If you walked into a Philadelphia-area sports bar and mentioned the name ”Mitch Williams”, you’ll be rewarded with people hissing about “that bum”. And rightly so. That bum handed Toronto the walk-off home run in the 1993 World Series. That bum is the reason why I don’t have a 1993 World Champions poster next to my 1980 World Champions poster. And more importantly, that bum is a part of a long-time Philadelphia sports tradition of raising the hopes of fans and dashing them expertly.
You see, for us Philly sports fans, disappointment is a chronic condition, with occasional bouts of hope. Philadelphia’s teams are cursed to be trapped somewhere between the perpetual jokes that are the Washington Generals and the uncompromising title-machines like the Torres-era Yankees* The Phils, the Eagles, the Sixers, the Flyers… they’re usually good enough to be competitive, and are almost always playoff contenders.
And that’s where the heartbreak comes in.
It’s one thing to live in a town where you know your team is going to lose, and lose badly, year in and year out. But it’s another to get your hopes up every single year only to have them absolutely shattered time and time again. In 1997, I got to watch the Red Wings beat the Flyers and take home Lord Stanley’s Cup. During the Andy Reed era, the Eagles were always playoff contenders, but never brought home any Superbowl rings. We even had Smarty Jones take us right to the cusp of greatness in 2004 only to come in second at the Belmont Stakes. Around here, we don’t wonder if our favorite teams could go all the way: we ask one another, “How are they gonna blow it this year?” We’ll cheer our heads off for our hometown heroes every season, and we’ll greet one another with fist-bumps and high-fives and say, “This is our season!” But deep down, we’re realists enough to know deep down in a pit of despair every Philly fan keeps festering in the pit of his or her stomach that we’re probably going to be disappointed. Again.
In 2004, sportscasters were ready for riots when the Eagles lost to the Patriots. You see, Philadelphia fans have quite a reputation. We’ve booed Santa Claus (though in our defense, it wasn’t without cause), we had a judge assigned to preside over municipal court on gameday, and we’ve gone after guys in the penalty box. They actually seemed surprised when Philly fans meandered out of sports bars after we lost the Superbowl and didn’t, I dunno, grab nearby cars and crush them into little balls and hurl them in fits of rage?
What had actually happened was that we fans just had our hearts stomped on. Once again, one of our beloved teams had struggled upwards towards glory. Our collective fingers brushed the brass ring, and once again it was yanked away. We all knew, deep down, this that was a likely outcome. I mean, it was the Belichick-era Patriots. We knew it was a long-shot. But the game was so close. The Eagles were competitive with the Patriots the whole game. And they just came up three points short.
Those three points are almost iconic in Philadelphia sports. We compete so darn well, but we come up inches short from greatness every time. We suck it up, take a deep breath, and nod to ourselves and say, “Hey, next season’s looking pretty good. We’ll get it next season.”
And now my beloved Phillies are back in the World Series, playing the Tampa Bay Rays in Game 1. As I write this, the Phils are leading the Rays 3-2 in the bottom of the fifth. I’m cheering like crazy and praying for Upton to fly out and end the inning. I want a win so bad I can taste it. Everyone is calling it for the Rays before the series has even begun, but the Phils are performing well when they should be “rusty”.
I hope 2008 will be our year at long last, but if history has taught me anything, it’s that if you expect disappointment in Philadelphia, you’ll never be disappointed.
*Note that I needed to wash vigorously after typing that. Damn Yankees.