Finally.

There are a lot of kinds of abject happiness. There's the joy you feel when your child amazes you. The peace and fuzziness that comes when your partner reminds you for the millionth time why you chose them. There's the feeling of a job well done at work, an accomplishment you've been working toward for years, the acquisition of a long-awaited treat.

And then there's one that most avid sports fans feel at least every couple years. The ecstasy of winning a world championship. Except here, in my city, in Philadelphia, I've never felt that. In fact, most of my peers have never felt that. It's been 25 years since ANYONE in this city has ever felt that. Every couple years, each of our teams lead us on and get our hopes up, and like the insane people we are, we begin to believe again. But it seems to be the curse of this city that we're destined to have our hearts broken. Even as we hope, we usually see it coming, but that doesn't stop it from hurting any less.

Our baseball team, especially, is a source of heartache. We're the losingest franchise in sports history.

So on Sunday of this week, when we took a 3-1 lead over the Rays, and ESPN and Comcast Sportsnet kept leading with stories titled "One Win Away", it was almost hard to get too excited. It was painful to hope. It's like there's this buzzing in the back of your head, deep in your chest, this dull whir of excitement, but the more practical, sensible part of you is muffling it.

Even on Monday night, when we took a 2-1 lead, I felt myself choking down my animation. And when the game got called - for sleeting rain in the middle of October, rain that was followed by a snowstorm the next day - part of me thought, "Well. That's it. That's just Philly, you know? We'll blow the rest of this game when it resumes, and then we'll go back to Tampa, where their pitchers might end up better than ours."

But then, last night, something happened. We started strong. We stayed strong. We took the lead and they tied us, and then we took it back again. And when Brad Lidge, arguable one of the best closers in the league, came out to finish what could be the last half inning, and they started running taglines like "perfection" I wanted to scream. 'NO. DO NOT CALL HIM PERFECT. DO NOT CALL ANYTHING PERFECT. DON'T YOU KNOW PHILADELPHIA CAN'T EVER BE PERFECT!?"

And then...and please believe me when I tell you that I can't write this without crying...it was perfect. One night, one day, one game, Philadelphia was perfect. And we were the best. And our players streamed the field and tackled each other, fans sobbed in the stands, in bars across the city, at the intersection of Frankford and Cottman. Strangers hugged and kissed each other. Fireworks went off in every suburb of the city. My neighbors clanged pots and pans all up and down the street. Drivers blew their horns all through the neighborhood. My husband danced and screamed, and then sobbed with me. Phones all across my tiny apartment complex rang off the hook all night.

And it was perfect. Finally.

Comments

[Tara]

All I have to say is I told you so! It is a hard thing to get excited about will all the let down in the past. Its a great feeling to watch your home town team finally be victorious!

[Cherish]

I understand exactly. Im a hockey fan from Toronto and they havent even won in mine or my mother's lifetimes. I can only hope that I will happen to be in toronto the day that we finally do win again...