Wish Granted...Phinally
Last year during the baseball playoffs, I was at school watching my Fightin’ Phils finally make a run at the World Series title—without my dad. It was a strange feeling. Sure, we talked on the phone almost every day during the playoffs, but it was weird being away from the one person I loved to watch sports with. Perhaps you can relate to this.
Since I was a boy, my dad and I have watched sports together. Sports brought us together like nothing else could and always gave us something to talk about no matter what else was going on. It was what we did.
Being from Philadelphia, my dad taught me many truths: Michael Jack Schmidt was the best third baseman ever, Dr. J could fly, the Broad Street Bullies owned the NHL, and the Eagles could always find the most cruel and unusual ways to break my heart. But the most important thing my dad told me was what would happen if Philly had a winner: we would be at the parade.
He told me this when I was 5 years old after Mitch “Wild Thing” Williams blew the 1993 Fall Classic. I didn’t think it would be another 15 years of torture watching all four of our professional sports teams fail on the big stage.
As the Phillies inched closer to the title last year, our conversations intensified. What if this team would finally bring home a championship to the most parade-starved city in America?
During the intermission of Game 5, I made my plans to return to the city of brotherly love for the parade. But it was looking more and more clear that if we won, my dad would not be able to make it to the parade because of work. I had waited for this parade my whole life, and it would be strange without him there.
We spent the whole final inning of the deciding game on the phone nervously watching Brad Lidge. Then we erupted in a tearful celebration as Lidge struck out Eric Hinske and was mobbed on the mound by his teammates.
The Phillies had finally delivered Philadelphia its first major sports championship in 25 years.
After talking on the phone for a few minutes in disbelief, we hung up so I could pack for the parade. A friend and I were leaving at 5 the next morning for Philly.
When he called me again about 30 minutes later, I was a little surprised. He told me that his boss told him Philly was where he needed to be. We would be together the next night enjoying cheesesteaks and buying our World Champions shirts.
That cheesesteak never tasted better. Putting on our World Champions shirts and standing in front of Citizens Bank Park waiting for the parade was one of the best things in my life.
Now as the Phillies played in the World Series again, I missed my dad as I watched the games. Who knows, maybe I will see him soon enough, standing on Broad Street waiting for the parade.
