Historical context
I vaguely remember the Phillies winning the 1980 series. I was living in Harrisburg, in first grade (Catholic school, no less), my parents were still married. I liked them because they were the local team on television, so that's what we watched. Later on when I moved to Philly, well, I kept the vague allegiance, and it became less vague as I grew older and started to know what the hell was going on. Through most of the 80s, and the earliest 90s, my memories are of a generally mediocre team whose hoped-for performances never actually manifested in grim reality. 4th place, 5th place, a bright promise in 2nd place followed immediately by a descent back into the cellar. Sure, I saw the occasional win at home and got to see some incredible players on the field: Schmidt, Steve Carlton, Gary Maddox, Randy Ready. But rooting for the Phils was an interminable string of "Wait 'til next year"s.
That's my buddy Paul's dorm room down at Richmond, 1993. They had a big banner hung out the window with the Phils' magic number on it, and they updated it every day. It's hard to convey just how electrified Philly was that summer. Every player was on fire, even the utility players were having one of the best years of their careers. When one player slumped, someone else came up and delivered. Rookies came up, had a great season, and then disappeared (I'd say I'm looking in Kevin Stocker's direction, but I have no idea where he is). Paul and I went to 23 home games that year. I went to a few he didn't go to, and vice versa, but I think it worked out on an even count. That was enough of an attendance to get us a letter in the mail offering us 2 tickets to each of two NLCS games and one Series games. The Braves came along, and then Toronto, and then Joe Carter, and everyone knows how that went. Then next year came the descent again, and combined with the strike, I figured I'd just give up.
In my mind, it wasn't even the Joe Carter home run that ended it, it was their 15-14 loss in Game 4. Dykstra hit two homers in that game, Daulton backed them up with a third, and they still lost. Watching that game, you just kept thinking "No, no fucking way. Fuck no." The only explanation for losing that game was that the universe itself had taken offense and didn't want them to win. What are you going to do about that?
Like I said, I gave up and stopped giving a shit. Wasn't worth getting emotionally invested, wasn't worth the effort in following, in tracking stats.
I still love baseball, as a *game*. I love the history of it, the way it tracks not only the seasons but our national history as well. I love the rhythm and pace of it, the fact that there's no clock to run out, that if you want to win you've got to let the other guy come to the plate and have a chance at beating you. I love how it's, as Ken Burns put it, a "haunted game, in which every player is measured against the ghosts of all who have gone before," and how as Carlin said, the objective is to be safe at home. But I don't follow a *league*, I just love the game. I still hate the Mets as the result of a mostly arbitrary decision when I was twelve that probably stemmed from a dislike of Gary Carter and an awareness that the team only exists as a cheap attempt to compensate for the betrayal of '57, but even that's a dimmed passion.
But I was *excited* this week. And god, wasn't it a great game, even taken on its own? Being up, then being down, and then going up again? The 6th-inning leadoff double by Jenkins? That *amazing* catch by Iwamura? And I really think that play Utley made to put out Bartlett at the plate was the game, right there.
I was a fan again, and while I'll cheerfully cop to it being bandwagonism, oh well. The feeling was no less true for being convenient.
That's my buddy Paul's dorm room down at Richmond, 1993. They had a big banner hung out the window with the Phils' magic number on it, and they updated it every day. It's hard to convey just how electrified Philly was that summer. Every player was on fire, even the utility players were having one of the best years of their careers. When one player slumped, someone else came up and delivered. Rookies came up, had a great season, and then disappeared (I'd say I'm looking in Kevin Stocker's direction, but I have no idea where he is). Paul and I went to 23 home games that year. I went to a few he didn't go to, and vice versa, but I think it worked out on an even count. That was enough of an attendance to get us a letter in the mail offering us 2 tickets to each of two NLCS games and one Series games. The Braves came along, and then Toronto, and then Joe Carter, and everyone knows how that went. Then next year came the descent again, and combined with the strike, I figured I'd just give up.
In my mind, it wasn't even the Joe Carter home run that ended it, it was their 15-14 loss in Game 4. Dykstra hit two homers in that game, Daulton backed them up with a third, and they still lost. Watching that game, you just kept thinking "No, no fucking way. Fuck no." The only explanation for losing that game was that the universe itself had taken offense and didn't want them to win. What are you going to do about that?
Like I said, I gave up and stopped giving a shit. Wasn't worth getting emotionally invested, wasn't worth the effort in following, in tracking stats.
I still love baseball, as a *game*. I love the history of it, the way it tracks not only the seasons but our national history as well. I love the rhythm and pace of it, the fact that there's no clock to run out, that if you want to win you've got to let the other guy come to the plate and have a chance at beating you. I love how it's, as Ken Burns put it, a "haunted game, in which every player is measured against the ghosts of all who have gone before," and how as Carlin said, the objective is to be safe at home. But I don't follow a *league*, I just love the game. I still hate the Mets as the result of a mostly arbitrary decision when I was twelve that probably stemmed from a dislike of Gary Carter and an awareness that the team only exists as a cheap attempt to compensate for the betrayal of '57, but even that's a dimmed passion.
But I was *excited* this week. And god, wasn't it a great game, even taken on its own? Being up, then being down, and then going up again? The 6th-inning leadoff double by Jenkins? That *amazing* catch by Iwamura? And I really think that play Utley made to put out Bartlett at the plate was the game, right there.
I was a fan again, and while I'll cheerfully cop to it being bandwagonism, oh well. The feeling was no less true for being convenient.