“Klotz” As In “Blood”

Still without computer and internet access at home, what else to do on a rainy autumn Sunday after reading 3 newspapers but head on down to the Liquor and Rubber Balls Bar and Grill and Sports Emporium to watch the fate of my Philadelphia Phillies.

By now you know that the Phightins squeaked into the division title on the last day of the season — yesterday — capitalizing on a sensational winning trend in September (13 and 4) and a complete collapse by the New York Mets. The Marlins had a major role to play as well, kicking Mets ass yesterday and Friday at Shea (”The Sewer”) stadium.

It’s worth repeating that the gold standard of team collapses was set in 1964 by the same Philadelphia Phillies. With 12 games remaining and a 6.5 game lead, the team dropped 10 straight and finished second. Arguably, the event soured not just Philadelphia sports fans, but the entire city, making the citizenry the cranky, cynical, hostile savages you see today. Blame for the loss was universally attributed to the despised manager, Gene F. Mauch (guess what the F stands for), whose very name causes old-timers to ball their fists and curl their lips. (”I hated that sonofabitch so bad I cheered when his wife died of cancer,” one sympathetic fellow, a minister, told me.)

The 1961 Phillies lost 23 games in a row. And this year, the team set the Losing Record of Losing Records: the only sports franchise on the planet to lose 10,000 games in its history. Not even Reds Klotz and the Washington Generals have lost that many games, and they’ve been up against the Harlem Globetrotters for half a century. But thanks to yesterday’s culminating victory, for the first time since 1983, the Phillies enter the post-season. Sweet. Very sweet.

When I waltz on in to LRB’s yesterday, the patrons’ mood is not celebratory. Metfan had been opening his own vein for several weeks watching the team’s meltdown, while Yankeefan smirks visibly. Cubfan, secure in the NL Central, is just enjoying the show, looking for the end of the Cubbies’ 99 year drought. As for me, I’m the only Phillyfan, and I’m pretty goddam nasty about it because I’ve fucking earned it.

The Mets waste no time. They lose the game in the first 10 minutes. Future Hall of Famer Tom Glavine manages to give up 7 runs and record one whole out before he’s yanked like a buttplug, and the team spends the next 9 frames spinning zeroes for the scoreboard. It spectacularly, definitively punctuates a metldown season that will certainly brand this franchise permanently. I mention this casually, in a Philly-friendly sort of way (”Hahahaha! Your fuckin losers! You’ll die and rot and turn to shit before you fuckin live this down! Hahahaha!”) and offer to buy shell-shocked viewers beers to cry in. I am rebuffed. Imagine.

Five minutes later, Metsfan still staring in pop-eyed, jaw-dropped disbelief at the teevee screen, the Phillies nail down their 6-1 victory and win the NL East, ending the Mets agonizing season. Nobody offers me anything but a death look. I don’t care. Winners are like that, but how would Metsfan know that? That’s the difference between them and Yankeefan.

Absolutely it feels better that Metsfan suffers this loss while I get to celebrate. Yes, the ecstasy of victory is enhanced by the Mets’ agonizing defeat. That’s what growing up in the City of Bodily Harm, in the wake of the experience of 1964, has done for me. And for Phillyfan everywhere.

Last thing I see is footage of celebrating Phillies pouring beer on their manager. Yeah, beer, not champagne. My kind of team. Too bad Gene F. Mauch’s not around any more for a victory vivisection.