Baseball: There's Nothing Like a Winning Team

Alas, October baseball is upon us. Once again, our work and school days drag out as we wait for that first pitch to be hurled. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year...if your team makes the postseason. Months ago, during the Flyers' improbable run at immortality that fell short of a Stanley Cup to the better team, I wrote about the psychology of sports. The premise of the piece: why does the concept of sports make us happy? During that sudden, came-out-of-nowhere run, I had an incredible time. Every game was a party. Anytime your team makes the postseason with a legitimate chance at proving themselves as the undisputed best team, you're going to have fun. When the Eagles went to the NFC Championship Game four straight times and the Superbowl once, the work and school weeks felt like years leading up to those Sundays. Every postseason trip of every sport turns into a party for said team's fans. The atmosphere of the city and the stadium is nothing less than electric. The further into the playoffs your team goes, the crazier and more electric the party becomes. Which brings me back to the baseball postseason. Here in Philadelphia, celebrating the success of the Phillies beyond September has fallen from unique to routine. What was once a rarity in this city has become an annual tradition. The novelty of October baseball has faded in this city and that's not a bad thing. If I had to choose a Philadelphia team to be successful year after year, I would pick the Phillies. Why? Because baseball is the best sport to have a successful team.

I don't want to downplay the fun I had during that Flyers run, any of the Eagles runs or the 2001 Sixers run. Those were some good times to be a Philly sports fan. But when the Phillies are successful, it's just more fun.

Hear me out:

I know it's cliche, but I'm going to say it: Baseball is America's Past Time. The folk lore of The Great Bambino, Joltin' Joe DiMaggio, Yogi Berra, Ted Williams and countless more, resonate throughout the hearts of baseball fans across America when they sit down and watch their team play October baseball.

Baseball is a game of unforgettable numbers that are forever married to unforgettable names: Hank Arron, 755. Joe DiMaggio, 56. Cy Young, 511. Pete Rose, 4,256. Nolan Ryan, 5,714. Cal Ripken, 2,632. Ty Cobb, .367. You get the point. The hair on the back of your neck stands up when discussing these ridiculous, legendary career performances.

When your team excels in baseball, there is so much history to talk about and to compare.

On October 8, 1956, Don Larsen threw the first no-hitter, and only perfect game, in postseason history. That name and that accomplishment seemed untouchable and even laughable if mentioned as a wish. Then, on October 6, 2010, Roy Halladay no-hit the Cincinatti Reds- a game that will go down as the second greatest game ever pitched. The rarity of this accomplishment makes the moment almost as special to the fans as it is to the player. I don't know about you, but I'd rather see a Phillies pitcher hurl a no-hitter in the postseason than see Mike Richards score eight goals in one playoff game. I'm just saying.

Perhaps the most important number in baseball, and the cardinal reason why October baseball is so euphoric, is 162. The baseball season is 162 games long. In six months, there are a total of 18 days when the teams do not play baseball. Six of those 18 days (three Mondays in August and three Thursdays in September) are often used for makeup games. Teams play double headers. Teams will play in one time zone one night and another the next night. Baseball is a marathon. There is no such thing as a baseball team having an amazing season from beginning to end. Take, for instance, the Phillies. In May of this season, the Phillies went 30 scoreless innings spanning over 119 plate appearances. Those 30 innings included a three game sweep by the Mets in which the Phillies did not score a single run. Fast forward to October 3, 2010, through a string of sporadic losing streaks and scoring droughts, the Phillies finished 97-65: the best record in baseball.

A lot can and does happen in 162 games. Winning streaks, losing streaks, scoring droughts, injuries and personnel changes are what make baseball, baseball. The highs and lows of the long season makes achieving a postseason spot so sweet.

Finally, having a successful baseball team is the ultimate gift to sports fans because you have six months to endure with your team. I love getting home from work on summer nights and watching the Phils. Sitting on my couch in the basement, with the back door open and beer in hand while watching the game is one of my favorite ways to spend a night. More so, there's nothing like a night at the ball park. Not too many things in the world are better than tailgating on warm summer evenings with a bunch of your best friends. Then, those warm evenings become brisk nights, and that's when you know you have a good team.

Some of us have played football. Some, hockey. Some, basketball, soccer, ran, rowed, swam, bowled and golfed. But all of us have played baseball. It's America's sport. It's competitive but endearing. Challenging but charming.

Those of you who know me know that I'm an avid sports fan. You've seen me at my best and at my worst with all my teams. You also know that baseball is my passion. Obviously, this post is completely biased, but I made a strong argument. Right?

Oh, and in what other sport can you watch your team get hammered after certain wins? That's some good reality television.

What a Wonderful View

Since I started driving in April of 2004, one of my favorite places to drive was I-95 South between Center City and the stadiums. In that ten minute span you got an interesting point of view of South Philly. You could see the streets, the tops of houses, the balconies, and the overall endearment that South Philly so naturally possesses. Philly has a reputation of being a tough, gritty, blue collar town and South Philly is the epitome of said reputation. I'm sure drivers from up and down the East coast enjoyed the view as well.

The view from I-95 North between the stadiums and Center City was spine tingling. The Philadelphia skyline never gets old. After living in London for three and half months, my first view of the skyline on that drive back from the airport was chilling. The hairs on the back of my neck were steadfast but my body was putty. Again, I'm sure any outsider enjoyed the view as well.

Both views are no more. Sound barriers have gone up on that portion of 95. I'm pissed. Both 95 North and South just became more boring than they already were. No more charming South Philly houses. No more captivating skyline. What this basically does is hide Philly. Sure, you can see the skyline from numerous other spots on 95, but that particular view, in my opinion, was the best. As far as a view of the neighborhoods go, brief glimpses of the Northeast are the weak replacements we are granted.

The reason for these barriers is a mystery. I walked the streets of South Philly both day and night. The noise was not overpowering or even notable for that matter. I'm sure some of you are saying, "Well, Dave, try living there. I'm sure the residents had trouble sleeping..."

Think again: http://www.philadelphiaspeaks.com/forum/queen-village-bella-vista-hawthorne/13666-anyone-live-close-95-noise-question.html.

Enjoy that.

Another reason for the barriers could be protection. This too, would make no sense. Have you ever heard of a car going through the 3 ft. high cement barrier with a steel barricade on top and landing on the streets of South Philly. Neither have I.

I don't see the reason for it and I never will. I could probably just google the answer, but I want it to be a mystery because sometimes resentment is fun. Right?

Older Than My Entertainers

I woke up one day and I was 23. I didn't believe it the day I woke up, and I don't believe it now. That's not good. I don't believe it because I'm stagnant. I'm right where I was when I was 22, and 21, and 20. You get the point. At one point in time, 23 seemed so old and so grown up. It doesn't anymore. I'm struggling to pay my student loans with a degree in journalism that, to this point, has not done much for me. Sure, a few interviews here and there, a few articles, but it seems that without 5 years of professional experience in the publishing world the working world has little to offer. How does that make sense to somebody who just earned their journalism degree?

This is not meant to be a "woe is me" post. That little anecdote was to let you, the reader, know where I'm coming from. Now, at 23, my two main points of entertainment, music and sports, are made and done by people who are younger than me. That's weird to me. It all started when I was 21 and heard a few songs by the band All Time Low. The songs were catchy, so I decided to give them a chance by putting effort into listening to their music and showing a bit of fandom. Upon this fandom, I found out that three of the four members were 20 and one was still 19. That was a weird moment for me. And so it began: me being older than people in positions that I once idolized.

I know everybody goes through said phase, but I think what is most disheartening for me is my lack of full time employment despite my draining search.

Shortly after my first encounter with younger success, the Eagles drafted DeSean Jackson, who is my age. The next year, they drafted LeSean McCoy, who is younger. Flyers star, James Van Riemsdyk, is younger than my younger sister, pitching phenom Stephen Strasburg turns 22 this year, neither the Braves power hitting monster, Jason Heyward, nor Marlins outfielder, Mike Stanton, can legally buy beer. The list goes on and on and on. It will continue to go on, so I'll stop talking about it. It's just weird for me. My dad told me to get used to it. I will, eventually.

I enjoy seeing bands like Taking Back Sunday and Brand New simply because the crowd is older- which makes for a chill time. It creates a nostalgic bond between everybody in the building. Perhaps a subconscious reason for my fondness of these shows is that the bands are older than me. I'm not sure if that's a reason. Maybe. That's the beauty of subconscious thought.

I currently play guitar and I remember playing just about every sport there is. I was good, but in retrospect, I really wish I tried harder.

Like I said, I'd be dealing with this a lot better if I was employed full time in my desired field. In the field I invested over $50,000 over four years to get into. I know I'll find something eventually.

If you're going through the same phase, how do you feel?

This is me venting. This is me ending this post.

Subcultures and Transcendence

"Youth Culture: Identity in a Postmodern World" is a collection of essays written by various PH.D's in psychology and analysts of youth culture with their take on, well, youth culture. Linda Andes, a research professional in the youth culture realm, wrote an essay called "Growing Up Punk: Meaning and Commitment Careers in a Contemporary Youth Culture." In a nut shell, the essay describes the phases one goes through when they grow up in a certain subculture. Using punk as her vehicle, Andes is covering all subcultures in the essay. One phase that caught my mind and stuck to me was the "transcendence" phase. In my own words(a shorter and simplified version of Andes' explanation), the transcendence phase can be described as the time when one doesn't necessarily leave their subculture, but begins to announce themselves less and less. By "announce themselves less," I mean a change in one's style of clothing, how one acts and how one judges others. There are many other traits that be can attributed to subcultures as well. The reason this phase hit me so hard was because I realized that I'm in this phase.

Let me take you back to 2003. I was a sophomore in high school and Taking Back Sunday and Coheed and Cambria were still relatively unknown to the general public, and thus, "cool" to listen to. Not only were they "cool" to listen to, but it was "cool" to dress like them and look like them. Growing your hair long, wearing ultra tight jeans that projected the outline your crotch, wearing shirts and hoodies that made it difficult to breathe, listening to bands that wouldn't be caught dead on MTV or on Y100, playing your instruments like the bands, hanging out with similar people, and harshly judging those unlike yourself all fall into the subculture that I belonged to. I believe it was called "emo" by most outsiders, but I'll save that rant for another day.

Anyway, fast forward to the present. I'm sitting at my laptop wearing khaki shorts, white Reebok's and a slightly tight Phila. Dept. Of Rec. Golf Camp t-shirt. Oh, and I have very short hair. I still listen to Taking Back Sunday, in fact, I even went to their show a few nights ago. I also still listen to Coheed and Cambria and plethora of other bands that fall into the same music genre. It's the music I like. It's the music I prefer. I used to feel the need to tell the entire world that I listen to said music with the way I dressed and how I grew my hair. I enjoyed the polite stares from others who were like me. I enjoyed the unspoken bond formed with numerous people a day. It was fun at the time, but in retrospect, it was also exhausting. It was exhausting caring so much about how my hair looked and waiting for it to get longer, worrying about the next shirt I bought and if it didn't hug my chest well enough, and hoping my jeans were tight enough.

I no longer feel the need to announce my involvement in the subculture. I wouldn't say that I've left the subculture. I still listen to the music and occasionally go to the shows, but the only people who really need to know that are the ones who already know: my friends and family. I don't need a million fake friends out there brought together by a style of music and dress. By no means am I bashing subcultures either. They're a beautiful thing. They give you an identity. They bring people together for a common cause. My days under the command of a subculture helped me meet a good amount of my friends, helped me discover some amazing bands, and gave a solid definition to my teenage years. I subconsciously wanted that result. If I could go back in time, I would do it all over again.

There are some people I know who haven't yet reached the transcendence phase, and maybe they never will. That's cool too. To each his own. For example, the two subcultures that seem to never let go of their followers are the "gangsta" subculture and the "athlete" subculture. I still see the same old gangstas from high school wearing t-shirts down to their knees, high top sneakers, and shorts down to their ankles while sporting shaved heads with pointed sideburns that go along great with the tough sneer permanently engraved into their faces. I also see the same old athletes, and former athletes, wearing socks with their Adidas slip-ons, basketball shorts, and a lanyard with their keys and some kind of ID card attached to the end.

Call it growing up, call it "getting what I wanted and that's enough," or call it whatever you want. I'm in the transcendence phase of life in my subculture and I'm enjoying it. I'm not longer exhausted. I'm content. I'm content with my clothes, my hair, my friends and my life. My subculture helped me achieve that. I didn't even realize my change in overall style and mentality until I read the Linda Andes piece. It's so subtle to the person going through it.

I could be wrong.It's quite possible there is no such thing as a "transcendence" phase. Perhaps phases don't exist. Perhaps subcultures don't exist. Maybe one's style is one's style. You decide.

Sports: The Outlet

This past Sunday, June 6th, 2010, handed to me one of the worst work days I have ever had. A plethora of catastrophes piled up and news of altered shifts resulting in hour cuts devastated me. The one thought that consistently brought my spirits up was the fact that game 5 of the Stanley Cup Finals was to start at 8:00PM. The series was tied at 2 games apiece and the Flyers looked unstoppable in the two previous games. Every time this thought popped into my head I must have looked like a different man.

But I had to ask myself,"why?" Why do I care about a group of men playing a sport? Why do I care about a group of guys, some younger than me, that are making six figure salaries while I'm struggling to get my life started? The outcome of the games have no dangerous effect on my life. If they lose I'm not going to die. I'm not going to lose my car. My girlfriend won't leave me. My friends and family won't abandon me. The reasons for why I shouldn't care are never ending, but the reason for caring overpowers every reason against caring.

It gives us something to be happy about.

Sports brings millions of people together for a common purpose. A good purpose (most of the time). What else would America do September-January on Sundays if it weren't for football? What would we watch on lazy summer nights if it weren't for America's past time? And specifically, in Philadelphia, what would we have been doing the past two months if it weren't for one of the most euphoric runs in Philly sports history?

Those answers are simple: 1.) If it weren't for football, September-January Sundays would be like every other Sunday of the year. 2.) If it weren't for baseball, we would watch some other tv show on lazy summer nights. 3.)If the Flyers weren't in the Cup, life would be moving just fine.

All of the above is true, but none of us would be as happy.

Everybody wants a reason to be happy and sports is the perfect answer, especially if your teams are good. Name one other event where you can dress like an idiot and act like a maniacal beast stuck between an orgasm and seizure screaming at the top of your lungs.

Yes, sometimes a passion for sports is taken too far. Violent occurrences are known to happen at sporting events, but that doesn't mean all 45,000 in attendance are involved. So aside from a few bad apples a season, the passion is a beautiful thing.

Some people take sports to their grave... literally. As we all know, Texes has the highest execution rate in the country. If you ever look up a website with the last words of those executed you see quite a number of "How 'bout them Cowboys!" On a more sentimental note, you hear all time about people being buried in their Phillies hats and Eagles sweatshirts. It's what sports does. It makes people that happy. It is a regulated reason to be happy, and if your team takes you to the Promise Land (Championship) you get a parade.

I'm as passionate as they come. I lost sleep the first three times the Eagles lost the NFC Championship Game in 2002, 2003 and 2004. I cried when the Phillies won the World Series. I held back tears when they lost the World Series; and I'm not afraid to admit that no matter the outcome of this Amazing and Historic Flyers run, I'll probably spurt a few tears.

People look for happiness in some strange places, and trust me, sports are not strange.

Go Flyers!