Holding the championship helps lift that curse because it supersedes a particularly troubling legacy.
The Phillies' most recent high-water mark since the 1980 world championship had been winning the National League pennant in 1993.
The enduring image of that postseason was Mitch Williams' blown save in Game 6 of the World Series, which gave the Blue Jays the enchilada grande. Curt Schilling with the towel over his head sums it up.
The story making the rounds was that manager Jim Fregosi had a private commitment to send Wild Thing to the mound. In that case, the idiot fans should have egged Fregosi's house and issued the death threats against him. Williams never asked to be a head-case wild pitcher - as everyone knew he was.
To make matters worse, allegations of widespread steroid abuse on the team in 1993 intensified over the years. And the reputation of the Dykstra-Kruk-Daulton crew for physically intimidating opposing players didn't always sit well.
Finally, redemption came in last fall's World Series. The signature moment for me was seeing pitcher Joe Blanton hit the first homer of his professional career - at any level - in Game 4 against Tampa Bay.
If we're going to hold that thought, I'd much rather settle in with that one.
It takes me back to the pure love of the game I had as a young boy in the Baltimore area, rooting for the Orioles in the early- and mid-1960s, an intoxicating era that culminated in their four-game World Series sweep of the Dodgers in 1966.
I was often on the scene at Memorial Stadium, cheering on titans who included Brooks Robinson and Boog Powell, but my personal hero was the slippery shortstop Luis Aparicio, who led the American League in stolen bases for nine straight seasons.
