BELIEVE

Why must I continually learn and relearn this lesson over and over and over again? You never give up on your team. As I get older, and my mental well-being starts to have more to do with grown up things and (somewhat) less to do with the fortunes of sports teams, I'm trying more and more to live by this simple rule.

Allow me to publicly apologize to the Sixers for being, as of a few days ago, one of the many, many doubting jerks across the country who believed strongly that they would get swept by the Magic. Oh sure, it's still early, and the Magic (almost certainly the better team, all things considered) have plenty of time (and talent) to come back and win it. But on Sunday, the Sixers proved what I had refused to let myself believe: they came to play. Haters like me can suck it.

I'm sorry, Sixers. I really am. You made a believer out of me. Whatever else happens in this series and these playoffs - Sunday was fun, nothing changes that.

And the Flyers! Coming out swinging! I'm a little annoyed that they needed to go down 2-0 to remind themselves to do that, but hey, keep playing like that and you'll be fine. Game time in just about 43 minutes; you know where I'll be.

And you... Phillies... no time to deal with you right now; just behave yourselves until I get to it.

Let's go Flyers!

I never met the man, and I'm always going to regret that. The one thing that keeps getting mentioned over and over, in every tribute and speech, is that Harry Kalas was the most unfailingly polite, kind, gracious, decent, generous man ever, and I feel filled with an odd gnawing jealousy that I never got to meet him, shake his hand, or say thank you. He would record your voice mail message (!) or your wedding announcements (!!!) if you asked. He didn't have to; he was a legend, an icon, and he could have just as easily been a giant jerk. But as Wheels recounted in an anecdote on Monday, the thing he learned from Harry was this: it's not that hard. It just isn't that hard to be cool to people, not that hard to shake a hand or smile or say something nice, and my god, I just hope we can all learn that. I have, I think. Especially now, in these weird times, in this wonderful and troubling world.

My favorite Harry moment is one that I haven't heard mentioned. It was on September 30, 2007, the day the Phillies got into the postseason for the first time in 14 years. They needed a win and a Mets loss to do it. The Mets were already losing 7-0 at the start of the game, and the glee and wonder in Harry's voice as he reported that at the top of the broadcast was unmistakable. Now, Harry deserves a lot of credit for always being a consummate professional; he just simply never had a bad thing to say about literally any player or team (not even Endy Chavez!), even though he probably had a right to - the man saw more awful Phillies teams than probably anybody. But his respect for even the most incompetent scrub player, and the opponent, was unmatched. He never gave into the endless Phillies-Mets bickering like the rest of us (me included).

But on that day, Harry wasn't a broadcaster, he was just a fan, like me. That remarkable September run had culminated in a totally incredible day, a totally incredible game. At the top of the ninth, Harry said this: "Well, we just need six more outs, three here and three at Shea." And I loved that, because he was right, and because you could hear the joy in his voice, his total confidence that it was going to happen... and... and... it was just great.

Wow. What a guy.

Harry's the role model, you know, moreso than any player. He's the guy you want to be. Well, maybe not the part where he smoked like a chimney for 50 years. But otherwise: seriously, let's all try to be more like Harry, what do say?

Thanks, Harry. We love you.

I really want to write a little something more about Harry, which I will most definitely get to in the very near future, but for now I just wanted to jump in and say let's go Flyers. Which I will get to in a moment.

First, let me just reiterate from the other day: go out and get the new Superchunk EP, it's really great.

And now. Let's Go Flyers!!!

He was the best, the best there ever was.

This is one of my favorites.

Post #400

I've been away for a few days for Pesach, and at the moment I have yet to fully process, and have no thoughts yet about, the 2-3 start, the scary starting pitching, the sputtering offense, or whatever it is the Mets think they're doing.

Instead, I just want to say how good it feels to have Superchunk back. All is right with the world.

Why is everyone panicking because the Champs had one bad game and the Mets' bullpen had one good game? Did I miss the MLB switching to a 16 game season? If I did, then yes, we are screwed. We should think about getting much better in a hurry.

Otherwise, yes, Myers had a bad night. The hitters reverted to their confounding July 2008 selves. The Mets are almost certainly better, and we can't count on them collapsing the time. But the bullpen was perfect, the hitters will be better than that, the Mets only scored two runs off the Reds, and basically, let's just salute Derek Lowe for having a great night, and move on with our lives.

It's April 7. Panic, boo, hurl yourself off the bandwagon if you want. But I've reached a point where I know that if I start worrying this early, I may literally not live until September. So, really, keep it to yourself, please.

Happy Pesach!

Seven hours to go

First of all, congratulations to the Sixers for locking up a playoff spot. (I had hoped the Flyers would win and get in too - they could have clinched playoff spots on the same day for the second year in a row, wouldn't that have been something? Ah well, the Flyers will get in, barring some appalling series of wretched events.) Sixers, don't listen to the naysayers who urge you to lose on purpose to get a lottery pick; losing on purpose is the worst thing a sports team can do. It's why the Celtics will be my nemesis for the rest of eternity, the loathsome cheating villains. What would a lottery pick get you anyway? The #8 pick or something? Another year of rebuilding and trying to work a talented yet raw rookie into your system? I say get that #5 seed, beat the Hawks like the losers they are, and then figure out the second round when you get there.

I feel the need to reiterate: No one knows, so let's find out.

Meanwhile, I have little to say about the opening of the 2009 Phillies season, which begins in just about seven hours, other than the fact that I'm very excited and happy and optimistic. The Phils and I have been on quite an interesting journey since they got good a few years back, and it isn't ready to end just yet. They have the talent, they have the desire, they've got the whole city behind them, and they're the WFC, so if you're picking them to finish third or something, not that I'm naming names, Rob Neyer, well, we shall see won't we?

Last year I spent far too much of my time coming up with a Husker Du song to represent each player. This year, I decided to list the Opening Day roster alphabetically, and then use iTunes to just randomly assign a They Might Be Giants song to each of them. I have no idea what the point of this exercise was, other than to see if any of the titles would come out being even remotely relevant.

Joe Blanton: "See the Constellation"
Eric Bruntlett: "Love Is Eternity"
Miguel Cairo: "Lucky Ball and Chain"
Clay Condrey: "Letter/Not a Letter" (this is a pretty irritating song, sorry Clay)
Chris Coste: "Careful What You Pack"
Greg Dobbs: "I Can't Hide from My Mind"
Chad Durbin: "Even Numbers" (Durbin's uniform number is 37)
Scott Eyre: "Road Movie to Berlin"
Pedro Feliz: "Fingertips (What's That Blue Thing Doing Here?)"
Cole Hamels: "Dallas"
J.A. Happ: "Bastard Wants to Hit Me" (whoa! what?)
Ryan Howard: "Extra Savoir-Faire" (yes!!!)
Raul Ibanez: "Au Contraire"
Brad Lidge: "Heart of the Band" (this is a really terrible song)
Ryan Madson: "Fingertips (All Alone, All Alone, All by Myself)" (sorry Ryan)
Jamie Moyer: "Take Out the Trash" (?!?!)
Brett Myers: "Upside Down Frown" (hmm, maybe)
Chan Ho Park: "They'll Need a Crane"
Jimmy Rollins: "Fingertips (Who's That Standing by the Window?)"
Carlos Ruiz: "Anaheim" (will he be traded there, and replaced by Marson? Only iTunes knows for sure)
Matt Stairs: "Hovering Sombrero"
Jack Taschner: "We're the Replacements" (and indeed he is)
Chase Utley: "The End of the Tour" (good lord, I hope not)
Shane Victorino: "Toddler Hiway"
Jayson Werth: "Omaha"

Okay, that was an even bigger waste of time than I had expected. The off season and spring training was just way too long this year.

Time to play ball.

Go get 'em, champs.

My other observation about the World Baseball Classic is this: Baseball is simply not a sport that lends itself to the tournament format. The Major League Baseball season is perfect, because baseball is meant to unfold gradually over many months, during which a team finds itself. Players go through slumps and hot streaks, managers play around with lineups and rotations, the front office makes trades and waiver pickups and minor league callups; by September you know who your team is, and what it can do. That's the beauty of the sport, a beauty you won't find in a contrived tournament taking place over three weeks in March with a hastily-assembled roster of guys whose grandparents might have been born in Italy.

And now that I'm done trashing a thing that ended two weeks ago, it's time to concentrate on the more important things, that is, the impending home opener. I remain confident in this team, who I believe shall defend their title nobly.

By the way, I've taken to writing these entries in the early morning as a way to train myself to get up early and write, and it's been semi-successful so far. But there comes a moment when I really have to go get ready for work, even if I'm in the middle of a thought, and that time has arrived again. More tomorrow, unless I sleep in.