I’m from Philadelphia. Yep. It’s true. OK, well, to be accurate, I’m from 5 minutes outside the Philly city limits, about 20 minutes from Center City or what the French call “downtown.” Wouldn’t want you to call me out for lying to you. I would never do that. I love you. Call me. Please.
Yeah. So, given my proximity to Philadelphia, I grew up a fan of its sports teams: the aptly named Phillies, the Iggles (or Eagles to you non-Philadelphians), the Flyers (lovingly referred to as the Broad Street Bullies), and the 76ers (not just a great year, but also a great team name).
Philly fans are some of the greatest in the world. Of course, we have our faults. We’ve booed Santa Claus and a Michael Irvin neck injury. We needed a courtroom in Veteran’s Stadium (an arena with the soothing atmosphere of a ginormous concrete funeral home) to deal with all the drunken brawling going on in the stands during games. Seriously. We can turn on our teams in a second, but it’s only because we love them so damn much. And we always, ALWAYS expect the worst. The Phils could be up 25 games in the NL East (at least in theory) with only 24 left to play, and we’d still KNOW the Braves would somehow overcome the deficit.
That’s why the results of the Belmont Stakes hurt, but also why they weren’t surprising. You see, Smarty Jones, the greatest horse since Sliced Bread (winner of the 1856 Primrose Invitational), is from Philadelphia. Sure he won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, but could he really win the Triple Crown? Answer: no. And all of us who root for the City of Brotherly Love know why.
Philadelphia hasn’t won a championship in ANY MAJOR SPORT since 1983. Thank you for that, Dr. J. I was 5. Little did I know I should’ve paid way more attention because it could be the last Philly title I ever see. People in Boston get all the pub, but they’ve got the Patriots, winners of 2 of the last 3 Super Bowls, to take some of the sting out of every Red Sox loss to the hated Yankees. We Philadelphians got nothin’.
Sure we get close every once in a while, but that’s what sucks eggs all the more. The Eagles have been to 3 straight NFC Championship games…as the favorite. But wouldn’t you know it. Each time the underdog has pulled the upset. The Phils made it to the ’93 World Series, a bunch of overachieving, hygiene-challenged guys you wouldn’t want your daughter to date. Boy did we love that team. I even went to one of the games, which we lost something like 14-12. The Series outcome? Joe Carter ripped the city’s collective heart out by homering off Mitch “Wild Thing” Williams. The 6ers have Iverson and…um…yeah. Hell, our coach left to takeover the Pistons, and look what he did for them. Yeah, we stole a game from the Lakers in the Finals a few years back, but all that did was provide a moment of false hope. The Flyers had a shot this year, as they often do, but SHOCKINGLY things didn’t work out for the birthplace of our nation. Instead, Tampa Bay came out of the East. Tampa Bay. TAMPA BAY?!?!
Philly’s just a little town that gets lost in the Northeast Corridor shuffle among New York, Boston, and DC. But you all wouldn’t be here without us. That’s something we have to take solace in as the losses and disappointments pile up. Woo hoo, Continental Congress! We sure kicked George III’s ass.
So, as the hopes and dreams of every Philadelphia sports fan rode along with Smarty Jones out at the Belmont, I was there watching. I was cheering like crazy, as he broke out to a four length lead. I clutched my head in my hands as Birdstone breezed past him. I looked at my 76ers hat, which I had brought thinking maybe some of “the Dr.’s” juice from ’83 would’ve rubbed off on Smarty. I noted that Birdstone passed Smarty at the 1 and 1/8 pole. You can guess where I was standing to watch the race. Hint: it was between the 1 and 0/8 and 1 and 2/8 poles. And there were thousands of other Philadelphians in the crowd too, all hoping that one of our own could end this two decade plus sports drought. But it wasn’t to be.
Sure, I live in New York now, and I guess I could start rooting for the Yankees. But I won’t. ‘Cause one day, one of our teams from Philly’s going to win something.
And when that day comes my brothers and I will crack open a case of Yuengling, grab some cheese steaks and party like it’s 1983…