See that guy? That's my father. My father was the greatest Phillies fan ever! I mean ever! And he was the textbook Phillies fan as well. He loved them when they were winning. He hated them when they were losing. He watched Phillies games on TV and either cursed or cheered them, depending on how they were playing. He'd grumble and call them "bums." He'd cheer and proclaim "Never a doubt!" He'd fall asleep in the fourth inning and wake up in the eighth and start cursing (or cheering) right where he left off.
In 2008, the Phillies headed to the World Series for the first time since my father died. Just after my family and I watched those scrappy little bastards clinch the National League pennant, I wrote a piece for my illustration blog about my father and his relationship with his beloved Phillies. (You can read it
HERE, if you like.)
Back in 2008, I was a rabid baseball fan. It was kind of strange, since I
never had an interest in baseball when my father was alive. He used to take my brother to Phillies games at Connie Mack Stadium while I stayed home with my mom. As a family, we went to a handful of games on free tickets provided by my father's employer at the time. But, just a few years after my father's death, I suddenly developed an interest in baseball. My wife and I purchased a Sunday season ticket plan... and the games we
didn't have tickets for? We never missed watching them on television. We even traveled to
other ballparks in
other cities. Our devotion to baseball lasted for nearly twenty years (or
seasons, for the initiated)... until it was done. After we gave up our tickets, our interest in baseball waned. However, early in the spring of this year, while running through the hundreds of channels available from our cable provider, my wife stopped on a Phillies game and commented on how beautiful the ballpark looked in high-definition. So we watched. And we watched again the
next night. We knew
none of the players on the current roster, save for a couple of holdovers from the last game we attended a few seasons ago. Soon, we found ourselves buying tickets to a game, a result of looking for outdoor activities in the still-iffy clime of a post-pandemic world. Then we bought tickets to
another game. And
another. We traveled to Nationals Park in Washington DC. And we went to a few
more regular season Phillies games. And our affection for this scrappy band of underdogs grew. At the beginning of the season, we knew
none of the players. Now, names like Kyle Schwarber and Ranger Suarez are spoken with the same familiarity as Chase Utley, Steve Carlton and even Richie Ashburn.
My father saw the 1950 Whiz Kids, a scrappy bunch of underdogs who won the National League pennant on a tenth inning homerun by Dick Sisler on the last day of the season. Sadly, they got swept by the mighty New York Yankees in four games. My father saw the infamous "Phold of '64," when that year's team of scrappy underdogs held a healthy 6 game lead headed to the close of the season. Unbelievably, they lost ten games in a row and finished in second place, just one game behind the pennant-winning St. Louis Cardinals. My father saw those lean years of the 60s and the glory years of the 70s right up to the 1980 World Series — which the Phillies won, I might remind you. My father died on October 13, 1993, the very day that the Phillies —
that year's group of scrappy underdogs — beat the Atlanta Braves, entitling them to
another trip to the World Series.
Just a few hours ago, the current crop of players taking to the grassy diamond under The Philadelphia Phillies mantle won Game 5 of the National League Championship Series, securing themselves a spot in the 2022 World Series. This bunch of shaggy, swaggering
kids aren't old enough to remember the soul-crushing home run that Joe Carter hit to seal the fate of their '93 counterparts. That doesn't matter. That's ancient history. This
new generation of scrappy underdogs calling themselves The Phillies are going to the World Series.
And I can only think of how proud my father would be. My father, the greatest Phillies fan of all time.
(By the time you read this, two games of the 2022 World Series will have been played. My father would either have been cheering or cursing... just like you.)
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