Another year, another tear: A Philly Phable

On Comet and Cupid! The Phanatic welcomes Jeff Glauser to its pages with this riveting, poetic piece about the course of Philadelphia sports.

By Jeff Glauser

Gather round kids and I’ll tell you a story
About something called Philly Sports Purgatory

It began long ago, in the year ‘83
What now seems like an eternity
Our president back then always acted real chipper
In fact, he did act, played a fellow named Gipper

Our sports teams in town indeed had it made
Just wrapping up yet another parade
For good reason you had far less boos than were cheers
That happens while observing four titles/nine years

Then something occurred, perhaps like a curse
But this was like something that could be far worse
No billygoats, Shoeless Joe’s, no ghosts of Babe Ruth
Only the brutal reality of truth

Our teams would stop winning, post seasons were rare
Some owners stopped spending, some seemed to not care
Even with talent, we got played a cruel joke
Teams got so far, then would seemingly choke

Peerless players existed, and when they arrived
The hopes reemerged for a team that’s revived
But hope wouldn’t last, and neither the player
And on the way out, they’d blame the naysayer

On Barkley, on Rolen, on Lindros, A.I.
Our heroes would leave us a bitter goodbye
Their lives would get better and ours would get worse
And so would continue this harsh nameless curse

Memories would haunt us, like Joe Carter’s home run
And McNabb’s Super Bowl heaving was surely no fun
Soon losses would pile, the heartache would swell
Was this what it’s like to be in sports hell?

Now here we are more than two decades later
Runners up several times, but not anything greater
And as children have children, the legend will grow
Passionate fans will have nothing to show

But as you get older, as anguish goes on
As our futile squads’ dusks turn into a dawn
Kids, never forget the rhyme to the reason
And that is our motto: There’s always next season!