On to Football

For the second year, Barbara has invited me down to see the matchup of the Washington  Redskins and the Philadelphia Eagles. Football is not something I watch, but again, accepting seems a nice way to spend time with her and Gail, the most avid of football fans.
In preparation, I follow the Eagles season,  knowing that they have been losing badly. The fans who care are disgusted and dismayed. And now that the Phillies season has collapsed, there is nothing to look forward to. So, after last year's trouncing, I assure Barbara that the Redskins are a going to win, that I will be  happy to cheer with her, as I have no real feeling of love for the Eagles (yet)

Barbara, Gail and Tobie spreading out

I drive down the night before  being well aware that for a 1:00 game, she will be leaving for the stadium at 9:30 am. Gotta get a good spot to tailgate! the morning begins at 8:00 am. at the gym with my brother, then Barbara and Gail arrive to pick me up with all the Redskins gear in tow: Coolers, tables, chairs  Redskins plates, a Redskin drink cooler, lots and lots of great food. The weather is spectacular-the sun bright and warm. I look forward to my second pro football game.

Eagles van complete with built in TV

When we arrive at the stadium, I am shocked to see hundreds of cars and tents already set up. How could it be that it's only 10:30 and we are already late? We set up our lunch, chatter about family gossip, and I am off to forage deep into Redskins tailgating territory. For, well beyond the Disabled parking lot are the hoi poloi, rauscously grilling, drinking, playing beanbag toss, drinking, dancing, drinking.


Our seats are in the 1st level on the 30 yard line, a perfect view. As we settle in, I take stock of our neighbors. To the left, in front and behind us are solid Redskins fans. To our right is  a family of Eagles fans and several rows in front are two others. We are quite outnumbered and for the most part outshouted, but as we are soon to find out, not outplayed.

Seems that this will be a standing only game. Even before the game starts, the people in the first rows stand up, forcing everyone else to stand as well.

Last year's game was a running and long throwing game, where Michael Vick showed how agile and sharp he could be. I enjoyed watching his grace. This game is a short passing game where every yard  is well fought and it takes the whole quarter to get down the field. Much to my surprise, and apparently the Redskins, the Eagles take early control of the ball and don't let go, holding on for 11 minutes of the first quarter. After two touchdowns and a field goal, I am nervous about even looking over at Barbara to see her reactions.

Meanwhile, the rowdy crew behind us unrelentingly shouts barbs at the Eagles, and soon enough, even starts to bark at the Redskins quarterback, Rex Grossman. "We want Beck, we want Beck". (the alternate quarterback) Throughout the first half, Grossman throws several times without a receiver in place, and the number of interceptions and turnovers is astounding. I'm enjoying learning more about the game, glad also to glance over on occasion to the Eagles fans nearby, who smile, appropriately thrilled at the 20-0 situation, cheering, but never noisy or obnoxious.

All is well and good.

The fourth quarter: The 'gentleman' Eagles fan stands up, turns around and barks at the Redskins fans behind him, "If you don't f-ing stop pouring beer down my back, I'm going to kill you". I don't hear this threat, but I hear the retort "F- you, I didn't mean it, it was an accident". And then out of no where, the Eagles fan slugs, I mean really slugs the Redskins fan.

Barbara scurries out of the way, but the only place to go is in our laps. There we are in slow motion, watching a brawl unfold in front of our eyes. I think that this cannot possibly go on for much longer, their  friends will be able to separate the two (or is it three now) in the fight. I put up my hand to hold the Eagles fan at bay while he falls backwards, still throwing punches. No one seems to be able to stop this, and there are no stadium workers in sight. I realize that I could get hurt as well, so turn and shout  for someone to text the management as this fight continues.

It takes many long minutes for any official to show up. By that time, the Redskins fan who so politely responded "F-you" has a bloody face, the 'gentleman' is being taken away, and we are left with two blood spattered seats, a stunned group of fans, and at least 10 different versions of what has just happened.

We try to watch the rest of the game, which by this time has changed the Redskins' fortunes with the entrance of the alternate quarterback, Beck, who manages to get the ball down the field for a touchdown, and two field goals. Our attention, though, is on this scary and bizarre story, each of us having our own eye witness account, and each wondering how this could have happened.

Then I remember the tailgating grilling, the drinking, the bean bag games, the drinking, the dancing, the drinking. And the permission that fans feel they have to shout anything they want at the players, at the other fans. I've heard and seen bad behavior, but even this event was shocking.

The final score-Eagles 20 Redskins 13


Not sure I'll be invited back!

The moon, no rain, and a free set of Phillies postcards

The Ballpark is electric the day after the Phillies clinch the east division title. My goal is to arrive on time to cheer them on as they come onto the field. It is just as I expected-a standing ovation, loud and proud. We settle in and watch as Cole Hamels pitches a first strike. So far, so good. But all goes awry for the night when the Cardinals get hit after hit, and home run after home run, 2 in the first inning. Cole does produce some strike outs, but the damage has been done. It doesn't help that the fans have more energy than the batters who hit some singles and doubles, or hit almost to the stands, but can't seem to string anything together.

The 114 section leads a wave that manages rather lethargically to make it around the ballpark once-only to die as soon as the Cardinals hit a homerun. That is enough to dampen the fun spirit. Later in the game, the same section attempts a clapping rally and another wave, but it goes no where. Even the Phillie Phanatics monkeying around can't lift the energy.

Tonight I meet the Sunday game season ticket holders. In fact, the ticket I bought on StubHub was sold by the man next to me for a reasonable price. I'm learning more about how this works-season ticket holders oftern cannot get to games and many don't even bother to sell their tickets. Those that do might sell it at cost, but often more. Easiest to get tickets the day of the game when tickets often get discounted. Behind me another group of season ticket holders talks about playoff tickets, so I ask them how much they cost. Well, it is shocking how much people jack up the prices on the ticket broker sites, and then again how much the ticket brokers charge over and above that.  Stub hub charges 10% plus to both the seller and the buyer, and the buyer also pays a 5.00$ fee. Other brokers charge even more.

The end of the game 5-0. We have named it The Hangover Game. The best parts: the moon, no rain, and a free set of Phillies postcards.

A moment of silence

How Baseball saved my life

The final game of the 2010 National League Series was a disappointment for Phillies fans, and certainly there is an endless variety of ways to ask many questions. Why couldn't the Phillies connect to the ball? Why did Ryan Howard stop being the powerhouse that all expected him to be? What happened to the home runs?  These are the questions I will leave to the sports experts and commentators who get paid to make up answers. For me, the question  was this:, What about being in a ballpark with 46,000 people was an essential part of healing from a traumatic injury that had kept me out of work for 6 weeks, and in pain for much longer than that?

On March 21,  2010 an accident at home sent me to the trauma unit at Einstein hospital. Although I didn't know it at the time, the top joint of my finger had been crushed and the nerves severed so badly that the damage was irreparable. As you read this, you may shutter thinking about the pain-so then, multiply that and you will get a tinge of how painful it was in reality. My world became bandages and medications, neighbors and friends helping me clean and cook, family staying with me, and much much love. I created visualizations of light and warmth and gratitude to use as meditations, which when recorded became my lullabies to sooth me to sleep. Bathed in this gratitude  I went into surgery on March 31, thanking everyone in my path from receptionists, to the nurses to the excellent surgeon.

From the time of the injury through this surgery and for weeks to come, I did not know the extent of the damage, never knew that my life had changed permanently.

I only knew  that on  April 14, I had precious tickets in the 11th row of the 3rd base line in Citizen's Bank Park to see the  Phillies Opening night game with my friends. I only knew that whatever the pain, and no matter how difficult, that game was going to stay on my schedule.

My hand bandaged, my bag packed with vicodin and aciteminophen, I took my seat cradled between two of my favorite Phillies phans.  I couldn't clap because the impact on my hand was like an electric shock. But I could stand up and wave, shout and scream.

Oh,  how I learned to let go  and scream.

Not for myself, though. No, I shouted for a team, and for a city and for the start of spring and expectations for summer; for hope and for excitement; for the open air, and balls sailing high into the sky; for running and stealing bases, for sliding into home, for grace and green; for the sun setting over the Philadelphia skyline; for silly antics on the field; for the ceremonial first pitch and the actual first pitch.

For all that and more I stood up, hands waving, becoming part of the community of fans.

Surrounded by  45,000 others screaming and and yelling, too, I  realized that it was safe expected even to make noise,  a lot of noise.  That night and the rest of the thrilling season of cheering, yelping, stomping  saved my life .

And I needed that.

The 95% of my body that wasn't hurt needed that. For the summer and well into fall, the places in me that had become small  filled the vast ballpark space with the joy of winning, the excruciating pain of losing,  the excitement at seeing a no hitter,  the awe at witnessing the ballet of an elegant catch in right field, the naughty delight of cheering on a runner as he stole a base, the tickle at being part of a 'wave' that spread throughout the stands, the silliness of singing at the 7th inning stretch.

And it helped to bring me into wholeness again.

That is why I am a Phillies phan.

3 for 3 Good weather, Good game. Good win.

On this last game of the 6 pack series that Peter and I bought in December (see blog post Dec 22), we are hopeful for a tri-fecta: good weather, a good game, a good win. After 2 days of solid rains that flooded Kelly Drive, each of us has packed our rain gear and umbrellas just in case. We know that the game will be played come hell AND high water because there just aren't any days to make up games this late in the season. Last night's chilly rain delay game makes tonight's nice weather all the more precious. When we arrive the sky is overcast,  but dry, with no sign of any downpour.

Good weather. 1 for 3.

This is an important game as the season comes into the 7th inning stretch. The pitching is well matched, so it is with anticipatory excitement that we stand up and cheer for Raul Ibanez' home run early on. The Braves match with a run and then surge ahead.

What happens in the 6th inning stirs up the crowd for the first time since the home run. Polanco hits a fly ball down the first base line. The right fielder dives to catch it, holding up his glove to show that he has made the out.. Victorino runs to 3rd, but looking back, thinks that it is the last out. As do we all. The Braves walk off the field, the Phillies prepare to change to defense.

But no! The umpires circle up to take a second look. Their decision: It was not caught, which means that there are still only 2 outs and the Phillies are still at bat.  We all go wild with disbelieve at this second chance, especially when it is followed by a rally  to put 3 men on base.

Okay, so it was all for nought, when Ryan Howard strikes out  for the 3rd out leaving the 3 men stranded. Still, this definitely gets our blood going again, which serves us well for the next half of the game.

There are other moments like this. Hits and disappointments, dynamic double plays, 3-2 counts that make me want to hide until its over, elegant right field catches,edge of the seat pitching duels. Section 431 collectively chanting throughout provides the musical entertainment along with great Latin music for Latino Heritage night.

All this  brings us to a tied 2-2 game going into the 9th inning. Are we looking at extra innings? The Braves are shut down by Madson and it is now our turn again.

Two men on base, Ross Gload comes to bat as the pinch hitter. He hits a lovely just-to-the -left-of-the-foul- line single.

Good weather. Good game.  2 for 3

The hit is enough to bring in another run making it 3-2 in the bottom of the  9th inning.

Good weather. Good game. A win for the Phillies.  3 for 3

But wait, there's more. I have not felt this end of the game exuberance since the playoff wins. We are all just giddy with delight, happy to see the brass band that serenades us after each game on our way to the subway. (Better heard here than seen)

Tonight I am prepared with some quarters for the basket to reward their persistence and fun spirit.

Then, just inside the subway station, we run into 2 Atlanta fans here from Alabama who joke around with Isaac about the coming post season. It is all smiles, good natured ribbing and a sign of good sportsmanship.

Good weather

Good game

A win for the Phillies

AND

Good sportsmanship

4 for 4.

Thanks Peter for a great season. (wink, wink, let's go to another game ...and what about the playoffs?)