So That’s What That’s Like (Part II)

By Steven Lienert
The Phanatic Magazine

(Editor’s note: Due to technical difficulties beyond Lienert’s control, Part II is being posted a day late. He apologizes to his reader. Also, today, 11/7, is his birthday. You only turn 37 once.)

Sunday, October 26th

After just under two hours of sleep, I awoke waaaay more refreshed than I thought I would. Perhaps I was still riding high from the Phillies’ late-night victory a few hours earlier, or I’m the biggest Eagles fan in the history of time, but for whatever reason I was good to go.

I got to work on time, shockingly enough, and I strolled into the Linc ready for 10 hours of work.

The Eagles systematically dismantled Atlanta, which I appreciated because after the Phillies’ bottom-of-the-ninth win earlier in the morning and Game 4 looming later in the evening, I really didn’t have enough energy to go through a nail-biting Eagles game.

I got done what I needed to get done, but by 6 p.m. I was in full Phillies mode and my co-workers knew it. Joe Dolan volunteered to take one of my stories off my plate, freeing me up to get to Game 4 in enough time to get my tailgate on.

My buddy Uhle (that’s right – I have a friend named Uhle) was being inducted as president of something somewhere not in Philadelphia, so he GAVE ME what was his World Series ticket.

The only caveat was that I had to meet his friend Del, a guy I had never met before in my life, in the parking lot before the game. It was a little sketchy—I was told to meet him at Pole M3 in the lot at 7th and Pattison.

When I got there, he was no where to be found. I thought for sure I was getting hosed.

Standing alone in the parking lot wearing a pin-striped Pat Burrell jersey and red-feather boa, I began calling out “Does anybody here know anybody named Del?”

(On an aside, there aren’t many people named Del. The last guy I knew named Del was John Candy’s character in Plane, Trains and Automobiles, so it was kind of like asking somebody if they knew anyone named Xander or Han.)

Anyway, after three excruciating minutes, Del emerged.

The first few moments were weird at best – Del had a pretty young girl offering to do unspeakable things to him in exchange for my ticket. If I had been a little more dorky or spoke like Screech from Saved By The Bell (that reference is for you, Mike Rushton), that girl was getting my ticket.

Thankfully enough, Del kept his word and we entered electric Citizen’s bank Park. I was at my second World Series game in less than 24 hours, which was pretty surreal considering everything I had to go through to get both tickets.

When we got to our seats, I was shocked – we were sitting in the first row of the upper deck in left field. Del’s boss joined us and at some point in the sixth inning, after several Sierra Nevada’s and with the Phils winning handily, Del got up to get another adult beverage.

We had been laughing and joking like we had known each other our whole lives and when he got up to get more beer I happened to mention that very sentiment.

The people behind us were shocked – one young lady refused to believe we had met each other two-and-a-half hours earlier.

But that’s what events like a World Series does for Philadelphia sports fans – it galvanizes us, bring us together and perfect strangers become the closest of friends.

I spent the last three innings of the ballgame a little inebriated, and I started ripping apart a few of those cardboard drink carries they give out at the concession stands. I tore it into really small pieces, kept the shards in the empty beer cups and then used the full cups to toss confetti over the railing after the Phillies won.

This was by far the highlight of the week for me. I had absolutely the best time I’ve had at a ballgame since Game 2 of the NLDS where we, as fans, intimidated CC Sabathia into walking Brett Myers.

We were a game away from winning our first world championship since 1980, (I’m not the biggest Sixers fan you’re going to meet. I don’t think its right to say that the 1983 NBA title was my last.) and out on the street everybody leaving the stadium knew it.

It was no longer a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when.’ I remember walking down Pattison Avenue back to the car for a little postgame pop. I was yelling at the top of my lungs to anybody that would listen, “Somebody get this 28-year old monkey off my back!”

A scruffy man in his late 40s promptly came up to me and planted a big kiss on my right cheek.

He said, “I love you, man.”

I replied, “The next time you kiss me like that you better shave.”

Philadelphia was on the cusp of ending its drought. It was like a cauldron has reached its boiling point and the lid was moments away from exploding off the top.

(To be continued. Part III of So That’s What That’s Like will hopefully be posted Saturday, but if it’s not come back and check out the exciting conclusion on Monday.)

If you hate this story, leave a comment below or if you like reliving the week that was, email Lienert at slienert39@gmail.com.