Thursday, October 30, 2008
Victory for Philadelphia - But at What Price?
One can only imagine the colossal hangover felt by thousands of Philadelphians today - but it must be one of epic proportions. Somewhere in Grays Ferry, a man is kneeling over a toilet, wrapped in his stained Ryan Howard jersey, puking violently. Having already used all of his sick days, he had to use one of his precious personal days this morning, even though the company he works for may be on the verge of downsizing. But in his head, he says over and over again, "It was worth it. It was all worth it. The 14 shots. The 14 beers. The whole 'making out with a bum for $13' thing - it was all worth it, because my Fightin' Phils are world champs!"
Then he vomits again. And again. And then work calls, informing him on his answering machine that he no longer is employed. And he will not be receiving severance. His girlfriend - who also is hung-over - wakes to the raspy sound of the secretary's voice, unwraps herself from her pink Chase Utley jersey, and decides she does not want to date an unemployed loser, so she skips out. The man pleads with her to stay, but to no avail. She also takes their dog, J-Ro, with her.
Suddenly, the man realizes that everything that was so right in his life, so perfect, has collapsed, all because of one game. One single fucking game. He places blame solely on the Phillies, Pat Gillick, and Charlie Manuels charming twang, and vows to never root for them again.
The next morning, he leaves town, headed north on 95. He got the okay from his cousin in Flushing to move in. After a long drive of reflection and self-doubt, he double-parks his Ford F-150 on the corner, and walks past a North African that has a table full of knock-off merchandise set-up. In the middle of the clutter, he spots a worn, blue cap. The man picks it up, and places it on his tired head. It fits like a glove. The orange logo, the blue accent, it all looks so magnificent. He scans his new look in a nearby broken mirror and says to himself, "this is how champions are born", then walks across the street to his new home. Midway across Queens Boulevard, he's mowed down by a drunken Mets fan who decided to spend Wednesday and Thursday night drinking away his sorrows at his parents house in Rockville Center. He speeds away. The victim is transported to Queens County Hospital where he's listed in stable condition. No charges have been filed.
I have no idea what the fuck I just wrote. But hey, at least we can get the FA show on the road, right? Right? Who's with me?