That was exciting
Alison and I almost didn't make it to the party. Without a TV, we'd been letting the World Series pass us by, though we couldn't miss the palpable mix of hope and fear that was pervading this town about to end a 25 year drought. We had watched the first two thirds of game 5 upstairs at our new apartment buddies' (hereon referred to as The Lesbians) place, but yesterday evening was one of those cozy evenings on the couch that are particularly appreciated after a year of long distance relationshipping, especially when I'd worked out at a gym that afternoon for the first time since college. However, with only 3 innings to make it through, we persevered and left the house. After skipping one place showing basketball, we found a local bar (Grace Tavern) playing the Obama Infomercial and settled in.
Fun as baseball with Lesbians can be, it was great to be out to watch the game, everyone cheering at every pitch. Afterwards, we all spilled onto the street, high fiving all the passers by to the merry tunes of honking cars. It somehow turned into a parade of sorts. I heard people saying they were headed towards Broad Street (the main North-South road downtown, about 8 blocks from our place) and we went with the flow.
We got to Broad and South right as the intersection was filling up. There were a number of cops at the northern end of the intersection, but they just let it all happen. Big happy crowds, cheering and hollering and hugging. At one moment, a chant of "Phillies! Phillies!" turned into a rally of "Obama! Obama!", lending credence to my mother's theory that a National League victory would provide sufficient optimism to result in Pennsylvania going blue.
We called Looby, a local friend of ours, to see what he was up to. He was at work as his office overlooks Broad Street at Walnut (a few blocks up towards City Hall), so we went to join him. Turns out that the intersection we'd been at, while seeming to us at ground level to be the epicenter of philly phandom, was actually just the fringe of it. Happy bedlam stretched all the way up to city hall. A dozen of us hung out on that bitterly windy eleventh floor roof deck, gaping at the spectacle below, pointing out all the individual moments of glorious, foolhardy revelry that would have been hidden from us if we had remained immersed in it.
People were shooting fireworks off, starting with bottle rockets and moving up to the good stuff that, interestingly enough, bursts at 12 stories in height. Factor that one in for future safety goggle needs. Not having tickertape on hand, those on the rooftops were busy showering those below with reams of office paper. Let no one tell you that Philadelphia's a rough town: most of those reams were taken out of the box before tossed, though I did hear one nervous inquiry: "did that have our logo on it?" It was not long before the fire of those below met the fuel of those above, and a happy little bonfire started in the middle of Broad street. After a while, the cops came and stood by it, then they wondered off and people resumed their jump-through-the-fire celebration.
Finally, the cold and lack of beer got to us, and we walked home around midnight, giddy off the camaraderie that united us all. It was a simple, pure joy that melted the entire town together into a happy gooey red and white ball.
Fun as baseball with Lesbians can be, it was great to be out to watch the game, everyone cheering at every pitch. Afterwards, we all spilled onto the street, high fiving all the passers by to the merry tunes of honking cars. It somehow turned into a parade of sorts. I heard people saying they were headed towards Broad Street (the main North-South road downtown, about 8 blocks from our place) and we went with the flow.
We got to Broad and South right as the intersection was filling up. There were a number of cops at the northern end of the intersection, but they just let it all happen. Big happy crowds, cheering and hollering and hugging. At one moment, a chant of "Phillies! Phillies!" turned into a rally of "Obama! Obama!", lending credence to my mother's theory that a National League victory would provide sufficient optimism to result in Pennsylvania going blue.
We called Looby, a local friend of ours, to see what he was up to. He was at work as his office overlooks Broad Street at Walnut (a few blocks up towards City Hall), so we went to join him. Turns out that the intersection we'd been at, while seeming to us at ground level to be the epicenter of philly phandom, was actually just the fringe of it. Happy bedlam stretched all the way up to city hall. A dozen of us hung out on that bitterly windy eleventh floor roof deck, gaping at the spectacle below, pointing out all the individual moments of glorious, foolhardy revelry that would have been hidden from us if we had remained immersed in it.
People were shooting fireworks off, starting with bottle rockets and moving up to the good stuff that, interestingly enough, bursts at 12 stories in height. Factor that one in for future safety goggle needs. Not having tickertape on hand, those on the rooftops were busy showering those below with reams of office paper. Let no one tell you that Philadelphia's a rough town: most of those reams were taken out of the box before tossed, though I did hear one nervous inquiry: "did that have our logo on it?" It was not long before the fire of those below met the fuel of those above, and a happy little bonfire started in the middle of Broad street. After a while, the cops came and stood by it, then they wondered off and people resumed their jump-through-the-fire celebration.
Finally, the cold and lack of beer got to us, and we walked home around midnight, giddy off the camaraderie that united us all. It was a simple, pure joy that melted the entire town together into a happy gooey red and white ball.