All that changed yesterday. It was finally in living color. Countless people were spread the length of Broad Street - all of them grinning wide. I waded into the crowd with my closest friends. We stood in front of the Kimmel Center, right in the shadow of Billy Penn.
Before the parade rolled by, we were treated to a fantastic pregame show. A fan wearing red underwear and a P on his chest (and nothing else) sprinted down the street. He was followed by a stilt walker. Both were applauded. So was the crew of 20-somethings who were pushing a shopping cart full of Miller Lite. At one point, someone appeared on Broad Street out of nowhere. He was wheeling a giant appliance on a hand truck. I think he was trying to make a delivery. Tough day for it.
Then, suddenly, flatbeds carrying the players parted the sea of red. Pat Burrell came first. He was with his wife, Michelle, and their bulldog, Elvis. Then there was Utley and Ryan Howard, Jimmy Rollins and Cole Hamels - all of them were cheered wildly. The Phillies' ownership cabal drove past, and someone held up the Commissioner's Trophy - the World Series award with all the pennants sprouting from the base. The crowd went mad.
All of it unfolded as multicolored ticker tape rained down against a cloudless, baby-blue sky. It was a marvelous mosaic - like Mardi Gras and New Year's and Halloween rolled into some new super holiday.
But it was more than the best party the city has ever thrown. There was an undercurrent of anticipation along Broad Street - as though everyone was about to experience their first kiss or down their first beer. It was a seminal moment.
My friends and I talked about the prospect so many times over the last 25 years, the echo of our conversations - theparade
