At 11:29 PM (yes, I had to look it up, but my memory was only eight minutes off) tonight, it will be 34 years to the moment since Tug McGraw struck out Willie Wilson and the 1980 Philadelphia Phillies won the World Series--the franchise's first in 97 years of existence, 77 of those in the World Series era. I was a week shy of six months old, but I swear on some cellular level I remember this. It's probably just the fact that I grew up in the Philadelphia suburbs seeing the highlights on TV a million times, but the image of Tug McGraw lifting his arms skyward and dancing off the mound resides in my brain. The second out of the ninth inning was also pretty exciting--the bases were loaded, and there was a routine foul pop, and catcher Bob Boone* went over to get it. It banked off his glove . . . but first baseman Pete Rose had gone over to back the play and caught the ball for the out. The announcer then uttered what remains to this day my personal catchphrase at times of close calls: "Don't worry, Pope**, he'll get it!" The Phillies only got into that World Series by winning an insane white-knuckler of an NLCS against the Houston Astros. Four of the five games (LCSes were best of 5 then) went to extra-innings, including the winner-take-all Game 5, which the Phillies only won after an eighth-inning come-from-behind rally against some pitcher you may have heard of, Nolan Ryan. I swear that this level of stress, broadcast on every radio and TV for a hundred miles, seeped into my baby brain and made me the way I am.
The Philadelphia Phillies live pretty near to the core of my soul. My grandparents--who were "West Philadelphia born and raised" long before Will Smith--went to a Phillies-Brooklyn Dodgers game on their New York honeymoon. They got married April 19, 1947, so I finally put it together that they would have seen Jackie Robinson, who had made his Brooklyn Dodgers debut April 15. My grandfather attended a game of the 1950 World Series*** (unfortunately a 4-0 sweep by the New York Damn Y****** [the only real profanity here is asterisked]). My grandparents--and later I--always had a Phillies game on the TV or radio between April and October. We were on the phone to each other the moment after a win to rehash things throughout my teens. Later when they moved in with us, I joined them on the couch every evening to watch the game, my mother exclaiming, "Baseball again?" as we left the dinner table in a line. I have always drawn great comfort from the fact that the Phillies were in first place in the NL East when my grandfather died. I remain saddened that my grandmother missed 2008 by two lousy years. One of my first thoughts after Lidge struck out Hinske for that Phils' Series win was, "I hope the man who sat across from her in dialysis and always wore his Phillies hat made it to today." Among my most important possessions are the stuffed Phillie Phanatics my grandparents gave me years before I seriously followed baseball, my grandfather's 1980 World Champions Phillies T-shirt, and a photo of my grandparents in Ebbets Field seats in the history wing of the Baseball Hall of Fame.
And who did Willie Wilson play for, back in 1980? Who did the Phillies beat for that first Commissioner's Trophy? The Kansas City Royals, of course. In 1985, the Royals won their own first World Series--a nice bit of scale-balancing. They had lost for us to have our day, and not too long afterwards, they got their day. Baseball at its best turns on Fortune's Wheel: you may be down now, but someday you will be up again. For decades after that, of course, I was pretty sure that neither team was ever going back to the World Series. The Phils just seemed terminally incompetent (you would have won big money in about 2000 betting me that Terry Francona would someday manage a team to a World Series victory, let alone my other favorite team in historic fashion), and the Royals disappeared into the haze with all the other small-market teams in the Steinbrenner-Y****** and TBS-Braves era. The Royals, and particularly Zach Greinke's time with them about 10 years ago, are among the reasons for today's expanded-even-beyond-the-wild-card MLB playoff roster. So are teams like the Pirates, Twins, and arguably Cubs and White Sox. The Royals and Pirates have managed to take advantage of this; the rest of the not-quite-invincible teams just have to keep at it.
So I've always had a particular affection for the Kansas City Royals. I've lived through a 14-year playoff drought, a 15-year World Series appearance drought, and a 28-year World Series victory drought. I know what it is to stick with your team even when they're out of the pennant race by June and that one dream you hold onto just seems impossible. I know what it's like to watch the playoffs year after year and think, "Why not us? Can it please be us someday?" And I know what it is the moment that dream finally, finally comes true, and it's better than you ever dared hope.
The Royals, starting tonight, are going back to their first World Series in 29 years. During Game 4 of the ALCS, while they were finishing their sweep of the Orioles,**** One of the crowd shots panned over a guy who had to be about my age. He had made a sign by attaching his child-size 1985 World Series Champions jacket to a posterboard with the message, "I need another one. This one doesn't fit anymore." I cried. This is what sports fandom is, at its purest. Your place, your time, your people. Being faithful to something all your life, even though most of the time it's either nothing special or downright awful. Loving the same thing that your friends, neighbors, and total strangers at the grocery store love. Knowing that wherever you go, some piece of you will always stay planted there--Kauffman Stadium for them, the corner of Broad and Pattison for me.
The San Francisco Giants, the Royals' World Series opponents, and their so-called fans with their ridiculous (and occasionally terrifying--like seriously the way that Burger King thing is terrifying) Panda***** hats, understand none of this. A franchise that left their city (when I side with New York, you know it's serious), let the whole Barry Bonds thing happen, knocked my boys out of the 2010 playoffs, has just won 2 of the last 4 World Series and does not need another one, and just generally exist to irritate nice people, don't understand any of this. They can't understand any of this. I have immense and long-standing respect for Bruce Bochy as a manager, but just . . . this Giants things needs to be stopped. They play in a vacation spot with kayaks behind the right field wall. The Royals, like the Phillies, play in a regular place in front of regular people. Nothing shiny. Just baseball. Just faith. Just love.
Just win, Royals. Just win. Like my guys did 34 years ago today. For all the right reasons and all the nice people. Just win.
Happy Anniversary, 1980 Phils. So many of you are gone now. The stadium you won in is gone. The voices that called your games, but not your Series (and became the very reason local announcers now do get to call post-season games), are gone. But your memories? This day? Here phorever.
*No, I haven't forgiven his son Aaron for the 2003 ALCS. I never will.
**The late Paul Owens, then General Manager of the Phillies, looked like Pope Paul VI and was thus nicknamed "The Pope."
***I don't care that this happened 30 years before I was born. I'm not over this one either. I never will be. Don't even ask if I'm over the 2009 rematch of that Series. I do, however, have faith that someday (somedays, really), far in the future, maybe with my great-great granddaughter watching, the scales will balance and my Phightin' Phils will defeat the Damn Y****** in the World Series. Twice.
****And though I also have a team in the AL East, I do hope the Orioles get another crack here soon. Showalter has done something really special with that team.
*****You went and Google Imaged it, didn't you? I told you--terrifying! You'll never be able to look at another panda again. It's your own fault.
