing a Gorilla suit, right? So, after watching a rich women get arrested in the club box near our seats, the Eagles rolled to an unflattering 27-14 win over Philly boy Matt Ryan and the Falcons. I then stared scheming up some weird plan to try to scale the wall of Citizens Bank Park to get into a World Series game. Pole almost bought into it. But alas, after drinking in the parking lot, getting our pictures taken by the Phillies ground crew, and watching Hot Dogs get burnt beyond recognition, the plan was in place. It was decided to get to Northeast Philadelphia with Pole’s friends to watch the game. It was a bar called Flukes that lied on a sleepy street with no street signs and no life. Grey was the best way to describe it. After sitting with some friends, we watched the hated Giants come from behind to beat the Steelers, and then a national anthem sung wrong and out of tune for the World Series game by Philadelphia’s very own Patti Labelle. After she butchered that, Pole and I began to butcher these great wings we ordered. The Phils took a 1–0 lead in the bottom of the first. I couldn’t drink because of the nerves of this game. The Phillies doubled their lead in the third inning when Chase Utley reached base on a fielding error and scored on Pedro Feliz's single. The Rays scored their first run when Carl Crawford hit a solo home run in the top of the fourth inning. Ryan Howard's three-run home run in the bottom of the inning brought the score to 5–1. But then Eric Hinske hit a pinch-hit home run for the Rays to bring them within three runs. But then something happened that could only happen in October baseball. Phillies pitcher Joe Blanton rifled a ball over the right center fence to re-extend the lead to four. The bar went nuts. I began hyperventilating. I still couldn’t believe it. Are we seriously going to win this? Can this be happening? I looked across the bar to see people hugging and celebrating. Maybe I was going to wake up and it was going to be like…I don’t know September and the playoffs were about to start or something. I was interrupted deep in thought by the old man across the bar saying, “If the Phillies win this game, this is serious.” And I knew it was real when Jayson Werth hit a two-run home run in the eighth inning, the Phillies third of the game, to bring the score to 8–2. Then Ryan Howard hit one to complete the rout at 10-2. The sexfecta was complete. The perfect weekend. Pole and I hugged, as did all the others at Flukes….but there was still more baseball to play. But as a Phillies fan, you could taste it. I always wondered for the last 28 years what it would be like to win a championship. I mean, how will it feel the closer we get to closing the deal? Will it be easy? Where will I be? Where will my family be? What memory will stick out the most? I scurry to try to remember every detail because honestly, this may not happen again for a long time. If you know me, I must remember everything. Smells, sights, where we were, what was going on in everyone’s life at that time, etc. I suddenly realized, “dude, its happening. Start recording.” I have endless tape in my head, and that can never be taken away from me. We drove home amidst the fog and dampness with happiness in our blood. One more game. One….more….game. I slept well that night. The best sleep in years.
It’s Been No Bed Of Roses
Monday arrived and I had the day off from work for I had to go to court for a stupid ticket I got
going a few miles over the speed limit in Maple Shade. That’s a funny story for another day. Anyway. The plan was to watch the World Series with my mom because the great news came through that she would be coming home that night. But as court came to an end I got the call that she was exhausted and would be asleep at home. So I sucked up the fact that now the complexion of my plans would be changed. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I just thought to myself, there is no way I can’t watch this with my mom. We have watched almost every game together. Something just isn’t right. The vibe has gone awry. Here’s how I knew there was something higher than all of this pulling the strings. I rushed to get home to find my laundry never dried in the dryer because the heating element went bad. Fine, use another dryer right? Nope. Out of quarters. Ok. Don’t panic…run and get some quarters. I call my brother in law. After explaining the situation of game viewing, he insisted that I get to his house to watch. So as I ran to get quarters, I noticed my gas gauge was sticking. I knew I had to get gas, but how low was I? Ok, no problem, I will stop at the gas station and get gas real…(putt) (putt) (BEEEEP). Shit. Shit. SHIT. Ok, well maybe I can listen to the game in the Jeep. “Victorino at first, one out”. Ok, ok. I gotta think. YOU CAN’T SIT IN THIS JEEP AND LISTEN TO THE GAME. What if they win? I’m starting to sweat. It’s only a quarter mile to the station. Ok. It’s starting to rain at this point. And the distance is not far at all. But it felt like I was 20 miles away. I get to the gas station, get the canister, and start jogging in the frozen rain to my Jeep. I start to fill the tank and realize that there is more gas on me, than there is actually going into the tank. Ok, dude. Settle down. (End of the inning). I finally get enough gas to cover the fuel pump to turn the engine over. I start staggering down the street to the station. She stops right at the pump. Ok, the Phillies are winning 2-0. Everything will be fine. I must get to Marlton. The rain is coming down harder. I could only imagine how the conditions must be at Citizens Bank Park. The rain is coming down even harder by the time I crossed route 70 and route 73. I finally arrive at Agent Bradley’s to see that game is about to be suspended. The puddles were like small lakes on the infield. Bud Selig, the sloth of a human being, comes on television to tell the baseball world that the game would be suspended JUST AFTER THE RAYS TIED IT UP because of an error due to the weather on Jimmy Rollins. I hate Bud Selig even more for the mere fact that YOU KNEW the weather was going to bad 2 hours before game time you poor excuse for a man. I mean I know you didn’t want the Phillies or the Rays in the World Series because of your precious prime time ratings and your invested advertisers…you made that quite clear as you forced your Milwaukee Brewers into the playoffs. Dirtbag. Meanwhile Pete Rose can’t be reinstated into baseball? You suck Selig. Real nice that you sold your soulless soul to Fox so Major League Baseball can make some money. He probably had to drink heavily game to game because the Red Sox and the Cubs weren’t in it. I hope you get hit by a bus full of Cubs fans. Oh and Bud? The BREWERS SUCK. So. There I was. Soaked, stunned, and in disbelief. So let me get this right. This is the first game in the HISTORY of the World Series not to be played through to completion or declared a tie? Ok, I wouldn’t want the series to end that way anyway. I’d want 9 innings as well. I’m totally up for fair competition, despite the idiocy of Bud Selig….the evil and dopey emperor in charge. So now what?? So now, we have to wait? Are you kidding me? It was the most helpless feeling I ever had as a sports fan. This weird euphoric feeling hung over me much like the storm front that decided to take refuge over the Delaware Valley that Monday and Tuesday. My phone started buzzing from disgusting Mets fans everywhere. “You guys are done. This is the curse! You guys will lose out! HAHAHA” So finally it was decided that the Phillies would play on Wednesday night. So as I counted the minutes on my watch till I could get out of work to watch the final 3.5 innings. I rushed to my parents to find my mom in bed, but awake. She was just as nervous as the rest of us. My father paced, my phone was being texted, and the world just stopped. Geoff Jenkins led off with a double and was bunted to third by Rollins. Jayson Werth then batted in Jenkins to take the lead for the Phillies, 3–2. But, it can never be easy because then, Rocco Baldelli of the Rays re-tied the game at three runs with a solo home run. Later in the inning, Bartlett was thrown out at home by the clutch Chase Utley for the third out. I knew right then. “Guys? This is for real..” I could hear the old man across the bar at Flukes echoing in my head from Sunday. “If they win this, this is serious.” And now, it was. In the bottom of the seventh, and what most likely would be his last at bat as a Phillie, Pat Burrell got a double. How symbolic. How fitting. How story like. Eric Bruntlett, pinch-running for Burrell, scored on a single by Pedro Feliz to put the Phillies up by a run again, 4–3. In the top of the ninth, Brad Lidge gave up a single and a stolen base, but was able to reach and dig deep down inside….and Harry’s most listened to call: “One strike away, nothing-and-two to Hinske... Fans on their feet, Brad Lidge stretches... the 0–2 pitch...Swing and a miss; he struck him out! The Philadelphia Phillies are 2008 World Champions of baseball! Brad Lidge does it again and stays perfect for the 2008 season, 48-for-48 in save opportunities... And let the city celebrate! Don't let the forty-eight hour wait diminish the euphoria of this moment and celebration! Twenty-five years in this city that a team has enjoyed a world championship and the fans are ready to celebrate. What a night! Phils winning, 4–3, Brad Lidge gets the job done once again!” The Phillies won their second World Series Championship in 125 years.
Done. Finished. Champs.
All was forgiven. 1983, forgiven. Pat Corrales, forgiven. Von Hayes, forgiven. Jim Fregosi, forgiven. Mitch Williams, forgiven. Terry Francona, forgiven. Larry Bowa, forgiven. Lenny Dyskstra, forgiven. The Marlins series in 2003, forgiven. 2007 postseason, forgiven. Etc, etc, etc. My mother screamed from bed “WE WON! WE WON!” It was over. World Champs. The phone rang incessantly. People screamed in the streets of their quiet neighborhood. Horns honked, people hugged. It was over. All the frustration of my teens, 20’s,
and now my 30’s, were soothed with flavor of patience and victory. The Philadelphia Phillies are World Champions. You can capitalize it now. Fuck Joe Buck, fuck the Mets, fuck Jose Reyes and his pointing finger, fuck Tim McCarver, fuck Sports Illustrated and their cowardly writers, fuck Bud Selig, fuck the New York Post, fuck the “tampa curse”, fuck the Mets fans sitting behind us in section 134, fuck ESPN, oh and fuck Joe Morgan. You wore a Phillies uniform once you dope. Did I say fuck Joe Buck? I hopped in the Jeep and met with Agent Bradley en route to Ashland speed line. Rocco met us there as the Phillies Pain Train pulled up. The train was all red in its interior. Fans old and young sat in the train at 11:17. There was no curfew; there would be no school tomorrow for these youngins’. Smiles permeated the train. Each stop, more people…and more people. We got out at the Broad Street line. People were hugging, screaming…it was pure, pleasant chaos. It was something that had to be seen up close. The Philadelphia Police opened up the doors to the Broad Street terminal and none of us had to pay. “The Phillies won the world series…enjoy and be safe”.
The closer we got to the stairs above the city; you heard this pulse….this pulse of excitement. You could hear the vibration, the cheers, and the bedlam. The sound of release was the best way to describe it. The sound of pure bliss. The roar from above was getting close. Up the stairs we went, and there it was. Red. Broad Street was red. From Talk Of The Town Steaks to City Hall. Red. ALL red. People were united. Black, white, Hispanic, Japanese, Vietnamese, Italian, Irish, Polish, you name it they were there. Hugging, kissing, high five-ing and hand slapping, crying, laughing, dancing, drinking, smoking, and reveling in the monumental finish. We walked northward and I was strangely silent. I couldn’t believe it. So this is it, huh? This is what happens when you win a championship? Look at this place. Look at all the broken glass on the street. Broad Street wasn’t even a street anymore. Cannons of M80’s went off in the distance. People had back packs full of beer. One couple got engaged. Another couple sat on their front step and took pictures. As I walked, I would be interrupted by the occasional hand shake and “WOOOO CHAMPS!” It was something I would never forget. The air was cold but heated by the exhilaration that the city was feeling. People swarmed the newsstand to get a news paper from the trucks wheeling in. I turned and looked at Rocco and Rob and they were just as mesmerized as I was. At one point, I was so struck by the moment, that Rob and Rocco ran over to me as if I was a lost kid at the mall. “Come on dude, stay with us.” I was speechless at the mayhem. People who hadn’t seen each other in years hugged and cried. Girls lifted their shirts; guys wore funny hats, and people painted their faces. Things got a little hairy when someone started burning a newspaper machine on one of the corners. That’s when the cops rode in and threw the culprit against the wall and cuffed him. At one point a bottle whizzed literally between me and Rob to the point where the wind of it grazed my eye. Not to mention, the bottle was broke already. Everyone had fun…I even was grabbed and kissed by girl in the middle of the street. It was the closest I got to Mardi Gras. The party was great until a cop got hit in the head with a bottle. That was when everything changed. They moved us off the street with their bikes. Next thing I knew, we were back on the subway and on to the speed line. The cold air was crisp goodness once we got home. It was bitter, but a good kind of cold. I dropped Rob off at home and I headed home listening to 610, something I never do. To hear the callers talk about their love for the Phillies made sense to me in one light. We all have suffered. It really hasn’t been a bed of roses. It’s been torture. And most people not caring about it would go, “So what? It’s only a stupid sport.” First off, it’s your mom and dad dressing you in jerseys when you are 8. Its talk at the coffee machine after hitting 3 home runs the night before, or seeing your pitcher go down in a hail of boos after he walked in a run. It’s chat when you are in the lunch line or at the supermarket talking to the bagger with the Phillies hat on. Its emails you get at work talking about trades, jokes, and whether Manuel is any good or not. Its text messages when you are losing 7-1 and score 7 runs in the ninth. It’s not reading the Daily News the next day after an 11 inning loss to the Mets. It’s being a Phillies fan. It’s realizing that this all parallels life. That was it. Story over. The post game analysis replayed until the sun rose…
City Hall Parking
That Thursday, I told people that if they were going to go to the parade on Friday, not to be stupid and to take the speed line. Genius plan. At least so I thought. So I set the alarm Thursday nightto get up at 7:30 AM Friday. No problem, right? Wrong. Apparently at 3:15 AM, someone hit a telephone pole on the outlying highway that led to a brief power outage for 3 minutes in my sector of town. Well, I awoke to seeing all my clocks blinking 12:00 AM. I broke out in a sweat and stared at the clock just knowing this couldn’t be right. So, I see the actual time is really 9:45, and my ride has already left for the Ashland speed line. I only knew this because I received like 10 text messages from my family and friends asking where I was at 8:30. So I quick get in the shower, dress accordingly and hop in my Jeep bound for the Haddonfield speed line. Once I get there, I see a line of people that wrapped two blocks back to Kings Highway. I stopped a person waiting in line and asked, “What are you waiting for?” “Tickets” the father of three responded with dressed in Phillies garb. “They are telling us it’s about a two hour wait. At this point I sped out of Haddonfield for Collingswood. I get to their station, and the word is about a two hour wait there, too. So I have now wasted at least an hour in this nonsense of trying to figure out how to get to Philly for the parade. Then the light bulb went off. Drive into the city. There is no other choice. I am not going to miss this. No matter what the situation is at hand. So there I was, tearing down Route 70 to get to the Admiral Wilson Boulevard. No one was on the road. No one. I get to the Ben Franklin and I am amazed at the fact that NO one is on this road. I pull under the bridge into Olde City to again, minimal traffic and make my way to Market Street. Everyone in the city is red. I turn right on to Market Street and start heading west. Again, minimal traffic within Center City. No real problems at all. I get to Juniper Street where City Hall is to find that there is some slight congestion, and the city again, is decked out in Phillies dress. As I circle around Juniper Street, then on to Filbert, I see the luckiest thing ever happen in all my years of driving into the city. A parking spot becomes available in front of the Arch Street Methodist Church on Broad. I slam my Jeep into the spot as a cop watches. I waited for him to tell me not to park there. I get out and ask, “Hey, can I park here?” He responds with, “No one is going to write you a ticket today. The Phillies won the World Series. Have fun.” So there I was. Literally with personal parking at City Hall, and walked half a block to watch the parade. Broad Street was mobbed. No one could move once you got towards Penn Square. I was blown away. My phone couldn’t work because everyone and their brother were trying to use theirs. As I walked, I ran into a guy who was lifting up his kid above his head. As he brought his arm down, his elbow nailed me in the head. No big deal. I just saw stars. When I realized it wasn’t done maliciously, I walked on. But god damn, did that hurt. I was at City Hall. My brother in law with his family was more towards Broad and South, while my other friends were down by the stadiums in South Philadelphia. As I stood on the gate by City Hall, I laughed at how easily I got here and how here I am watching this all unfold. The weather was lovely, yet brisk. And just then, the crowd started raising their tone as the trucks made their way around the circle. I couldn’t see much because of my height obviously, but then, the crowd parted for a brief second, and just then I could see Mayor Nutter holding up the trophy. I saw it as it glistened in the sunlight as they turned the corner. That was it. I saw my parade. Finally. It was all over. Well, not for another few hours, but I was there for the beginning of it. Amazing how it all worked in the end. I walked half a block back to my Jeep and headed back through Olde City on my way home. People were all wearing their red stuff…I honked as I passed the people crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge. Wow. Champs Baby Champs. As I finally got into New Jersey, my phone started ringing from friends and family telling me that there was no way to get home because the train system had been shut down. I forgot that everyone assumed that I took the speed line in, too. Boy did they want to kill me. I was already on my way to work while everyone was trying to figure how to get home. When all was said and done, it was a great finish to a bittersweet week. The perfect band aid amidst all the turmoil….. It was time to return to life, and return to the grind of things. But it was nice that for a brief moment, a wish was granted, and a dream came true….A championship for the city of Philadelphia. A city I love so dearly. It was more personal…it’s hard to explain. It was almost as if some personal ghosts were exorcized. A championship parallels life. If you work hard enough, anything can happen.
1993 to 2008, now forgiven.
Yes, my sabbatical has brought another blog
posting. It’s been a year, and I felt since these get more responses than my radio program did at times, I felt maybe I should post another one. I know I had left off at the tide of things turning last November. In hindsight it was for the best, and the farther you get from some things, the more you realize how more revitalized and smarter you were for doing so. In the last year, I have had some wanted and unwanted tests…and still continue to pass them without cheating. And it’s not that I have stopped writing, not even in the least bit. To reveal without revealing, I am writing a trilogy of stories that basically have nothing to do with one another. More on this later. But this is only one thing of many occurring. I have continued to write in other veins, but not to the magnitude of response the blogs used to get. I felt, if I can’t write something of any worth while here, why should I share? It’s like making a really good album and trying to follow it up with the same formula. It just doesn’t work. After the theft of my dying neutron star, the show has moved along and become as always, stronger and reinvented at certain intervals. Cuts and breaks have been tended, mended, and cared for, while others haven’t been fed the nutrition that’s needed. But I digress. Things have shaped up oddly in the last year. I have become more introspective and quiet as of late, yet slowly started enjoying my life as a hermit while not losing sight of what has to be accomplished week to week. If there is one thing I have learned in the course of the last year is when push comes to shove and things happen to those close to you, the trivialities of life mean nothing and don’t weigh as much. It’s almost an automatic default response. Cancer has unfortunately decided to rear its ugly head this year. The news all came along during the ironic anniversary of the fallout where I was finally set free one night while sitting on my back porch. But that’s how life works. You move past one thing, only to get challenged by another. The news was saddening, shocking, and humbling. All of the sudden, there was an internal battle….one to maintain balance and stability in the face of family support, and only allowing my emotions to disclose when alone amidst the darkness. I found myself recoiling for the next setback. It takes a lot to shake these feelings when you take things in love and life like you do your sports teams. It shook my foundation of who I am, and I found myself angry at god and, at the world. I still to this day beg that I could have it in place of my mother, or anyone else in my family. I mean, my brother and sister have kids….my father and mother want to see them grow up…like they watched us do and hoped to do with grandkids. Me? I have had a good life, I have traveled to a degree, I have loved, I have seen the best and worst of people, and I’ve enjoyed this ‘circus’ called life. Why can’t I have the cancer instead? I have no children, wife, lover, or ties. I have had a blast here. Why can’t I take the cancer….god only knows I would deserve it more than my mother would. But, it’s nothing you can change. This is how the cards are dealt. The best I could do and have done is to be a smiling and reassuring face in unsure times. I showed my support and sacrificed what I took so much pride in over the years…my hair. My mother prided herself on hers, and when she lost it, I knew it bothered her despite her resilience to ignore it. So off it came. My family was stunned and couldn’t understand why. But later they did after repeated trips to treatment and seeing others who’d done it. It wasn’t for me, it was for her. And if I did get anything out of it, it made me enjoy my knit caps a bit more. (I love hats)
Muck The Fetts Part V or “you stand there with your fixed expression, casting doubt on all I’ve had to say”
September was an odd month. Amidst all the personal chaos, there was the Phillies. They again became the opium to all the problems that ensued in all facets of life. I never had any hope that they would repeat 2007, let alone make the playoffs again this year. But as the season drew to a close that month, the butterflies began to churn. Greg’s Swinefest preparation
s had us all united under a grey sky of hope as they would beat the Nationals yet again to secure a division title, and I would revel in the pain of the fans of the other New York team that’s not the Yankees. The Phillies would play Milwaukee in the first round of the playoffs. Game one would be a gem by Cole Hamels while I sat at work with a tiny radio praying that my row of computers wouldn’t interfere with the AM waves that blessed its little speaker. The Phillies would beat them 3-1, to mark their first win in the playoffs since 1993 when I was just a young DJ driving in a car with no breaks, and a girlfriend at college 2 hours away. Ok, it’s only game 1. But a lot was let go that day in the terms of anticipation. The next day, in what I called the best game of the playoffs, was the game where Brett Myers pitched 7 great innings and shook the confidence of the unstoppable CC Sabathia. Phillies would win that one 5-2 while I sat celebrating by myself in the office. They didn’t play on my birthday, but commenced the next day. Amidst doing production for the radio show, I saw the Phillies get their asses handed to them at the hands of the Brewers in Milwaukee. The dinosaur Jamie Moyer was no match for the hot bats of the Brewers, and his 42 MPH fast ball wasn’t going to ‘fool’ anyone today. I went to the radio show that night thinking, ok, that does it. It’s over. I would be crucified by my friends and family for being negative. But when you are a Philly fan in general, you are used to this. Am I wrong? Did something happen today to change this? The next day, Agent Bradley decided I needed to get away from my life and take the young Parson Jack Russell Li’Le out in the Pine Barrens. Yes, I know, totally unconventional. The Phillies are playing, and the Eagles are playing Washington. Dude, are you nuts? Who misses this stuff? First off it’s Sunday. This is an action packed day of pivotal sports in the city of brotherly love. One not watching and witnessing should be burned at the stake. So there we were heading into the Pines. The Eagles had taken a 14-0 lead over the Redskins, and the Phillies were up 1-0 in the first inning off J-Roll’s home run. We made our first stop at Hampton Furnace. I was getting anxiety thinking I really should be home watching this game. But just then on the radio, Burrell and Werth sent bombs out of the park to ensure the Phillies would win their first playoff series since 1993. We sat at Batsto and listened to the final out while Li’Le and her now browned coat 
from running through piles of the stinky, mud infested puddles on the Atsion tract permeated the interior of my Jeep. But alas, the Phillies won. We won round one. The next series would be the Phillies versus the Los Angeles Dodgers. A flashback to when I was 12 and the belief that they could win with a bunch of old guys. I remembered back when the Phillies played the Dodgers in the regular season in 1983, they had gone 1-11 against them, and then would beat them 3-1 in the playoffs. I had bad feelings 25 years later. My thought was with a rejuvenated Derek Lowe, and the addition of Manny Ramirez, the Phillies wouldn’t have a shot. I mean come on, it’s Philly. This is how it’s supposed to go. In Game 1, the Phillies were down 2-0 for what seemed like an eternity. But once Lowe got rattled with Victorino at 2nd, the game and ultimately the series would change complexion. The Phillies would win 3-2. In game two, the Phillies bullpen would reign supreme after Myers outing to tame the Dodgers offense and win 8-5. Wow. The Phillies were up 2-0 in the series. Game three would be on a Sunday night in L.A. Jamie Moyer would come out and again get shellacked in the first inning. It wasn’t good. I was nauseous. There was no way we would win this game. My thoughts were, well, we won 4 at home against them in the regular season, while they won 4 on their house as well. The series was taking the same kind of vibe. But something happened. Victorino became head hunted by cowardly Hiroki Kuroda, the pitcher for the Dodgers. And although the Phillies lost 7-2, I was angry, and so were they. You could see it. You could feel it. Fuck the Dodgers. Fuck those Hollywood elte. Fuck Jon Lovitz, fuck Mia Hamm, fuck Tommy Lasorda, fuck Josh Brolin, oh and fuck Joe Buck, again. I was starting to feel it. I was 11 again. I was yelling BEAT LA BEAT LA. Down 5-3 in game 4, the Phillies roared back with 2 of the most clutch home runs I ever saw in my life. First Victorino hit a 2 run homer, only to have it followed by a pinch hit by Ruiz, and the biggest home run of the season that still hasn’t landed as of yet from the old Canadian, Matt Stairs. I admit it. I started to well up. I thought, oh my god. We are going to win this series. Ok, ok, settle down. Nothing is final yet. Relax. Stop. Sitting in my apartment alone didn’t help because I wanted to call people, but I didn’t want to get overly excited over something that wasn’t done yet. So on comes Wednesday. Cole Hamels would pitch, and any Dodger comeback would be thwarted early by the tone the Phillies set with Jimmy Rollins early home run. The Dodgers would implode in the 
game causing three errors allowing the Phillies to win 5-1. When the game ended, I just repeated the same thing over and over again. Oh my god. We won. Oh my god. I can’t believe it. We won. Oh my god. We are going to the World Series. I could hear my neighbors cheering…people screaming in the streets, pots and pans banging…and this was only the League championship series! As I tried to make my way to Frankford and Cottman, I stopped. Besides traffic being impossible that chilly Wednesday night, I said to myself, let’s go home, and wait to celebrate the series if we can win it. Don’t buy any shirts; don’t buy any hats, nothing yet. Let’s wait. I turned around and went home and smiled. I felt the most for my mother because the chemo had been so overwhelming; all she could do was sleep. To her, this was very bitter sweet. So what would seem like a month, the Phillies would have to wait for the outcome of the Rays/Red Sox ALCS. Time was of the essence….
Room 333
By Monday the 22nd, my mother was not well. Chemo and the aftereffects were wearing her down. By Tuesday, things took a turn for the worse. My mother would be rushed to the hospital Wednesday morning. She was weak. Unable to fight infections, her temperature rose. I left my jobs and made my way to the hospital. It was tough. The toughest thing I had experienced in a long while. She was placed in the ER for most of the morning, day, and night. Finally, at the beginning of the World Series game 1, she was placed in an isolation room. While everyone family wise had gone home, I decided I would stay. In and out of sleep, my mother would ask me the score. I sat in the chair and watched. I could see she wanted to watch, but the opiates would make her fade in and out. The Phillies would walk away winners 3-2 in game one. My mom weakly did what we always did at end of a Phillies victory, the fist punch. Her hand shaking really got me. I broke down, but not in front of her. I was talking to her about the game as if we were at home and nothing was wrong. I think it had to be the strongest I ever was despite what was going on with her. When I went home, that was a different story. When the Phillies lost game two, 4-2, I was back in traditional Philly mode. “Series is over, forget it….that was it, hope you had fun folks.” My mother was the one in her weakened state that said to me, “Stop being that way. Stop it. Don’t be negative.” I was silent the rest of the series. Then on that Saturday, I spent most of the day in the hospital with her. Little did I know at that point, we were amidst a perfect Philadelphia sports weekend. The Flyers had won on Friday night over New Jersey, 6-3. Then on Saturday, we beat them again 3-2 with the help of a smoke bomb thrown on the ice (Only in philly). So after hanging out with mom at Virtua, I went back home to finish production for the radio program. Who could do a radio show with all this going on? By the time the Phillies game started with the rain delay, I had just started the radio show. Great. Now I have to do my show, try not to be distracted with a TV on in the lobby, hope my brother in law can give me the best updates he can as the asshole umpires try to decide the fate of my home team in the biggest series of the year. The score was 4-3 Phils by the 7th. In the top of the eighth inning, B.J. Upton led off with a single, stole second….then third, and scored on a throwing error to tie the game. I was ready to puke. But then Eric Bruntlett was nailed by a pitch leading off the bottom of the ninth, then moved to second on a wild pitch and then to third on a throwing error! Now keep in mind, I was getting all of this through Instant Messenger from Agent Bradley because I was on the air. Then coach Joe Maddon decided to use his intriguing coaching tactics by intentionally walking the next two batters to load the bases, and brought in Ben Zobrist from right field to play as a fifth infielder behind second base. Basically, a 5 man infield….I hadn’t seen this in about 25 years. But then, Ruiz got a blooper hit in what would become the only time a walk off infield single would win a game. And as a long play CD played on the air, I remember just pumping my fist and yelling in a sharp quick breath, “WE WIN” in the lobby of the radio station. The Phillies took a 2–1 lead in the series. It was just then that Pole, the master of Swinefest extended his offer to see the Eagles play against Atlanta that next day. Can we stay perfect, win wise as a city? Let’s review:
Friday: Flyers 6, NJ Devils 3
Saturday: Flyers 3, NJ Devils 2; Penn State 13, OSU 6; Phillies 5, Rays 4
The Sexfecta
Sunday morning was a bit rough after only having a few hours after the radio show for sleep. But that’s ok. I am not used to sleeping anyway. The plan was to get to Pole’s house as quick as possible so we could intake massive amounts of alcohol in the hopes the Eagles could beat the Falcons. My mom, still at Virtua but getting better, insisted I go and spend the day having fun. She couldn’t understand why I’d spend so much time in the hospital to begin with, but we all
know why. Nevertheless, I took Greg’s offer and a day of Philadelphia sports was ahead of us. We arrived at the stadium and began drinking and slamming hoagies down. I had a good feeling about that day.
Something told me it would be a weekend to remember. So we arrived at our seats to find some hot girls sitting in our seats. Now anyone who knows me knows that when I am at a football game that women are the last thing on my mind. Salma Hayek could be sitting in our seat and I would still be saying, “Um, yeah kick off is about to happen and you are in our seats. You are in the wrong section.” So as we sit down, there is a guy in a gorilla suit sitting behind me. Why? I have heard of the Rally Monkey, but dude, um, you know you are wearing a Gorilla suit, right? So, after watching a rich women get arrested in the club box near our seats, the Eagles rolled to an unflattering 27-14 win over Philly boy Matt Ryan and the Falcons. I then stared scheming up some weird plan to try to scale the wall of Citizens Bank Park to get into a World Series game. Pole almost bought into it. But alas, after drinking in the parking lot, getting our pictures taken by the Phillies ground crew, and watching Hot Dogs get burnt beyond recognition, the plan was in place. It was decided to get to Northeast Philadelphia with Pole’s friends to watch the game. It was a bar called Flukes that lied on a sleepy street with no street signs and no life. Grey was the best way to describe it. After sitting with some friends, we watched the hated Giants come from behind to beat the Steelers, and then a national anthem sung wrong and out of tune for the World Series game by Philadelphia’s very own Patti Labelle. After she butchered that, Pole and I began to butcher these great wings we ordered. The Phils took a 1–0 lead in the bottom of the first. I couldn’t drink because of the nerves of this game. The Phillies doubled their lead in the third inning when Chase Utley reached base on a fielding error and scored on Pedro Feliz's single. The Rays scored their first run when Carl Crawford hit a solo home run in the top of the fourth inning. Ryan Howard's three-run home run in the bottom of the inning brought the score to 5–1. But then Eric Hinske hit a pinch-hit home run for the Rays to bring them within three runs. But then something happened that could only happen in October baseball. Phillies pitcher Joe Blanton rifled a ball over the right center fence to re-extend the lead to four. The bar went nuts. I began hyperventilating. I still couldn’t believe it. Are we seriously going to win this? Can this be happening? I looked across the bar to see people hugging and celebrating. Maybe I was going to wake up and it was going to be like…I don’t know September and the playoffs were about to start or something. I was interrupted deep in thought by the old man across the bar saying, “If the Phillies win this game, this is serious.” And I knew it was real when Jayson Werth hit a two-run home run in the eighth inning, the Phillies third of the game, to bring the score to 8–2. Then Ryan Howard hit one to complete the rout at 10-2. The sexfecta was complete. The perfect weekend. Pole and I hugged, as did all the others at Flukes….but there was still more baseball to play. But as a Phillies fan, you could taste it. I always wondered for the last 28 years what it would be like to win a championship. I mean, how will it feel the closer we get to closing the deal? Will it be easy? Where will I be? Where will my family be? What memory will stick out the most? I scurry to try to remember every detail because honestly, this may not happen again for a long time. If you know me, I must remember everything. Smells, sights, where we were, what was going on in everyone’s life at that time, etc. I suddenly realized, “dude, its happening. Start recording.” I have endless tape in my head, and that can never be taken away from me. We drove home amidst the fog and dampness with happiness in our blood. One more game. One….more….game. I slept well that night. The best sleep in years.
It’s Been No Bed Of Roses
Monday arrived and I had the day off from work for I had to go to court for a stupid ticket I got
going a few miles over the speed limit in Maple Shade. That’s a funny story for another day. Anyway. The plan was to watch the World Series with my mom because the great news came through that she would be coming home that night. But as court came to an end I got the call that she was exhausted and would be asleep at home. So I sucked up the fact that now the complexion of my plans would be changed. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I just thought to myself, there is no way I can’t watch this with my mom. We have watched almost every game together. Something just isn’t right. The vibe has gone awry. Here’s how I knew there was something higher than all of this pulling the strings. I rushed to get home to find my laundry never dried in the dryer because the heating element went bad. Fine, use another dryer right? Nope. Out of quarters. Ok. Don’t panic…run and get some quarters. I call my brother in law. After explaining the situation of game viewing, he insisted that I get to his house to watch. So as I ran to get quarters, I noticed my gas gauge was sticking. I knew I had to get gas, but how low was I? Ok, no problem, I will stop at the gas station and get gas real…(putt) (putt) (BEEEEP). Shit. Shit. SHIT. Ok, well maybe I can listen to the game in the Jeep. “Victorino at first, one out”. Ok, ok. I gotta think. YOU CAN’T SIT IN THIS JEEP AND LISTEN TO THE GAME. What if they win? I’m starting to sweat. It’s only a quarter mile to the station. Ok. It’s starting to rain at this point. And the distance is not far at all. But it felt like I was 20 miles away. I get to the gas station, get the canister, and start jogging in the frozen rain to my Jeep. I start to fill the tank and realize that there is more gas on me, than there is actually going into the tank. Ok, dude. Settle down. (End of the inning). I finally get enough gas to cover the fuel pump to turn the engine over. I start staggering down the street to the station. She stops right at the pump. Ok, the Phillies are winning 2-0. Everything will be fine. I must get to Marlton. The rain is coming down harder. I could only imagine how the conditions must be at Citizens Bank Park. The rain is coming down even harder by the time I crossed route 70 and route 73. I finally arrive at Agent Bradley’s to see that game is about to be suspended. The puddles were like small lakes on the infield. Bud Selig, the sloth of a human being, comes on television to tell the baseball world that the game would be suspended JUST AFTER THE RAYS TIED IT UP because of an error due to the weather on Jimmy Rollins. I hate Bud Selig even more for the mere fact that YOU KNEW the weather was going to bad 2 hours before game time you poor excuse for a man. I mean I know you didn’t want the Phillies or the Rays in the World Series because of your precious prime time ratings and your invested advertisers…you made that quite clear as you forced your Milwaukee Brewers into the playoffs. Dirtbag. Meanwhile Pete Rose can’t be reinstated into baseball? You suck Selig. Real nice that you sold your soulless soul to Fox so Major League Baseball can make some money. He probably had to drink heavily game to game because the Red Sox and the Cubs weren’t in it. I hope you get hit by a bus full of Cubs fans. Oh and Bud? The BREWERS SUCK. So. There I was. Soaked, stunned, and in disbelief. So let me get this right. This is the first game in the HISTORY of the World Series not to be played through to completion or declared a tie? Ok, I wouldn’t want the series to end that way anyway. I’d want 9 innings as well. I’m totally up for fair competition, despite the idiocy of Bud Selig….the evil and dopey emperor in charge. So now what?? So now, we have to wait? Are you kidding me? It was the most helpless feeling I ever had as a sports fan. This weird euphoric feeling hung over me much like the storm front that decided to take refuge over the Delaware Valley that Monday and Tuesday. My phone started buzzing from disgusting Mets fans everywhere. “You guys are done. This is the curse! You guys will lose out! HAHAHA” So finally it was decided that the Phillies would play on Wednesday night. So as I counted the minutes on my watch till I could get out of work to watch the final 3.5 innings. I rushed to my parents to find my mom in bed, but awake. She was just as nervous as the rest of us. My father paced, my phone was being texted, and the world just stopped. Geoff Jenkins led off with a double and was bunted to third by Rollins. Jayson Werth then batted in Jenkins to take the lead for the Phillies, 3–2. But, it can never be easy because then, Rocco Baldelli of the Rays re-tied the game at three runs with a solo home run. Later in the inning, Bartlett was thrown out at home by the clutch Chase Utley for the third out. I knew right then. “Guys? This is for real..” I could hear the old man across the bar at Flukes echoing in my head from Sunday. “If they win this, this is serious.” And now, it was. In the bottom of the seventh, and what most likely would be his last at bat as a Phillie, Pat Burrell got a double. How symbolic. How fitting. How story like. Eric Bruntlett, pinch-running for Burrell, scored on a single by Pedro Feliz to put the Phillies up by a run again, 4–3. In the top of the ninth, Brad Lidge gave up a single and a stolen base, but was able to reach and dig deep down inside….and Harry’s most listened to call: “One strike away, nothing-and-two to Hinske... Fans on their feet, Brad Lidge stretches... the 0–2 pitch...Swing and a miss; he struck him out! The Philadelphia Phillies are 2008 World Champions of baseball! Brad Lidge does it again and stays perfect for the 2008 season, 48-for-48 in save opportunities... And let the city celebrate! Don't let the forty-eight hour wait diminish the euphoria of this moment and celebration! Twenty-five years in this city that a team has enjoyed a world championship and the fans are ready to celebrate. What a night! Phils winning, 4–3, Brad Lidge gets the job done once again!” The Phillies won their second World Series Championship in 125 years.
Done. Finished. Champs.
All was forgiven. 1983, forgiven. Pat Corrales, forgiven. Von Hayes, forgiven. Jim Fregosi, forgiven. Mitch Williams, forgiven. Terry Francona, forgiven. Larry Bowa, forgiven. Lenny Dyskstra, forgiven. The Marlins series in 2003, forgiven. 2007 postseason, forgiven. Etc, etc, etc. My mother screamed from bed “WE WON! WE WON!” It was over. World Champs. The phone rang incessantly. People screamed in the streets of their quiet neighborhood. Horns honked, people hugged. It was over. All the frustration of my teens, 20’s,
and now my 30’s, were soothed with flavor of patience and victory. The Philadelphia Phillies are World Champions. You can capitalize it now. Fuck Joe Buck, fuck the Mets, fuck Jose Reyes and his pointing finger, fuck Tim McCarver, fuck Sports Illustrated and their cowardly writers, fuck Bud Selig, fuck the New York Post, fuck the “tampa curse”, fuck the Mets fans sitting behind us in section 134, fuck ESPN, oh and fuck Joe Morgan. You wore a Phillies uniform once you dope. Did I say fuck Joe Buck? I hopped in the Jeep and met with Agent Bradley en route to Ashland speed line. Rocco met us there as the Phillies Pain Train pulled up. The train was all red in its interior. Fans old and young sat in the train at 11:17. There was no curfew; there would be no school tomorrow for these youngins’. Smiles permeated the train. Each stop, more people…and more people. We got out at the Broad Street line. People were hugging, screaming…it was pure, pleasant chaos. It was something that had to be seen up close. The Philadelphia Police opened up the doors to the Broad Street terminal and none of us had to pay. “The Phillies won the world series…enjoy and be safe”.
The closer we got to the stairs above the city; you heard this pulse….this pulse of excitement. You could hear the vibration, the cheers, and the bedlam. The sound of release was the best way to describe it. The sound of pure bliss. The roar from above was getting close. Up the stairs we went, and there it was. Red. Broad Street was red. From Talk Of The Town Steaks to City Hall. Red. ALL red. People were united. Black, white, Hispanic, Japanese, Vietnamese, Italian, Irish, Polish, you name it they were there. Hugging, kissing, high five-ing and hand slapping, crying, laughing, dancing, drinking, smoking, and reveling in the monumental finish. We walked northward and I was strangely silent. I couldn’t believe it. So this is it, huh? This is what happens when you win a championship? Look at this place. Look at all the broken glass on the street. Broad Street wasn’t even a street anymore. Cannons of M80’s went off in the distance. People had back packs full of beer. One couple got engaged. Another couple sat on their front step and took pictures. As I walked, I would be interrupted by the occasional hand shake and “WOOOO CHAMPS!” It was something I would never forget. The air was cold but heated by the exhilaration that the city was feeling. People swarmed the newsstand to get a news paper from the trucks wheeling in. I turned and looked at Rocco and Rob and they were just as mesmerized as I was. At one point, I was so struck by the moment, that Rob and Rocco ran over to me as if I was a lost kid at the mall. “Come on dude, stay with us.” I was speechless at the mayhem. People who hadn’t seen each other in years hugged and cried. Girls lifted their shirts; guys wore funny hats, and people painted their faces. Things got a little hairy when someone started burning a newspaper machine on one of the corners. That’s when the cops rode in and threw the culprit against the wall and cuffed him. At one point a bottle whizzed literally between me and Rob to the point where the wind of it grazed my eye. Not to mention, the bottle was broke already. Everyone had fun…I even was grabbed and kissed by girl in the middle of the street. It was the closest I got to Mardi Gras. The party was great until a cop got hit in the head with a bottle. That was when everything changed. They moved us off the street with their bikes. Next thing I knew, we were back on the subway and on to the speed line. The cold air was crisp goodness once we got home. It was bitter, but a good kind of cold. I dropped Rob off at home and I headed home listening to 610, something I never do. To hear the callers talk about their love for the Phillies made sense to me in one light. We all have suffered. It really hasn’t been a bed of roses. It’s been torture. And most people not caring about it would go, “So what? It’s only a stupid sport.” First off, it’s your mom and dad dressing you in jerseys when you are 8. Its talk at the coffee machine after hitting 3 home runs the night before, or seeing your pitcher go down in a hail of boos after he walked in a run. It’s chat when you are in the lunch line or at the supermarket talking to the bagger with the Phillies hat on. Its emails you get at work talking about trades, jokes, and whether Manuel is any good or not. Its text messages when you are losing 7-1 and score 7 runs in the ninth. It’s not reading the Daily News the next day after an 11 inning loss to the Mets. It’s being a Phillies fan. It’s realizing that this all parallels life. That was it. Story over. The post game analysis replayed until the sun rose…
City Hall Parking
That Thursday, I told people that if they were going to go to the parade on Friday, not to be stupid and to take the speed line. Genius plan. At least so I thought. So I set the alarm Thursday nightto get up at 7:30 AM Friday. No problem, right? Wrong. Apparently at 3:15 AM, someone hit a telephone pole on the outlying highway that led to a brief power outage for 3 minutes in my sector of town. Well, I awoke to seeing all my clocks blinking 12:00 AM. I broke out in a sweat and stared at the clock just knowing this couldn’t be right. So, I see the actual time is really 9:45, and my ride has already left for the Ashland speed line. I only knew this because I received like 10 text messages from my family and friends asking where I was at 8:30. So I quick get in the shower, dress accordingly and hop in my Jeep bound for the Haddonfield speed line. Once I get there, I see a line of people that wrapped two blocks back to Kings Highway. I stopped a person waiting in line and asked, “What are you waiting for?” “Tickets” the father of three responded with dressed in Phillies garb. “They are telling us it’s about a two hour wait. At this point I sped out of Haddonfield for Collingswood. I get to their station, and the word is about a two hour wait there, too. So I have now wasted at least an hour in this nonsense of trying to figure out how to get to Philly for the parade. Then the light bulb went off. Drive into the city. There is no other choice. I am not going to miss this. No matter what the situation is at hand. So there I was, tearing down Route 70 to get to the Admiral Wilson Boulevard. No one was on the road. No one. I get to the Ben Franklin and I am amazed at the fact that NO one is on this road. I pull under the bridge into Olde City to again, minimal traffic and make my way to Market Street. Everyone in the city is red. I turn right on to Market Street and start heading west. Again, minimal traffic within Center City. No real problems at all. I get to Juniper Street where City Hall is to find that there is some slight congestion, and the city again, is decked out in Phillies dress. As I circle around Juniper Street, then on to Filbert, I see the luckiest thing ever happen in all my years of driving into the city. A parking spot becomes available in front of the Arch Street Methodist Church on Broad. I slam my Jeep into the spot as a cop watches. I waited for him to tell me not to park there. I get out and ask, “Hey, can I park here?” He responds with, “No one is going to write you a ticket today. The Phillies won the World Series. Have fun.” So there I was. Literally with personal parking at City Hall, and walked half a block to watch the parade. Broad Street was mobbed. No one could move once you got towards Penn Square. I was blown away. My phone couldn’t work because everyone and their brother were trying to use theirs. As I walked, I ran into a guy who was lifting up his kid above his head. As he brought his arm down, his elbow nailed me in the head. No big deal. I just saw stars. When I realized it wasn’t done maliciously, I walked on. But god damn, did that hurt. I was at City Hall. My brother in law with his family was more towards Broad and South, while my other friends were down by the stadiums in South Philadelphia. As I stood on the gate by City Hall, I laughed at how easily I got here and how here I am watching this all unfold. The weather was lovely, yet brisk. And just then, the crowd started raising their tone as the trucks made their way around the circle. I couldn’t see much because of my height obviously, but then, the crowd parted for a brief second, and just then I could see Mayor Nutter holding up the trophy. I saw it as it glistened in the sunlight as they turned the corner. That was it. I saw my parade. Finally. It was all over. Well, not for another few hours, but I was there for the beginning of it. Amazing how it all worked in the end. I walked half a block back to my Jeep and headed back through Olde City on my way home. People were all wearing their red stuff…I honked as I passed the people crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge. Wow. Champs Baby Champs. As I finally got into New Jersey, my phone started ringing from friends and family telling me that there was no way to get home because the train system had been shut down. I forgot that everyone assumed that I took the speed line in, too. Boy did they want to kill me. I was already on my way to work while everyone was trying to figure how to get home. When all was said and done, it was a great finish to a bittersweet week. The perfect band aid amidst all the turmoil….. It was time to return to life, and return to the grind of things. But it was nice that for a brief moment, a wish was granted, and a dream came true….A championship for the city of Philadelphia. A city I love so dearly. It was more personal…it’s hard to explain. It was almost as if some personal ghosts were exorcized. A championship parallels life. If you work hard enough, anything can happen.
1993 to 2008, now forgiven.
posted by GlobalProgressive Rock Network @ 8:28 AM
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