MARCH 26, 2004 11:50 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA

Just checking in with a perfunctory post, because the blog looked lonely and I happen to be sitting here. Sixers have won three in a row and look like they're suddenly interested in making the playoffs again. Most people are probably going to say that it's because Iverson isn't playing, thus proving that the team is better off without him. I would point out that it's more likely because the floor isn't clogged up with Derrick Coleman and Glenn Robinson. Yeah, I'm not a Coleman & Robinson fan. They can go, please. Thanks.

On the Phillies front: check out my buddy Andrew's site here. Chock full of that fresh-baked Phillies goodness you've naturally come to expect. You're greeted by Harry the K when you open the page, and that's just cool.

Another thing: there are now Phillies-related Google links at the top of my blog. I had nothing to do with this, which can only mean that a Blogspot employee came along, saw what my site was generally about, and put them there. I'm not sure what my point is but it's interesting.

Even though I can now say I've been there, I'm not a big Spring Training fan, really. I've reached the point where these meaningless games are getting a little tiresome. We're just a little over a week away, friends!

MARCH 25, 2004 6:00 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA

Last night my dad and I went down to the Sports Complex to watch the Sixers thrillingly beat the Suns and further weaken their chances of getting a really good draft pick. It was awesome. While down there we gazed agape at the giant chunk of air where there wasn't Veterans Stadium. That thing is GONE, my friends. It's hard to comprehend that, only having seen it on TV; you need to drive past it. I myself am not very strong in the spatial relationship department (I'm not good at judging distances, or the sizes of things, and I don't have a good sense of direction), so I was having trouble really wrapping my brain around the idea of the Vet having been in a certain place with respect to other things, and now no longer being in that certain place with respect to things which are, with any luck, still there. UNTIL we drove past the SEPTA subway entrance. I used to emerge from that very entrance, then walk a few yards over to a ramp up to the stadium. Now, that ramp is no longer there, nor is the stadium to which it formerly led. The entrance, however, remains. So now it makes sense: that thing is GONE, folks. They did it.

A few words about the Sixers, while I'm thinking of it. They're not an especially great team anymore by any means; they haven't been this bad in at least six years. But once in a while they get their act together, play their asses off, and put together a win that they almost certainly don't deserve but which I will gladly accept. Last night was like that: they looked confused and listless for three quarters, then, for no readily apparent reason, they realized at the start of the fourth that they were down 12 points, and suddenly started playing defense and scoring baskets, including at least one excellent and well-timed 3 from Kyle "Not Ashton Kutcher In Any Way, Honestly" Korver. It was great. I could vaguely hear the whispers of 2001, when the crowds were pumped and the team was pulling out great wins like that on a daily basis (for as we all know, the 2000-01 Sixers were the second greatest sports team ever assembled in history). But my question is, what future does this team have? Are Korver and Green and Salmons for real? Is Dalembert an NBA center, I mean can I really see him against Shaq in Finals? Eric Snow rules, but is he trade bait? How many years does Aaron McKie (my fave) have left? And whither AI, the man around whom the whole operation has been (somewhat flimsily) built? Can they survive without him? I think they can, which is good, because they will almost certainly have to.

I love the Sixers, man, but they worry me endlessly. But then so do the Eagles and Flyers and Phillies, all the time, at random moments of the day, the stinking bunch of jerks.

Gotta wrap this post up but I will mention this coming attraction: A Sadly Incomplete List of Every Phillies Game I've Ever Been To. Oh, it's true.

MARCH 22, 2004 11:29 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA

Finally getting around the actually posting this thing for public consumption. Upon returning from the Clearwater trip I typed up all my notes in the fun format you can see in the previous post, then decided it was all too sickeningly personal and dull to actually put it online. But then, pressed for something to present at Friday night's WOSEP meeting, I decided to just read it anyway and was pleased to discover that everybody found it interesting. Anna said she could see herself actually reading it everyday, while Andrew protested the contradiction of me not wanting to write a pretentious essay about the importance of baseball while still wanting this diary to Mean Something (and you know what, I think he might be right). Matt and Zoe, meanwhile, just basically liked it. Praise from Caesar! [That means nothing.]

Spent the weekend visiting my aunt and uncle in West Hartford, CT. At 7:00 AM on Sunday, my dad barged into the TV room where Jon was sleeping on the couch and I was on the floor on an air mattress. He was clutching his laptop and ranting about how the Vet was going to be imploded in about a minute and a half. I managed to wake up enough to watch as, through the magic of the Internet and a somewhat shady wi-fi connection, we tuned into phillies.com and watched the whole thing happen live. Having only barely woken up less than two minutes before, sitting on an air mattress, wearing only underwear and a blanket, surrounded by relatives, the ensuing destruction took on the general quality of a fever dream that I couldn't quite understand. At that moment I was in no position to grasp the fact that a place that was, in many ways, as familiar to me as my old bedroom in my parents' house, was suddenly blowing up and collapsing before my eyes. A place that I was lucky enough to look at from my office window every single workday. A place which -- well, to be honest I suppose it hasn't sunk in yet at all. I saw innumerable Phillies games there: tons of thrilling victories of all kinds, and plenty of painful losses too. I had season tickets there in the final season. I sat in the extreme cold and the extreme heat. I used to randomly show up in '99 and '00 back when general admission was only 8 bucks. I used to prowl around the 700 level concourse before games, just examining how wonderfully decrepit it had become. I used to fling hot dog wrappers and cheesesteak containers under my seat. I chipped a bit of paint off the exit in front of me at the final game and it now hangs on my bulletin board. I got a baseball glove at a giveaway in the 80's, plus a Mike Schmidt bat in '87, crappy sunglasses, a lunch bag (given away by my cousin Tim, working there with the Ryan band), a bunch of hats, a Phanatic beach towel (6/1/86, I think), a gym bag, a Darren Daulton growth chart. I got showered with confetti on my birthday in '92, and then we had the same thing done to my sister in '00. I saw the Phillies score 9 runs in one inning against the Yankees. I went to ten games in 2000 when they were wretched, and saw an in-the-park home run by Bobby Abreu, an upper deck grand slam by Pat Burrell, got a Mike Lieberthal Beanie Baby and lunchbox for my sister (back when she could still pass for 14), and they won seven of those games and I had a great time. I saw a 1980 reunion and a 1993 reunion. I used to thrill to the hex that the Phanatic put on opposing pitchers in the late innings. I saw 'N Sync, of all things, sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" a year or so before they got famous. I saw lots of bizarre home opener ceremonies (flyovers, parachuters, crap like that). I remember the Schill-o-meter, the Wolf Pack, the Daal House, the Bowa Constrictors, the Padilla Flotilla, Scottie's Hotties, the Generic Fan Group, Person's People, the Byrd's Nest, the Duck Pond. My brother caught a hot dog fired from the Phanatic's hot dog gun (fought a guy for it, too). My dad caught a foul ball in '92 (a story he will gladly tell you if you ask him). I took many a leak in the filthy bathrooms.

I saw a couple of Eagles preseason games, and exactly one regular season game, a hideous loss to Arizona in October 2001, on the day the US began bombing Afghanistan, which was calmly explained to me by G.W. Bush on the Jumbotron. I saw at least one Stars game (!!!), and two Genesis concerts ('87 and '92).

I saw the final game on September 28, 2003, and after a rather dull loss to the Braves, I spent a fantastic hour clapping for an endless parade of Phillies I had forgotten I loved so much (Von Hayes! Paul Byrd! Wayne Gomes!!!).

I saw Kevin Millwood's no-hitter and felt the vaguest inklings of what it might be like to see -- to KNOW -- that your team is about a minute away from winning it all. My favorite part of that day was being there with someone who didn't understand what was happening and having to explain it to her. This memory makes me feel good whenever I remember it; I wish I had appreciated it more when it was happening.

And I consider myself fortunate (blessed, even, if that word is appropriate here) to have been in Veterans Stadium to watch the Phillies -- my Phillies -- win the National League on October 13, 1993. This ranks as one of the best moments of my life, and I don't care who knows it. Perhaps I'll write more about this game later but I'll just say right now that that's what I'll always remember the Vet looking and sounding like.

The dudes on ESPN -- not to mention Jeffrey Lurie -- can call it a dump all they want, but most of them weren't there that night, and I was. The Vet was a dump but it was MY dump. So long, ol' girl.

(ACTUALLY) MARCH 14, 2004 2:28 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA

Greetings, Phillies fans and fans of those other 29 teams I’ve heard exist. Welcome to the opening installment of a project I’ve been thinking about doing for some time now: The Phillies Diary (trademark pending). Essentially, this will be a record of the 2004 season, day by day (or close to it) – with, one expects, occasional forays into non-Phillies-related things as I see fit (i.e. the season as a springboard for other (and dare I say deeper and ultimately more useful and interesting) thoughts). Now, I have always been adverse to keeping a journal in the past, despite my writerly aspirations, largely because I’ve never been especially interested in writing about myself, what I do or what I’m thinking; I’d much rather take elements of my own experience, such as it is, and turn them into something I can actually get excited about, for example, a young girl in an orphanage in a city in the sky, or a janitor embroiled in a grand, convoluted conspiracy spanning multiple dimensions. You know, things I can relate to. But using the Phillies as a backdrop for a journal seems promising to me. With that in mind, I will lay down some ground rules:

What this diary won’t be:
- To borrow the general concept of my pal Matt’s blog, I am trying to avoid having this be an actual diary describing my daily life, because really, I don’t even care, so why should you?
- I will also not allow it to evolve into some kind of pretentious essay about “baseball as a microcosm for life” or “baseball as a metaphor for the American and/or human experience”. Those topics interest me but not to the extent that I want to go on about it like a lunatic.
- Actual news about the team; that’s not my job.

What it will be:
- I’d like to cover or at least mention every game this season. An extensive report of every game is not necessary however; if I merely jot something brief down after the game along the lines of “Phils beat Braves 25-0; Bobby Cox and Chipper Jones retire in disgrace”, that would be an acceptable (and indeed, welcome) entry.
- Field reports from a summer spent at CB Park, other stadiums, or, most likely, on my ass on the couch watching games on TV.
- If I feel compelled to actually break down and write about myself, I won’t stop it, but as I said it is not my main intention.
- Perhaps most importantly I would like this journal to explore – and perhaps conclusively determine (if it’s even possible) – why I devote so much of my time, money, and mental and emotional energy to sports teams in general and the Phils specifically. In other words, something approximately similar to Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch, in which he rants brilliantly for 300 pages about how much he loves Arsenal and never actually figures out why. Similarly, look at me, I’m keeping a damn blog about a baseball team, when I could be working on that stupid novel I keep claiming to be writing; why is that? I don’t know and I don’t care to speculate at this time, but maybe I’ll figure it out this summer.
- In about a month, when the playoffs start, this will likely also become a Flyers diary; you have been warned.
- It’s worth noting that this blog is a heavily edited and cleaned up version of the notes contained within a little notebook that I bought last week and will be bringing to all games. If you ever want to see the “raw” notes (and why wouldn’t you?) just ask me next time you see me.
- If the diary proves successful, or at least tolerable, I’ll keep doing it until it isn’t. I plan on watching this team when I’m 90 anyway, so I might as well have a notebook nearby. (Watch out for those 2066 Phillies, by the way; they’re going to surprise a lot of people. Hey, wait a minute, I’ll be 90 in 2066 – that doesn’t seem like it’s that far off! I’d better get my shit together!)

In short, I have no idea what form this thing will take, although let’s just say it’s One Fan’s View of the Season and see what goes from there. Anything beyond that will just have to sort of happen; the theme of “Why Am I Doing This?” seems promising, so maybe look for me to explore that, if I feel like it.

So here’s an example: I kick off the season by getting into a car with my brother Jonathan, my roommate Andrew, a bunch of CDs, and some potato chips, and driving to Florida for spring training. In case you’re unfamiliar with the geography involved, it’s far. Philadelphia to Clearwater takes 20 hours. Often during the trip I wondered if this was literally a crazy thing to do, and deep in the back of my mind I had the very strange thought that this was something that I had to do, sort of like a pilgrimage, to prove my devotion – or (and I find this even stranger) because I felt like I actually owed it to the team; though for what reason, I can’t say. Like after doing this I would then be a real fan. When I think these thoughts I wonder if perhaps I’m insane. What do you think?

As a side note, now that my geekiness has reached the spectacular level of actually driving to Clearwater, I've more or less guaranteed that I will never have sex with a woman again. However, since this doesn't come as any great surprise to me, and in fact actually seems rather inevitable, I choose to accept this fate with dignity and class.

Not much to report about the ride down. The areas around I-95 in North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia where we were driving (no offense to the undoubtedly fine people that live there) are completely desolate. This area seems to exist solely to be the place that you drive through if you’re from the Northeast and you’re going to Disneyworld; wherever there are signs of civilization, it’s either the same familiar stuff they have everywhere else (McDonald’s, Outback Steakhouse, the ubiquitous Cracker Barrel), or seedy-looking rustic businesses selling fireworks and (for some reason) bulk nuts. The most notable exception being the terrifying, Mexico-themed tourist trap South of the Border which is precisely south of the North/South Carolina border, and resembles the setting of a Scooby Doo episode. My uncharacteristic referencing of that horrendous cartoon should serve to underscore the unrelenting spookiness of the place. I’m shocked that at least one of us didn’t die. Anyway, we finally hit FL around 8 PM, stopping at a Cracker Barrel in Jacksonville before tackling the final leg of the journey, where we discover that every inch of highway between Jacksonville and Orlando is under constant construction. After this momentum-killing delay we roll into Clearwater around 2 AM and almost instantly fall asleep. I share a bed with my brother; another sacrifice I make for the Phils.

Andrew has done a Herculean amount of driving; however, since Hercules never drove a car, this has no meaning.

The next morning I get up around 7 because I have volunteered (or been chosen, I actually can’t remember) to head over to Bright House Networks Field to get us tickets for the game when the box office opens at 9. Oh, yeah, forgot to mention: we came all the way down to Florida without actually having tickets for the game. We were only going by some rather unclear instructions on the Phillies web site that suggested to us that tickets would be available when the box office opens. After a brief delay where I get about ten minutes away from the hotel and realize that I have no idea where the stadium is, I coincidentally stumble upon the correct street, stupidly pay $5 to park in the lot even though I’m going to have to go back to the hotel to get the guys (not knowing that there is a free lot for people buying tickets), then wait around for another 45 minutes in the chilly, yet shockingly gorgeous weather and when my time comes, sheepishly ask for three tickets. Since there are other people in line, I assume that tickets will actually be available, but only in the lawn in the outfield. “What section?” the girl asks me, and it becomes clear that not only am I not going to have to just settle for lawn, but I am being handed a thoroughly unexpected opportunity to get premium seats in the fourth row behind home plate. Unlike most incredible opportunities that have come along in my life, I jump at this one, and return to the hotel in triumph, where my compatriots agree that I am quite awesome.

After breakfast at Lenny’s (which is packed to capacity with Phillies fans, and is excellent, if you’re ever in Clearwater, and I’m not being paid to say that either) we park in a field near Bright House and walk through more fields to get to the stadium, like it’s Woodstock or something. We enter Bright House to the a-little-too-appropriate strains of “Glory Days” playing on the PA. The stadium is quite nice and our seats are ridiculous and I don’t deserve them. As you undoubtedly know, BHN Field is built to the same dimensions as CB Park; Andrew and I both agree that the “quirk” in the outfield is a little silly and contrived, but proves to be interesting later when the Phils and Braves both have outfielders make impressive catches in it. More on that later in the season when I get a better look at it… It is 76 degrees and sunny. Oh yeah, a few brief words about the weather: we’ve had a wretched winter in Philly, where it’s been consistently, bone-chillingly, spirit-breakingly cold since early December and probably earlier; to be honest I can’t recall it ever being warm in my lifetime, that’s how cold it’s been. If nothing else this trip was worth it to be away from the cold for a few brief shining moments. I didn’t even mind getting sunburned; it proved that the Earth had in fact not started to hurtle away from the sun and become a cold, dreary rock of ice, as I had seriously started to suspect. When I was kid I preferred the cold of fall and winter to the warmth of spring and summer, and now that I’m older I realize that when I was a kid I was an idiot.

Phils starters: Rollins, Polanco, Abreu, Burrell, Lieberthal, Rushford (filling in for the lamented Thome, who will be back with us in April), Glanville (first time I’ve seen him in ages!), Perez, Wolf. Again, since this is the first installment of the Diary I haven’t yet figured out how I’m going to cover the actual details of the game. I took down some notes – even writing down the entire third inning, just to see if I could do it – but I’m not sure if it’s worth transcribing them all here. I will say that it turned out to be a really good game, much more interesting than most spring training games I’ve caught on TV. Wolf and Burrell looked good. The coolest aspect was of course our seats, where I discovered that the sounds of the ball and the bat are amazingly loud when you sit that close. That probably seems a little obvious but I never really knew…

So, I won’t transcribe the notes but I’ll take more notes at the next game and see how that goes. One thing I will say: sitting in beautiful weather on a Friday afternoon, watching baseball and drinking lemonade, is better than being at work. It just is. Sorry, AACR…

Phils won, 4-1. Afterwards we played “Congo River Golf” and Jon and Andrew tied for the win. After that we drove around Clearwater looking for a Mexican restaurant (have I mentioned how horrendous the traffic is in Clearwater? Well, it is. Also, I have nothing specifically interesting to say about Clearwater; it looks like Bensalem). We found one called “Los Mariachis” and were serenaded by same.

After that we found a bar called “Down The Hatch” which seems to be where every dart-player in Florida congregates. Jon and I got into an argument that I am now too sober to remember; as in most arguments we have, I lost.

The next morning it was back to Philly. We tried to accomplish this as quickly as possible with a minimum of stops. We ate at a KFC in Pooler, GA and a Shoney’s in Fredricksburg, VA. I saw this bathroom graffiti somewhere in Georgia:
“[name scratched out] likes it in the ass”
“Well if that’s how she likes it, who am I to say no?”
I don’t know why, but that made me laugh…

All right, let me tell you a secret. I spent a large segment of the afternoon poring over an atlas in the back seat trying to determine the most efficient way to drive to all 30 baseball stadiums. This has been a dream of mine for many years. It’s not the most original idea – many other people have actually already done it, and Visa used the idea in an ad campaign a few years ago – but I’ve clung to it stubbornly. In my darkest moments, I have these fantasies of making this trip alone – driving alone, going to games alone, hanging out in the cities alone, and all the while not shaving and (presumably) writing – and it sounds, at first, really fun and romantic. But then I come to my senses and realize how horribly lonely and sad and ultimately pointless it would become. What would be the point of it (or indeed, anything) without someone to share it with? I think if I ever find myself with no better way to spend my time and money, I’ll know that I’ve hit rock bottom. Really. What disturbs me most about this fantasy – what makes me so frightened that I ever have it – is the unspoken subtext, which I never really think about in any great detail, but is always there: that I’m dropping out of society and disappearing from everything and everyone I care about; that there might be people I leave behind that don’t want me to go; that I’m going specifically to make them think I’m sad and tortured and to feel sorry for me; maybe even that something has gone very, very wrong with my life to prompt me to do it. There is, of course, nothing romantic or interesting about this at all, and I’m tired of thinking this way. I’m fooling myself if I think, first of all, that I’d ever get any writing done on such a trip, because I’d be too busy driving, watching games, sleeping, and feeling sorry for myself. Plus there’s the logistics of it; by my reckoning it would take a minimum of 35 days to get to every city, and that’s only if the schedule cooperates, i.e. every team happens to be in town at the time. Which is unlikely, so you have to think it would be 40-50 days, and probably more. Do I really want to just drop everything for two months for something so meaningless? I mean are people really going to be left behind, missing me and wringing their hands and wishing they had tried harder to stop me? What kind of crazy person am I that I think these things?

No, no – I think it’s time to lose this idea, and I think it’s time to get my act together here and now and stop dreaming about things that won’t get me anywhere. What I’d really much rather do is stay where I am, write books, hang out with the people I like and care about, and watch baseball (or have any other hobby) when I can, but not all the time and certainly not to the extent that it interferes with my capacity to be sane. (With the exception of trips like this one, or the trip to LA and San Diego I’m thinking of doing in August.)

I still want to eventually see the Phillies in every stadium, a project best undertaken over many years. That sounds rather nice to me. But I want someone to come with me.

Ah, I guess this really did turn into an actual journal didn’t it? My apologies…