"Brad Lidge is on the hill and Lance Berkman is the batter. Here's the pitch. Swing and a bouncer to first. Howard's got it, takes it himself. One pitch and Lidge has finished it off! The Phillies have won the National League East for the third consecutive year. They pile around Lidge to the right of the mound. The bullpen has emptied. The dugouts have emptied, and the Phillies celebrate for the third year in a row."
- Scott Franzke,
Phillies radio broadcaster
THE CHASE BEGAN with a great and glorious hangover. It ended with Pedro Martinez starting the game, with Brad Lidge finishing it, with all of them wearing a black decal embroidered on the front of their uniforms bearing the letters "HK."
It seemed that it was always going to be about this mix of emotions. And so it has been, the story of the 2009 Phillies.
On the third time around, the familiar white towels snapped in the seats and the same joyous roar rose high. The Phillies beat the Astros, clinching the division again, and the fireworks and the champagne were the same. The picture that will remain, after everything, was the charge of Phillies players out to the sign on the leftfield wall.
It is the sign with the microphone and the big red letters, the omnipresent reminder of Harry Kalas, the voice and the soul of the franchise who died in April. They gathered around the sign, all of them, jumping and joyfully pounding against it, showering it and the nearby fans with every available beverage.
You do not script these kinds of moments. They just happen if the stars are aligned just right. You do not script life, either. And here we all are again.
So many people expected that it would get to this point, a third consecutive NL East title. No one saw the tortured route, though. No one saw starting pitching that would be dreadful for more than 2 months and then substantial after that. No one saw Lidge, the perfect closer of 2008, being smacked down so hard by the backswing of the sport's merciless pendulum.
No one saw the acquisitions of Cliff Lee and Martinez in the days leading up to the trade deadline. No one saw the Mets, their scorned and scarred rivals, descending into the abyss while strapped to a hospital gurney.
No one guessed that Kalas would die before an April game in the broadcast booth at Nationals Park in Washington.
No one could have imagined.
