Friday, September 24, 2010

Observations from the Window 9.24

With my Phillies taking a break last night I found myself sitting on the roof as a simply stunning full moon hung over the city. It was 80 degrees at 9 PM on the first day of fall. I have no idea what, if anything, this means but I do know it was a strange feeling. Waiting for, expecting, even needing that change of seasons but being thrown back into summer with a cold beer in my hand. Thank the gods I didn’t spill it.

But my Phils are amazing aren’t they? A three game sweep of the Atlanta Braves finds them with a 6 game lead and on the brink of a fourth straight division title. It is as if they got to September, a month in which they their record is 15-3 so far, and flipped the turbo switch. With three ace pitchers who are seemingly unbeatable, their best record in twenty years, and 119 straight sellouts at home they are making a serious run at a third straight World Series. I have grown used to this October baseball thing and just love wearing my Phillies jersey in New York.

I know my being such a big sports fan seems bit bizarre. But I look at it this way, I’ll make somebody a totally awesome husband one day.

It is a love that goes way back and I always blame my dad for it. But it is also an escape, an escape for my brain so it doesn’t constantly dwell on the problems of the world and our supposed leaders unwillingness or inability to deal with any of them. It seems to me that sometimes the people of this country just want to hide in the past. A past that isn’t coming back and in fact never really existed in the first place. They want Oz and the Wizard and all they got was Bush and Iraq. Some just want it all but don’t want to give anything in return. They act as if there is no cost to bear but at the end of the night the tab has to be paid. Whether emotionally, physically, or financially the bill will be paid one day and god help us all when it comes due.

But there I go off on a tangent yet again.

Phillies/Mets tonight, the countdown continues.

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