2 of 6: What This Means
(From Thursday morning)
Whenever I’m in a conversation with someone about optimism & pessimism, realism & idealism, and every other ism, cynicism always comes up. More specifically, I always seem to use the phrase ‘I’ve been a cynic since I was seven.’ Or else, the conversation will turn into a discussion of that moment of realisation, when it all suddenly clicks that the world is not a happy rosy place, and the likelihood of being miserable for the rest of your life is far greater than that of finding happiness. On the whole, this moment doesn’t come until at least teenage years, but usually college-age and after. For me, I always say I was seven when it happened to me.
But why? What is it about that age? Did I witness a violent death? Did my family lose all our money and live on the streets? Was I kidnapped and tortured? No. Nothing happened. We moved house and I started at a school I would grow to hate, one that my mother says “ruined me,” but I didn’t start hating it for a least a few months, after I got to know the place, and by that time I was eight. So what happened when I was seven? Nothing.
Then, yesterday afternoon, it suddenly hit me: I was seven when the Phillies lost the World Series to the Toronto Blue Jays. That, and the following year when the sport went on strike, was when I stopped liking baseball.
Not that I was the biggest baseball fan before that, but I loved going to games, I had a crush on Darren Daulton (though I have since, on many occasions, wondered why), and I knew the rules, players, and basic gameplay. I considered myself a fan, and my city disappointed me, just as they had so many times before to so many other people.
See, that is the essence of being a Philadelphian: Disappointment. In politics, we’ve been corrupt for the past 40 years. In location, we’re in what some would call a great location until they get here, with the hot summers of the South and the cold winters of the North, plus close enough to the shore to get hurricanes. And in sports, well, there’s really no where to begin. The big four Philadelphia sports teams were highly successful for a long period of time from their inception into the 80’s. Football, baseball, hockey, and basketball had all enjoyed titles and accolades until 1983, when the Sixers won the last major Philadelphia sports title.
We blame Billy Penn.
Up until that time, the city would not approve any building or structure which would rise higher than the statue of William Penn on top of City Hall. And once they changed that, we haven’t won anything. We’ve come close, of course, including the Phillies going to the World Series in 93 and the Eagles to the Super Bowl in 04, but they’ve all just disappointed us.
As Americans, we believe that we are the greatest people in the world, but constantly wish we lived in other countries. As Philadelphians, we believe that we’re the best at everything, but never live up to our own expectations, even though they’re often very low. And then we get depressed it happens, even though we all know it’s coming. And how do we know? Billy Penn.
And then last summer, a miniature Billy was put on top of the Comcast Center, the tallest building in Philadelphia. And last night, the Phillies won Philadelphia our first major sports title in 25 years.
I was seven years old when I had my first heartbreak. When baseball went on strike the following year, I vividly remember daydreaming about being interviewed on TV. The reporter, always a woman, would lean down and ask me if I liked baseball, and in a serious voice (and often with an Australian accent for some reason), I would somberly answer ‘I used to, but not anymore.’ And what can I say now? Philadelphia has been redeemed by the finest group of guys we could ever have hoped for.
So what does this mean? Does it mean that my seven-year-old self will release her cynical hold on my current state? I doubt it; I’ve been this way for fifteen years, why change now. Does it mean that the mini-Billy will send the Eagles to the Super Bowl? I doubt it; have you seen the Eagles lately, not exactly champions. So again, what does this mean?
Simply put, it means PARTY TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We’ve got 25 years of partying to catch up on, so watch out world!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Whenever I’m in a conversation with someone about optimism & pessimism, realism & idealism, and every other ism, cynicism always comes up. More specifically, I always seem to use the phrase ‘I’ve been a cynic since I was seven.’ Or else, the conversation will turn into a discussion of that moment of realisation, when it all suddenly clicks that the world is not a happy rosy place, and the likelihood of being miserable for the rest of your life is far greater than that of finding happiness. On the whole, this moment doesn’t come until at least teenage years, but usually college-age and after. For me, I always say I was seven when it happened to me.
But why? What is it about that age? Did I witness a violent death? Did my family lose all our money and live on the streets? Was I kidnapped and tortured? No. Nothing happened. We moved house and I started at a school I would grow to hate, one that my mother says “ruined me,” but I didn’t start hating it for a least a few months, after I got to know the place, and by that time I was eight. So what happened when I was seven? Nothing.
Then, yesterday afternoon, it suddenly hit me: I was seven when the Phillies lost the World Series to the Toronto Blue Jays. That, and the following year when the sport went on strike, was when I stopped liking baseball.
Not that I was the biggest baseball fan before that, but I loved going to games, I had a crush on Darren Daulton (though I have since, on many occasions, wondered why), and I knew the rules, players, and basic gameplay. I considered myself a fan, and my city disappointed me, just as they had so many times before to so many other people.
See, that is the essence of being a Philadelphian: Disappointment. In politics, we’ve been corrupt for the past 40 years. In location, we’re in what some would call a great location until they get here, with the hot summers of the South and the cold winters of the North, plus close enough to the shore to get hurricanes. And in sports, well, there’s really no where to begin. The big four Philadelphia sports teams were highly successful for a long period of time from their inception into the 80’s. Football, baseball, hockey, and basketball had all enjoyed titles and accolades until 1983, when the Sixers won the last major Philadelphia sports title.
We blame Billy Penn.
Up until that time, the city would not approve any building or structure which would rise higher than the statue of William Penn on top of City Hall. And once they changed that, we haven’t won anything. We’ve come close, of course, including the Phillies going to the World Series in 93 and the Eagles to the Super Bowl in 04, but they’ve all just disappointed us.
As Americans, we believe that we are the greatest people in the world, but constantly wish we lived in other countries. As Philadelphians, we believe that we’re the best at everything, but never live up to our own expectations, even though they’re often very low. And then we get depressed it happens, even though we all know it’s coming. And how do we know? Billy Penn.
And then last summer, a miniature Billy was put on top of the Comcast Center, the tallest building in Philadelphia. And last night, the Phillies won Philadelphia our first major sports title in 25 years.
I was seven years old when I had my first heartbreak. When baseball went on strike the following year, I vividly remember daydreaming about being interviewed on TV. The reporter, always a woman, would lean down and ask me if I liked baseball, and in a serious voice (and often with an Australian accent for some reason), I would somberly answer ‘I used to, but not anymore.’ And what can I say now? Philadelphia has been redeemed by the finest group of guys we could ever have hoped for.
So what does this mean? Does it mean that my seven-year-old self will release her cynical hold on my current state? I doubt it; I’ve been this way for fifteen years, why change now. Does it mean that the mini-Billy will send the Eagles to the Super Bowl? I doubt it; have you seen the Eagles lately, not exactly champions. So again, what does this mean?
Simply put, it means PARTY TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We’ve got 25 years of partying to catch up on, so watch out world!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!