When I was growing up - and even after I graduated from college - my friends and I spent a lot of time watching bad players on bad teams. You probably did, too. Steve Jeltz at shortstop for a Phils club that lost 95 games. Charles Shackleford in the paint for a Sixers squad that lost 56 games. Bobby Hoying, Koy Detmer, and Rodney Peete under center for a Birds team that lost 13 games - not to mention its dignity.
Through it all, we talked about how we were putting in our time, paying our dues, and doing our good deeds as fans. The hope was that the universe would eventually repay us and replace suffering with success. (As we got older we found out that beer is a fine karmic crutch.) Still, there we were - win or lose (mostly lose), waiting for the interminable cloud cover to lift and the sun to shine down on South Philly.
That time has finally arrived. Last year's World Series run was magical and memorable, one of the most truly feel-good moments this city has ever seen. And the best part is that it wasn't an aberration. The Phils are back in the Fall Classic. After claiming just one title in their first 100-plus seasons, the Fightin's have a chance to win their second World Series in as many years. Makes you a little dizzy, doesn't it?
On the field after the pennant clincher the other night, I was standing with another media type. I started talking about how radically different these Phils are from almost every team I watched before they came along. The other guy just sort of shrugged. He's a jaded journo and he didn't really see the wonder in all of it.
