The Home Team

Hello everyone. My name is Scott and I’m a “homer.”

Hello, Scott. Welcome. 

The guys gathered last night to begin our 2011-2012 poker season and watch Game 2 of the NLDS. The featured game was our hometown Philadelphia Phillies versus the visiting St. Louis Cardinals. I had informed Marie we were going to take over the family room big-screen instead of the smaller TV in my game room. She did not seem to mind. Reason #685 why I love that woman!

To a man, each of us was sporting a Phillies’ shirt, cap or both as part of our evening apparel. Keep in mind, unlike women who discuss (for hours) what attire and accessories will be worn before the big night out, no calls, emails or text messages were needed for these dudes. It is second nature, like knowing beer goes well with all the major food groups. 

Lauren was watching the game at her boyfriend’s house before heading back to college. Truth be told, Brian has done wonders these last few years, helping my daughter gain an appreciation of the local sports teams, as well as gain a better understanding of sports in general. As such, the kid is scoring major beaucoup points on the early son-in-law leaderboard!

We (fans) have long ago learned we must wear the “colors” on gameday to hold sway over the opposition. Okay, so besides wearing jerseys and caps of the local teams, how exactly did I become a Philly sports fan?

For me, it was definitely my Grandpop Martino (my mom’s dad), and of course my father, who took the time to explain the hallowed sports lineage of the Philadelphia teams to me. Like DNA passed down from generation to generation, I was taught the basic “Rules of Philly Sports,” first as a youngster growing up in Northeast Philly and then a few years later living in the suburbs of South Jersey. Maybe these will sound familiar to you as well.

1) Bobby Clarke was a Hockey God. But we don’t count Bob Clarke’s years as Flyers general manager.

2) The Dallas Cowboys may be America’s Team, but we hate them here in the City of Brotherly Love.

3) Speaking of hate: We hate all teams from New York, whether they actually play in The Big Apple or in that dump collectively known as the Jersey Meadowlands. Old school NY teams or expansion NY teams, we despise them all. Repeat after me: We despise them all. Apologies to Brian and Jack, well sorta ...

4) Pete Rose may have been banned from baseball, but he taught a bunch of good-but-not-great Phillies how to win a World Series Championship in 1980.

5) Dr. J was not only The Fish that Saved Pittsburgh (horrible basketball movie), but was a real-life basketball star that helped the Sixers win it all in 1983.

I have vivid childhood memories of being at my grandparents' house during certain holidays when sporting events were on the television 24/7. The Phillies were my Grandpop Martino’s favorite team! And when it wasn’t summertime, college basketball games ruled the Martino television airwaves. Because of grandpop, I could recite the entire starting lineup of all the Big Five (city) college teams better than I could my multiplication tables.

When I returned back to my home turf, my dad schooled me in all things baseball and football. Together in the early 70s, we learned about this “new” sport called ice hockey and came to love the local team nicknamed "The Broad Street Bullies."

I had my infamous “Sex Talk” during a Saturday afternoon baseball game—Mets v. Cardinals in the early 70s. Guess mom was out of the house that day? I can also remember being 10 years old and only being able to stay up for the first two periods of the Flyers games on a school night. However, in the morning when I came downstairs for school, there would be a small slip of paper on the kitchen table with the results of last night’s game with my dad’s handwriting: Flyers 3, Bruins 2. The news seemed better than my (then) favorite breakfast consisting of Pop Tarts and ice cold milk.

We religiously wear the home team jerseys in public, while outwardly proclaiming our undying allegiance to our favorite sports teams. In recent years we have also taken to wearing the elementary, high school and college teams’ jerseys and jackets of where our kids attend or teams they play on, as we cheer mightily for (their) home team. Like some sort of civic pride initiative, we band together with these people (fanatics) holding the same sports ideologies near and dear to our hearts! We even find ourselves secretly cheering along when our alma mater advances far into a Final Four bracket or wins a college football bowl game. Bumper stickers and team logos routinely grace our cars and team flags fly in the front yards of our homes and attached to our cars.  

We rejoice out loud and seem to walk with a lift in our step and a subtle smile in our hearts when we awake in the morning knowing the home team won the Big Game last night!

Admittedly, it seems pretty ridiculous that this 50-year-old man even cares about the game last night or the playoffs at this stage in my life. Deep down it is really my 10-year-old inner child that hopes and prays this is the year the planets align and my favorite childhood team goes all the way!

After all, the beauty of all sports competitions is that this year—yes, this year—I truly feel will be our year. It is something that cannot and will not be defined by science or logic. I can just feel it. If we can only obtain a goalie, a middle relief pitcher and offensive line, then maybe, just maybe, this will be the year!

You see, sports franchises are not (truly) owned by billion-dollar multinational companies or even millionaire entrepreneurial owners. Invariably, all teams will change colors and logos, players will get traded and acquired, managers hired and fired, and even on the rare occasion, teams will be relocated in the almighty name of economics and greed. 

In the end, the home teams survive and exist because of the fans. 

In our most passionate, crazy, ill-advised and glorious moments, it is we the fans that remain the lifeblood of the organ-I-zation. I mean how else can you explain the popularity of WIP Sports Talk Radio?

We buy the tickets that fill the seats in the arenas and stadiums. We rejoice in the victories and curse the defeats. We dissect the games and strategize the on-the-field moves from our offices, homes and in front of our personal computers. We perform this ritualistic behavior, week after week and season after season. And each year we collectively gather, like some crazy mass therapy session, drinking the orange, red or green Kool-Aid (depending on the team) and look to the heavens proclaiming “Sports Gods, please let this be our year!”

Dear God,

Screw the company’s freaking 401k retirement savings plan. Besides, it really will not matter, as I will more than likely still be working when I’m 80 years old. Instead, before I die, please let me have (at least) one more Flyers and Phillies championship season. This will guarantee a ceremonial parade that I can attend with my daughter and father, so that I can truly die a happy man! Until further notice, please move this latest request ahead of trophy model wife, hole-in-one and beach house.

Respectfully,

Dyed-in-the-Wool Philly Sports Fan

I type these words as I stare at my daughter’s high school senior prom photo. A photo showing Lauren dressed in a beautiful gown and me in my Winter Classic Flyers jersey. What did you expect? It was the same night as Game 7 of the 2010 Flyers v. Bruins Eastern Conference Semifinal game. I ask you: Is this not normal behavior? Please do not answer this utterly rhetorical question.

It started with my Grandpop Martino, my dad, me, and now my daughter. It’s my God-given right and obligation to pass along these legendary Philly sports stories of (occasional) triumph and (mostly) heartbreak to her. To attend the games with her in person and watch them on television with her when our busy schedules are in agreement, just like I did years ago with my father and my grandfather. 

What she does with this sacred Philly sports knowledge will be totally up to her.

P.S. God, just kidding about that 401k comment above. My bad. No hard feelings, right? Oh yeah, that last sentence is just between you and me. Remember, God and human “privileged communication." Go Phillies!