Phillies Baseball: All About Family

"...and the Philadelphia Phillies are going to the World Series!"

I've waited 15 years to hear those words. As the final out came to rest in the mitt of Carlos Ruiz, there were a million thoughts running through my mind.

I thought about the 1983 World Series, and being disappointed but learning that, in sports and in life, you can't win 'em all. What a valuable lesson for an 8-year old.

I thought about some of my all-time favorite Phillies - Juan Samuel, Charlie Hayes, Steve Jeltz, Bob Dernier, Rick Schu, Joe Lefebvre - who may not have been legends but were the guys I emulated while swinging a wiffle bat in my backyard.

I thought about all of those bad Phillie teams that filled the days and nights of summer while the city was counting down the days to Eagles training camp.

I thought about 1993 and sitting with my sister and what seemed like a hundred more Phils fans in the TV lounge of Beck Hall at Kutztown University, watching Mitch Williams strike out Atlanta's Bill Pecota to clinch the pennant and the ensuing celebration.

I thought about last season and being in New York for my brother's wedding in late September and revelling in the Mets collapse. It really had nothing to do with this year, but it's a fond memory anyway.

I remembered how last year's team seemed happy just to make the playoffs and not surprisingly was swept by the Colorado Rockies.

I can still tell you where I was when Joe F. Carter did what he did in 1993, a crushing blow since I was so sure we were going to win.

Through it all, I thought about my father and grandfather, both die hard Phillies fans who were watching from the best seats in the house, high above Chavez Ravine, no doubt pushing Nomar's Garcia-pop-up down into Ruiz's glove.

Grandpop always called them "bums," yet he watched every game. I couldn't understand why he'd keep watching if he hated them. Eventually I learned "bums" was a term of endearment. He didn't hate them at all. He loved them. Maybe they weren't the best team in the league, but they were his team. They were our team.

Dad took my family and me to Spring Training in Clearwater, where we met Lee Elia and sat behind the dugout, trailing the likes of Von Hayes and Ozzie Virgil up and down Florida's gulf coast. We watched so many games together, I couldn't begin to count them.

Himself a coach, he was always teaching me about the game. Never make the first or last out of an inning at third base. Always take a 3-0 pitch. Make sure to hit your cut-off man. Most of all, he taught me about the concept of a team, and about working hard, playing together, and believing in each other.

He would have loved the 2008 Phillies. They play the game the right way fundamentally. They've bought into the concepts of team and hard work.

What struck me about the post-game last night was how the celebration was kind of subdued, and how many of the players in their interviews mentioned that there was still work to be done. There were still games to play. They hadn't accomplished anything yet.

Dare I say this is a team of destiny.

How else can you explain Brett Myers going 3-3 in the NLCS after only recording four hits in 58 regular season at-bats? Or 40-year old Matt Stairs, who looks like a beer-league softballer, crushing a game-winning home run that may not have landed yet. When Charlie Manuel's mother passed away on the morning of Game 2 of the NLCS, the team picked him up. Shane Victorino's grandmother passed that evening. The team rallied around him, as a strong family should.

In speaking with my brother and sister today, it seemed we all had thoughts about Dad and Grandpop and 1993 and parades. In short, it was all about the Phillies. And all about family.