As someone who was born in Philadelphia, raised in Southern New Jersey and fully immersed in local sports culture from a very early age, I don’t quite know how to process what is going on in the sports world right now.
The heavy underdog Phillies have been giving the heavyweight Astros more than they bargained for in the World Series. The Eagles are sitting at 7-0, with one of the easier schedules in the game the rest of the way. Even the city’s newest professional club, the Union, is a game away from copping their first MLS title. But the winning is only part of it.
The vast majority of the nation – at least certainly in the Phillies’ case – is rooting for the Philadelphia entry. This is where it goes from exciting to downright weird.
Allow me to get personal for a paragraph or two. I came of age as a fan in the early 1970s, and dove into it headfirst. Going to and playing the games, studying them from every angle imaginable, I went from zero to sixty at age 8. And the Philly teams stunk.
The Phillies finished dead last in the NL East behind a third-year expansion team. The Eagles won two games all season, both by a single point. The Flyers were eliminated from the playoffs on a desperate slap shot from close to center ice by the Buffalo Sabres’ Gerry Meehan with four seconds to go in their last game. (Yes, I have a vivid memory.) And the 76ers opted to go 9-73, still the worst 82-game mark in league history. But I was hooked anyway.
When Steve Carlton won 27 games for a 59-win team in 1972, I was present at all of his home starts. And then something crazy happened – the teams started getting better. It started with a trickle, when the Flyers posted a winning record and won a playoff series in 1972-73. It became a flood when they won the Stanley Cup the next two seasons. And before you know it, all four Philly teams were winners – they all made the finals in my senior year of high school, though only the Phillies raised the trophy at the very end.
Philly fans had giant chips on their shoulders back then. You see, no one outside of the area seemed very happy when “we” won. “We” were the ones who booed anyone that moved, that threw snowballs at Santa Claus, etc., .etc.. The purists lamented that the Broad Street Bully Era Flyers were ruining the game with their physicality, and the champion 1983 Sixers were largely overlooked as a brief interlude in the Celtics-Lakers rivalry.
Philadelphia, you see, has long had an inferiority complex, one that far predates me or any ancestor of mine in this country. The original capital of the United States, the city took a major hit in prestige when Washington, DC, was built on swampland about 100 miles southeast. Now, the City of Brotherly Love was smack in between the nation’s richest and most politically important cities, and kind of got lost in the middle in a number of ways. When westward expansion kicked in, it created more major cities that would push Philly further into the shadows. Anytime Philadelphia became famous for something, Connie Mack would either sell a bunch of players or American Bandstand would move west to L.A..
Like all northeastern cities, Philadelphia has a very complicated history when it comes to race relations. Jackie Robinson was relentlessly harangued by Phils’ coaches and players when he came to town. Its Mummers’ Parade has pretty racist origins, and the race riots that covered the country in the summer of 1964 were particularly brutal in Philly. That was the year the Phils’ blew a 6 1/2 game lead with 12 to play, losing their chance at the World Series. That club was led by a rookie African-American star named Richie Allen, who continued to excel through the late-season swoon. I contend to this day that the progress of race relations in the area would have been different had the 1964 club held on. Sports can move mountains on its best days.
But other northeastern cities were no better. Boston has a notoriously racist sports past. The Yankees, like the Red Sox and Phillies, were one of the last MLB clubs to integrate. But Boston had the 10-time champion Celtics, and the Yankees had a monument park full of hardware. Philadelphia just didn’t compete.
But the fans largely kept coming, and when they won, they went crazy. The 1974 Flyers’ Stanley Cup parade was an eye-opener for this 11-year-old. And while the national sports media decided we were a bunch of Santa-hating boobirds, we idolized players like the Phillies’ Jim Eisenreich, who suffered from Tourette’s Syndrome, but was a lunch-pail player who always gave his all. Today, they worship Jason Kelce, the Eagles’ All-Pro center who gave the all-time greatest victory parade speech after the club’s 2018 Super Bowl triumph.
Philly fans seem to have matured to the point where they take the fandom thing to the extreme outer limit without descending into mayhem. They might go crazy, and might get in the face of opposing fans, but after years of therapy, they now know where the line is. In a city with a major crime problem, there have been no violent crimes this week.
And you know what, the Philly athletes, including this bunch of Phillies appear to know where the line is as well. Much of the country might be rooting against the Houston Astros because of their own complicated history with regard to fair play, and can more easily identify with what the Phils were up to during Game 3 on Tuesday night.
After Bryce Harper homered off of Lance McCullers Jr., he pulled teammate Alec Bohm close and whispered something in his ear. Bohm then took McCullers deep on the first pitch he saw, with three more Phils reaching him for longballs later. They saw something, and communicated it among themselves to gain an edge. The Phillies were legally taking things to the very limit, but not crossing it. Just like their fans do.
This series isn’t over yet by any means, but the Phils and their fans deserve these days in the sun. Even if it doesn’t ultimately end in their favor, this bunch will forever be Philadelphia heroes. The fan base has matured to the point where you can still be true champions even if you don’t win the final game.
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