I had a free ticket to Sunday’s game, and I almost didn’t take it. Those of you who follow this blog know that the Phils lose almost every time I go to a game (I honestly think that before Sunday they were 3-13 in games I went to this year, including the opening day loss, the 10,000th loss, and the loss on Saturday), and I was going to honestly blame myself if I showed up and they lost again. But a free ticket is a free ticket, so off I went with my buddy Brian.
We sat beside a father-son duo. The father was in his 80s and the son was in his 50s. They were both delightful to talk to, and it was obvious that they had been to dozens of games together over the years. They had been through a lot of frustration together over the years, but not today. The energy at CBP reached a fevered pitch, the crowd began to sense a victory, and the towels began to wave furiously after every called strike. The grandfatherly man leaned over toward me, smiled and said, “This is the greatest day I’ve ever had at the ballpark.”
Things only got better. After the game, I ran into D-Mac, and we headed toward the subway. Before getting on, I saw a couple of people wearing “Phillies-NL East Champions” shirts. I asked, “Where did you get those from?” Before they could answer, a 20-something gentleman leaned forward and asked brusquely, “How many do you need?” I answered two, and he rolled up his pant leg, showing off the new white shirts tied around his leg, giving new meaning to the term bootlegging. We each bought a shirt for ten bucks and hit the Express.
