I watched the game here at the double-deuce and Spruce. I cooked a nice dinner for Diana and I to eat during the game: spaghetti with tomato basil spaghetti sauce, into which I mixed in a) roasted garlic-flavored chicken sausage, b) diced tomatoes with garlic and olive oil, and c) chopped spinach. Over the top of the finished product we sprinkled some parmesan/romano grated cheese. Along with the food we drank a glass of sparkling apple cider. As we sat down to eat, we listened to the end of "Star/Pointro", a song off of The Tipping Point album by Philly's very own hip-hop heroes: The Roots, then we turned that off to listen to the (anti-Philly-biased) commentary by the Fox sportscasters. So the scene is set, right?
Even before the game began, you could sense the anticipation in the air in the city of Philadelphia, like the feeling one might have to hear the ticking of a bomb. And as the game wore on -- one run by the Phillies, which was then matched by the Rays to even it up, and then the go-ahead run by the Phillies to make it a 4-3 score -- you could somehow feel the excitement building in the air; it was like the static ions building up in the air during a thunderstorm. And then lightning struck! Brad Lidge threw the final strike for the final out in the final game of the 2008 World Series.
The city exploded. POW!!!!! Like a bunch of kids busting out the double-doors on the last day of school before summer break, all the two-fifteeners inside the neighborhood bars sprinted out into the streets the very moment after Lidge released that final bolt of lightning. As my upstairs neighbor, Corey, told me later, a group of guys went streaking up Spruce Street moments after the game's conclusion. Carhorns started sounding-off across the city. The pops and crackles of fireworks were heard from all directions.
Diana and I went outside to the stoop to check out the scene. Groups of people were walking by on the sidewalks, dressed in Phillies red. Cars went driving by, heads sticking out, yelling and screaming. People from other buildings came outside to see the scene from ground level. A minute later, my upstairs neighbor Corey came down, drinking a bottle of beer, and joined us to talk about the game and the electricity that was so palpable in the Two-One-Five.
After several minutes of talking and soaking in the atmosphere, we came back inside to warm up momentarily. I put on some warmer clothes and closed up shop, and Diana and I went to get her car back from my man Fred at the local garage near my gym. We drove down the double-deuce to Chestnut Street, and drove that for just two blocks, although it took us about ten minutes to make it that far because of all the slow traffic, and because there were people literally walking down the middle of the street. I stuck out my hand from the passenger seat to exchange high-fives with all the party people. Racially and ethnically it was a mixed crowd, but besides that petty difference, it was really one crowd: Philadelphia pride. And that's what this city is.
Smiling ear to ear, we turned on 20th, then again on to Market Street. We took that down to 16th Street, which was as far as we could get before there were just mobs of people walking down, across, and in the middle of the streets. Driving north on 16th, passing over JFK Boulevard, we looked to our right-hand side, toward Penn Square (surrounding City Hall), and we were astounded to see a sea of Philly-humanity: a jubilation congregation.
As we had seen on Fox 29 immediately after the game and then again later that night, there were massive crowds that had spontaneously gathered on Broad Street. Here's a video of what it apparently looked like at ground level; be sure to play through to the end because there's some crazy shit in there; check it, check it out:
I love the city of Philadelphia. And at no other point have I felt the unity and pride of this city so beautifully expressed than it was last night. Sure, there might've been some crazy shit, as the video showed, but some of that is expected from drunkards feeding off of the natural high that was already floating in the air around the city.
But I love a city that puts its collective middle finger up to the national sportscasters and sportswriters who sold out the Phillies before, during, and yes, even after, the World Series. The Phillies won, plain and simple, they were the superior team in all aspects of the game, and it wasn't even close: a 4-1 game series advantage, and it wouldn't have taken much to make that single loss into a Phillies win.
A lot of people, especially fucking New Yorkers, like to try to shit on the city of Philadelphia. But there's more heart in this city than the materialistic "i gotta be somebody" cities of New York and Los Angeles, or the yuppie "my parents are rich suburban snobs" cities of Boston, Baltimore, and Washington, DC. There used to be a mural above a shop on 20th & Market Streets that said "heart" over "capital." (as an aside, click HERE for an interesting Catholic analysis regarding the priority of humanity over capital). I'll choose the heart of Philadelphia over the empty souls of those other cities.
Philadelphia: the heart of a champion, humble and hardworking, tough outer shell but a compassionate inner soul. The Phillies showed the world that teamwork wins championships. And that the heart of Philly is its greatest strength and beauty.
Finally, in honor of that spirit, here's the archetype of Philadelphia's soul to inspire you:
