Phans

As long as I can remember I have been the epitome of a loyal, diehard, emotionally invested fan. From the age of 5 I was going to ball games with my parents and watching those phabulous philadelphia phillies - then known as the whiz kids. One of the players owned a bowling alley and we went there - I could name them all back then - Stan Lopata - Robin Roberts - Richie Ashburn - I think all of the players were white. Costa Rica and Puerto Rico and the Negro League were not even whispered in hushed tones. I think their second baseman was involved in a minor sexual scandal with a 13 year old girl (he was probably from Arkansas where they didnt know any better anyway). But no one really talked about it. You went to Connie Mack Stadium and you kept score. Not in a magazine but in one of those fold over cards with one of those awful stubby yellow pencils; and everyone really paid close attention cause this was important stuff.

And you grew up and the phillies pholded in September like Phil Mickelson did in the Open last Sunday - a phenomenal implosion that is still talked about and compared to the biggest chokes ever. But they were tired and the pitchers had no relief and Gene Mauch did the best he could.

And you moved away and there was no internet and no one in Chicago cared about the Phillies except you. And you couldn't become emotionally invested in the Cubs because the Phillies were already sucking the life blood out of you. Always giving you hope and then dropping you from the skyscraper of dreams into some horrible huge crash onto pavement; to be pitied for once more believing in them. Mike Schmidt came to Wrigley and smashed 4 home runs in one day and you wondered at this "superman" (gee i hope he didn't take steroids and hgh) and they gave you Kruk and Daulton and Dykstra and all was great cause now everyone loved the Phillies just like you.

Back to the Abyss and roller coaster ride and all the players who hated playing there or wouldn't even go there starting with Curt Flood and JD Drew; Rolen couldnt get out of town fast enough....They knew. Phillies and their Phans were in Sports Purgatory.

Finally, in my late 50's I had to give them up. They were going to kill me - emotionally I was vanquished. I divorced them and though I listen to them on the internet and I follow their exploits I can't invest - not like I used to.

I turned my attention totally back to college sports and just as I was now going overboard in my emotional investment in Penn State Football; Joe Paterno forgot how to recruit or coach and I thought I would die. That was the one area where we could be cocky - sitting on the top of the College Football Sports world was "our entitlement" because Joe did it right. He recruited only good kids, who studied and never had sex, never committed crimes and always showed respect for their elders. Then it all imploded at once. Bad Kids - lousy recruits - - kids in trouble - and we couldn't beat Michigan. When we couldn't beat Northwestern - when we could only get 2 safeties against Iowa. I thought death could not come soon enough. I had been reduced to being worried about Akron. Temple played us tough. We lost to a MAC school. Where would the humiliation end?

There was this glorious resurgence in 2005 at Penn State. The season flew by. Every game, except one, turned out right for the guys in the white helmets. I do have my beloved Nittany Lions who even in the worst of times are the epitome of sportsmanship. I now follow every NFL team that has a Penn State Player; Sundays are fun with out any emotional drain. Ah! The pure Joie d' Athletic.

Now I thought, with a new coach in Philadelphia maybe I could turn my attention back to the Phillies. Nope. It is always something. They have the bats but no pitching. They have the pitchers but they are all on the disabled list. They lose leads and turn slaughters into nail biters. I see now it isnt about the Sundays; it isn't about the Saturdays. The Phan thing that started it all will always be about those dysfunctional phillies and my emotional investment and the Sports Baggage I carry with me.