Ever.
Their 1961 ancestors still hold the record for most consecutive defeats: 23. The 1964 team suffered a meltdown - 6½ games ahead with 12 to play - cited still when conversation turns to inglorious all-time collapses. Their total of world championship rings is one fewer than two. That's fewer than the Boston Red Sox (who actually have won six Series), and fewer even than the Chicago Cubs (whose rings came in 1907 and 1908). Yet these two teams have been the two most celebrated of the frustrated. Those two franchises have been portrayed, ad nauseam, sympathetically, even heroically. The Phils have been accorded no such gentle, forgiving sentiment.
If young master Rollins is correct in his bold assessment, the Phillies will reach the postseason for the first time since 1993. Mostly, there has been numbingly consistent frustration, generation after generation after . . .
And yet . . .
And yet, I confess, the Fightin's have a way of seducing you. The people keep coming back for more. For all the civic slurs, for all the unsavory things said of the Philadelphia fans, also say this: They could teach loyalty to a dog. Their capacity for pain is without limit.
In recent seasons, the Phillies have teased the faithful with late-season rushes, holding out the tantalizing promise of making the playoffs. If nothing else, there was at least meaningful baseball in September. Of course, had the team started those seasons as they ended them, they would have been playing meaningful baseball in October.
April has been their cruelest month. They stumble from the starting gate, and by the time they find their stride they are discouragingly behind. Last year, their recovery and closing sprint still left them a dozen behind the division-winning Mets.
