The plan on Saturday night was to watch at the ‘Vous with a bunch of friends. As I walked to the Locust, the rain began to pour. The discussion of doing The Unthinkable quickly came up. I said to no-one in particular. “You know, if ever you’re going to a Phils World Series game, tonight is the night. Tickets are going to be dirt cheap, relatively speaking.” Everybody was hemming and hawing about it. Garbo said, “If you go, I’m in.” I continued to mull over it. I felt confident we could get a cheap ticket, and the later they pushed the start time back, the better our chances would be. All the Phils fans would stay at the ballpark, but the corporate suits sure as hell weren’t going to get their heads wet. So there would be seats. Finally, my buddy Jon texted me from a nearby bar. “Let’s go down there. Tickets will be cheap.” That was it. I was all in. “F*** it,” I wrote back. “Let’s do it.”

I looked up from my phone and asked around, “I’m going down there. Who’s in?”. Garbo said with no hesitation, “I am.” Nobody else was felt like leaving friendly confines to go on a strange adventure in the cold rain. So Garbo and I marched out like soldiers off to War, knowing that we had stormed off too cockily to return, even if we didn’t score tickets. Jon called back, and said he had changed his mind and was out. Garbo and I sloshed through the rain to the subway, and hopped on board.

Continue reading “The World Series Chronicles: Game 3” →

Just wanted you to know that I’m not the only one around here counting down the minutes to Game 3. I might be liveblogging it. I’ll let you know. In the meantime, think you might enjoy this faux conversation between Mike Schmidt and his wife.