Flying Above Water

"I can see clearly now the rain has gone."

If the Flyers were reading their own press two weeks ago, they might have been tempted to feel that they'd figured something out. That everything was going to be fine. But 40-year-old veteran Mike Knuble, in his second go-round in Philadelphia, knew better.

"Eh," he said, following the historic beatdown of the Islanders in Uniondale. "Talk to me on Thursday, and I'll tell you how we're doing."

Thursday, of course, was the day after another epic showdown with the hated Pittsburgh Penguins. I don't know about you, but I was starting to worry that we'd cashed in all of our collective good breaks against them in last season's playoff win. I'm practically still in disbelief that we beat them--and relatively badly--in the opening round. (In related news, NBC was apparently also in disbelief, as their ad for this season's opener mentioned "Claude Giroux and the Flyers have their sights set on revenge for last season's playoff loss to Pitt." Never mind that NO ONE refers to the Penguins, or Pirates for that matter, as "Pitt." How hard is it for someone in the production team to research back...to not even ten months earlier? What is that?)

Which is why the Flyers 6-5 victory in Pittsburgh was, and remains, noteworthy. It wasn't just a hugely needed win over an arch-rival and perennial Eastern Conference contender. It was the kinda game Philadelphia teams usually lose. Down 2-0, I'd bet most of us resigned ourselves to the fact that it was going to be a long and painful night. But then a funny thing happened: the Flyers scored the next four goals, taking the lead on a Jakub Voracek goal with 9.9 seconds left in the second period that looked awfully like the overtime winner in Game 1 of last spring's playoff series. But then another thing happened, this one not so funny, and all too familiar: a 5-3 lead dissolved to a 5-5 tie with 2:03 left in regulation. I dreaded overtime, or worse, another shootout loss. And then the funniest thing of all happened. A fluky, bad-bounce, just-throw-it-at-the-net piece of something from Voracek caromed into the net off of Pittsburgh goalie Tomas Vokoun. Exactly the kind of goal, exactly the kind of storyline which Philadelphia seems to almost always be on the wrong side of. But this one, this magical bounce of vulcanized rubber, went our way. And just as suddenly as the Consol Energy Center had been, well, re-energized, the place was struck silent.

Now, it seems like the Flyers took two steps back after a couple of huge steps forward, laying an enormous egg on home ice to the hapless Panthers, needing a third-period comeback to hold off the Jets, and another thud against the resurgent Maple Leafs.

But then GM Paul Holmgren swung a trade with Los Angeles, bringing fan-favorite Simon Gagne back to Philly for a 4th-round draft pick and a Pat's steak wiz wit. That, combined with Scott Hartnell's return to form (following a return from injury), and Ilya Bryzgalov getting back to the pace he's been at nearly all season, led to Wednesday's flattening of Alex Ovechkin and the Capitals, followed by a gritty, old-school win against a very talented Senators squad. And don't look now, but the Flyers have won three of four, and are finally at the .500 mark.

"I can see all obstacles in my way."

Tuesday at the Rangers. Thursday versus Pittsburgh. Saturday at Boston.

As they say: this is where we separate the men from the boys. Show us what you got.
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Other musings:

I know it's a few weeks back already, but I'm still not over what Pittsburgh winger Matt Cooke did to Ottawa's budding star Erik Karlsson. In case you missed it, Cooke lifted his skate blade and came down right on Karlsson's achilles tendon, slicing it and ending his season in one fell swoop. I can't believe how many knowledgable--and not so knowledgable--TV personalities are so quick to say it was an accident. Commentators have said what Cooke did was completely routine, a "hit and pin," according to former player Aaron Ward. And then there's guys like this, who say that accusations like mine are "completely insane," that because he had a rough run in his life and vowed to be a changed man for his team, it would be absolutely impossible for a competitive person, let alone one with the history of this guy, to do such a thing intentionally. So let me get this straight: a guy has a change of heart and vows to be a better teammate and person, and that's it? Everything bad that follows must be an accident? Certainly doesn't seem like the standard of forgiveness extended to, say, Michael Vick, now does it.

All I can say is this: in the 25 years or so that I've been watching hockey--and I watch a lot of hockey, not just Flyers games--I've never seen a guy do what Cooke did. The thousands of pileups in the corners, the drives into the boards that I've witnessed, I've never once seen a player come down with the blade of his skate on the most vulnerable part of an athlete's body. Never.

So I might be in the tiny, "crazy" minority here. But you and I know both know they'd all be singing a different tune if that skate was part of an orange and black uniform.  

Something To Believe In?

Maybe we won't look back to Presidents' Day as the turning point in the Flyers' 2013 season. Maybe it'll be seen as just another in a series of "ups" in an up-and-down season. Maybe it'll be nothing more than a historical footnote of dubious honor for the New York Islanders.

But maybe not. Maybe today's 7-0 drubbing of the Isles--the worst home loss in their once-glorious franchise history--will be viewed as a fire kindled from sparks that flew this past Saturday night in the visitors' locker room in Montreal.

After another mind-numbingly flat performance that saw Flyers road record fall to 2-8, the fraught emotions finally boiled over, bubbling to the surface, with the captain, Claude Giroux, leading the charge, against the entire team, including himself. "It's unacceptable the way we played tonight," Giroux said. "It's not just one or two or three guys. It's the whole team...We're just going through the motions." It was nothing we hadn't read in the papers or said ourselves. But it means something different coming from the players. And it means so much more coming from the captain.

The Flyers could blame injuries, most notably to G's linemate Scotty Hartnell, and Andrej Meszaros on D. They could lament the loss of Jaromir Jagr, the catalyst for Hartsy and G's breakthrough seasons last year, to free agency.

But none of that explains why seemingly everything has been upside-down from 2012. None of that helps solve the mystery of how the biggest question mark entering the season--Ilya Bryzgalov--became the only consistent answer.

And besides, in the immortal words of my good friend Sweet Brown, "Ain't nobody got time for that."

Today was the 17th game of a 48-game season. Math wasn't a problem for me until geometry, trigonometry, and everything spatial, so I can tell you with a fair degree of confidence that we've entered into the middle third of this lockout-shortened season. And needless to say, this third is starting out a tad better than the first.

The blowout victory was exactly what the team, the organization, the fans, and the doctor ordered. As a fan, you want to know that the frustration, the disappointment, yes, the anger you feel is shared by the ones causing it, the ones who are supposed to care more than you. It's briefly satisfying to hear guys calling each other out when they deserve it, to learn of things like players-only meetings. But then there's the "now what?" And today was the answer.

Giroux scored two goals, his first one just 26 seconds into the game, and assisted on Matt Read's tally 15 seconds into the 2nd period. Cause that's what a captain does. Danny Briere also had two goals and an assist. Cause that's what a veteran leader does. And Bryzgalov? Well, the hardest working man in Philadelphia finally got the shutout he deserves.

With Hartnell and Meszaros hopefully returning soon, maybe our boys are getting back on track. And maybe this holiday will be one worth celebrating again in retrospect.  



  

Guess Who's Back?

"Don't call it a comeback.

I've been here for years." 

--LL Cool J

Okay. So it's a comeback.

After many, many months (years?) of shallow attempts and false starts, I decided that today would be the day I return for real. 

So here it is: the brand new "World of Philly Sports (According to Strom)" blog!

Okay. So it looks exactly like the old blog.

But the new format is going to be shorter, more frequent posts.

Why today? 

Today is the day I realized that I started writing this blog in June of 2008. And what happened that fall? That's right. The first World Series championship of my conscious lifetime, the first in any of the four major sports in Philadelphia in 25 years. 

So today we're officially bringing it back.

Because, while we know better than most fans that it could always get worse, the current run of luck (or lack thereof) in Philly sports is downright disheartening. So, rather than succumbing to the bitterness, the self-pity bordering on depression, the head shaking, shoulder shrugging, throwing of hands up in the air and looking to the sky for some higher power to scoop me out from this existence known as being a Philadelphia sports fan, I offer you this.

May it be some kind of karmic prayer for our fortunes to change. 

Amen.

(More to come real soon!)

Flyers Quick Take - 3/19/12

Just watched yesterday's epic battle against Pittsburgh...in extended highlights, cause I missed it entirely. But why should that stop me from some quick thoughts?

1) Bryzgalov is looking GOOD.

2) How much are you loving Hartnell, now that he's become disciplined enough to let his potential shine through? 33 goals and 62 points? Whoa.

2b) The man drilled his shot. Once to tie, once to win with a second left in overtime. But the game-winner was all about the vision and the pass of Danny Briere. I think his health is one of the greatest general barometers of how this team plays. 

3) These guys (this Flyers team) are actually playing really well right now, and probably, at their best, at least about even talent-wise as both the Rangers and Penguins...as long as 1) continues to hold true...

3) And all three of those teams, I'd argue, are at least on par for the moment with Boston, the defending champs.

4) And, though I confess it is perhaps slightly hyperbolic, I would say with some measure of confidence, and all due respect to Ken Hitchcock, who i respect greatly, Peter Laviolette is the greatest Flyers coach of my lifetime. Coming back from down 3-0 in a series and 3-0 in Game 7 will lead a man to say such a things, and not undeservedly. So... 

5) ...why not us?

Many worse teams have made much deeper runs. ('06 Oilers, anyone?) And Lavy won the Cup with a team far less talented than his current one (the Hurricanes that needed 7 to best those same Oilers.)

5b) Yes, they are one of about 10 teams that are legitimate Cup contenders. And the future is bright, even if it's not this year. So I really don't expect it to happen, but...

...if everything comes together just right, this team is definitely good enough to win the whole thing.

I'm just sayin'.

Still Rather Be Us

I'm sure that many of us are familiar with the smash-hit, puppet-driven Broadway musical, Avenue Q, and one of the more hilarious and famous songs from it, a little diddy known as "It Sucks To Be Me." After a sports season dubbed "The Year That Wasn't" by the Inquirer's Phil Sheridan, as well as my recent triumphant (I hope) return to the blogosphere, you could say that "It Sucks To Be Me" was as good a theme song for Philadelphia sports fans as any. And maybe--again, with the obvious exception of 2008--that's historically true as well.

But I'd like to present to the jury a recent episode of Sesame Street (I'll take "Things Stashed Away in My DVR To Appease My Almost-Two-Year-Old" for $400, Alex), which revolved around inclusion and bully prevention. After Big Bird makes multiple changes to himself in his efforts to be welcomed into "The Good Birds Club," he learns that he doesn't and shouldn't ever have to change in order to be accepted. And so the gang comes up with its own group, and sings the new club's theme song, "I'm Happy To Be Me."  

So I'd like to take this opportunity to share a very important silver lining that I've discovered as a Philadelphian living in the Big (Rotten) Apple of New York, the ultimate of enemy territory. Certainly it's no substitute for a championship; after all, what is? But I think that my observations of what has happened here since the Giants won the Super Bowl may just be of philosophical significance to all of us, helping us to feel at least a little bit better about the ever-trying existence we live everyday.

And what I have observed here essentially amounts to this:

Nothing.

Oh sure, there was a big old ticker-tape parade down the obnoxiously-named "Canyon of Heroes." Sure, all the people who raced to the store to buy their first jersey only after winning the NFC Championship were the first ones to get the Super Bowl hats and shirts. But by the time the weekend came, the Giants had come and gone from the foreground 

By who? That's right. Jeremy Lin.

Guy comes off his friend's couch, leads the near-miserable Knicks on a string of dramatic victories over bottom-dweller teams, and, just like that, the afterglow of what was a pretty fantastic and equally unexpected championship run had already completely faded from the picture.

It may just be the worst part of this whole sporting disaster now known as 2011. The entitlement felt by an overwhelming majority of New York sports fans inhibits them almost entirely from appreciating and enjoying what they actually have. And that is, of course, a championship. They expect what is unreasonable to expect--a winner in every sport at all times, so that when a team does come through, they're only doing what their supposed to do. It's like during the '09 Series against the Yankees, when one of the daily rags was giving away signs that said "26 to 2," as if asking, "Which would you rather be? Us or you?"

And the answer is: I'd rather be the "2." I'd rather be a member of a fanbase that never takes a winner for granted, that appreciates tremendously how many individual things have to go right, even with incredible talent, for any professional sports team to win it all. I'd rather be in a continual state of usually-hopeful realism than be twisting in the bipolar sports fan's world of, as Ricky Bobby would say, "if you're not first, you're last." I'd rather be from a place that has just one team in each of those sports, to feel some kind of sense of pride and solidarity and unity both in the ups and downs, and not to have ask people from my own city which team they root for.  

So I'm officially joining Big Bird's "Happy To Be Me" club. Membership is, as always, open to the public.

Do you remember what it was like in and around Philly in the months following the '08 Series? It was like the weight of the world, the dark cloud of 25 years of suffering, had been lifted, and its legacy was months (at least) of ecstasy. Wearing the shirts, the hats, seeing the shirts and hats on others, people in good moods, smiling, making eye contact on the street. It was sensational.

And there's none of that here. Worse, there's nothing even remotely close to anything like that here. It may as well have been the latest outburst from Charlie Sheen, cause the world here in New York has moved on like a passing breeze to the next flavor of the month. As if to say, "It's March now. The Super Bowl was so last month."

You can call me jealous. You can call me Lin-sulted. But all it's made me is happier to be a member of this club.

Always the Groomsman - Super Bowl XLVI Post-Mortem

One of my best friends in the world lives in LA and works in the movie biz. Jared and I have known each other just shy of 20 years now, and over that time, I have seen enough to know that he is the single luckiest guy I've ever met. Case in point: we went to a Philadelphia Phantoms minor-league hockey game when we were in high school. Walking around the concourse, Jared saw that they were firing t-shirts into the crowd. He stopped, turned to us and said, "I'm gonna go get a shirt." Never mind that maybe a dozen or so of these things get fired into a crowd of at least 12,000 people. Never mind that he didn't really know where the shirt-catapult guy was basing his operation. Jared walked in from the concourse, caught a t-shirt without changing direction, turned back around and came back to us, victory in hand.

You can't make this stuff up. And you couldn't script it any better.

Jared is a lifelong fan of the St. Louis Cardinals in baseball, and the New York Giants in football.

See where I'm going with this?

Since Jared got married this past July, he has watched both of his favorite teams go on miracle runs to the championships of their respective sports.

The Cardinals staged an other-wordly comeback in the wild-card standings to make the playoffs, knocked out two teams far superior to them in the regular season, and, one out away from being sent packing in Game 6 of the World Series, came back twice in the 9th and 10th innings to tie, before David Freese forever became a household name in the state of Missouri, and the annals of baseball history.

The Giants went 9-7, making the playoffs because the NFC East was a four-team punchline. Before the regular-season finale, my man Tim Cowlishaw tweeted, "The NFC East: Where a team that got swept by the Redskins will play a team that got swept by the Eagles for the division title." Beating the Falcons at home? So what? But then they rolled over Green Bay at Lambeau, with a Hail Mary at the end of a half. Then they stole a game they should have lost off of the knees and hands of Kyle Williams. And then Tom Brady's first play from scrimmage in Super Bowl XLVI was a safety, a guy who was a substitute teacher when the season began intercepts a pass intended for a Pro Bowl tight end, one of the game's most reliable and consistent receivers suddenly let "clutch" slip through his fingers, and the &%$!#@ Giants are Super Bowl champions. Again.

They're the first 9-7 team ever to win a Super Bowl since the league expanded the schedule to 16 games. Statistically, in yards allowed per game, they're the worst defense ever to win a Super Bowl (which would have been true no matter who won, cause the Patriots were even worse.) They're the first team ever to win it all despite being outscored by their opponents during the regular season (400-394).

But none of that matters. Unless you're in the movie business and are looking for the amazing storyline. Cause they just won the Super Bowl. Period.

So all that's been rattling around in my head since Brady's Hail Mary fell short is: Why? Forget my question, as a Philadelphian living in New York, of why do these New York fans deserve this? Of the ones who cared and didn't just come out of the woodwork in the last three weeks with their brand-new hats and jerseys, most of them were calling for Coughlin's job two months ago, already waving the white flag on the season. No. The question is one of absolutely unbridled self-pity:

Why does this never happen to us? Always the groomsman. Never the groom.

Remember the 2008 Eagles? They went 9-6-1, cause the Bengals were so good that year, we couldn't beat OR lose to them. That was Week 11. But on the last day of the season, both the Bears and Bucs lost, so that the winner of our game with the Cowboys would make the playoffs. And we won 44-6. Road playoff wins over the Vikings and Giants set up the unlikely NFC Championship game with the Cardinals. Down 24-6 at halftime, the Eagles roared back to take a 25-24 lead on that 62-yard pass play to DeSean Jackson.

And if it had ended like that, leading to a Super Bowl appearance against the Steelers, the script would have written itself.

But we know how it ended. With another Philadelphia thud, the kind that hurts the most because you'd nearly given up, then had your hopes fully restored to foolish levels, so that coming back to reality was a more precipitous drop.

Remember the 2010 Flyers? Made the playoffs on the last day of the season with an unlikely shootout win over Henrik Lundqvist and the New York Rangers. As a seven-seed, kicked the crap out of the Devils in 5, which set the stage for the greatest comeback in sports history, from 3-0 in the series, and 3-0 in Game 7 to Boston. Exploited home-ice advantage against the also-overachieving Canadiens to make the Stanley Cup Finals. Tied up Game 6 late to force overtime.

Again, the script writes itself. Patrick Kane's weak short-side goal that only he and Michael Leighton knew went in ended everything, and we were left in our all-too-familiar state of crushed depression.

Even with the '08 World Series, Philadelphia is still a championship-starved city. So much so that we couldn't care less if the story is poetic or epic or dramatic. Nary a Phillie fan's soul gave a hoot that the Series was won in a game that took three days to complete.

So while the story behind a championship doesn't matter, why does it seem the greatest stories in sports history are always scripted--and completed--everywhere else? 

All I've got today is that the last time the Giants won the Super Bowl, the Phillies went on to win the World Series.

And hey, there's always next year, right? Right???

From the Ground Up

"Thought I'd reached the point of no return,
but came back under the radar.
I've been there ever since." --Little Feat

"And now I'm sneaking
under the radar;
And now I'm creeping
under your nose." --Rolling Stones

From the days before Thanksgiving to the last-minute shopping days of the holiday season, the Flyers, it seemed, couldn't buy a victory. A team that, at least on paper, was stuffed to the gills with talent, experience, and character, couldn't beat anyone. From November 20th to December 21st, the boys in black and orange went an embarrassing 3-13-1. John Stevens was fired from the head coaching position on December 4th, but new coach Peter Laviolette didn't fare much better, winning just two of his first 10 games with the team.

But then, mysteriously, something clicked into place. Maybe it was the return from injury of Simon Gagne. Maybe it was the team's emergence from the learning curve of Laviolette's new aggressive-yet-disciplined style of play. Maybe it was the aftermath of that (first) wicked snowstorm. I don't know. But I do know that that was the end of the nightmare before Christmas, and the team many had hoped was a sleeping giant, was finally roused from its deep slumber.

Since December 23rd, the Flyers are 19-8-2. At the moment, they cling to the 6-spot in the Eastern Conference playoff race, with 72 points. They're only five points behind the Ottawa Senators, on whom the Flyers have two games in hand. They're just seven points behind the hated--and suddenly swooning--Devils at second in the Atlantic Division, fourth in the conference. (Since acquiring superstar sniper Ilya Kovalchuk from Atlanta, New Jersey has lost six of nine games, including back-to-back 3-2 losses at the hands of our resurgent Flyers.) And while the Canadiens are only two points behind in the 7-spot, they've played three more games than Philly.

That's the good news. The bad news is that, as a result of the pre-holiday futility, every game is essentially a playoff game. The standings in the East are tighter than that pair of jeans from college you're still trying to squeeze into, the difference between sixth and 11th being just seven points. And while Washington and Pittsburgh made moves before the deadline that probably make them even more formidable, the Flyers did nothing. Though I wasn't thrilled with this, being Optimist Prime, I'm very much okay with it. It's still a very good team, and any player that might have been of interest would have cost too much talent to acquire. In the end, Sam Carchidi of the Inquirer said it best when he wrote: "The problem is that the Flyers are potentially a very good team in a conference that includes two great teams."

So that's my key to all of this. For the Flyers to be able to make a serious run at breaking a Cup-less stretch halfway into its fourth decade, they need to finish, at worst, in the 6-seed. They need to avoid both the Capitals and the Penguins, hoping that at the very least someone else knocks them around, at the most that someone upsets them. Those are the only teams in the East that strike an iota of fear in me, and I do think we can hang with both in a seven-game series.

After all, the 2006 Edmonton Oilers proved once and for all, that the most important things are to make the tourney, and to end the season strong. They were the eighth-seed in the West, and reached Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final that season. So, very literally, anything is possible.

But let's make the playoffs first.
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Other Musings:

I was thrilled to get back to the NHL season, but I will miss the greatest international hockey tournament ever played, even if my DVR won't. What I won't miss, however, is the incessant Day-O chants. Despised it before. Now it makes me want to stab between my toes with an ice pick.

It seems to me that Luke Wilson has worn out his welcome. Those AT&T commercials are so snarky and obnoxious. Besides, the question for his friend to win $1 million is the capital of Peru? And you cheat to get it right? So many things wrong with that. (Note: I had incorrectly written "Owen Wilson" at first. See my friend Kevin's comment below.)

With the creativity level of sports nicknames in a coma, I have to applaud the Kevin Durant's moniker, the Durantula. That's good stuff right there. Also from the name department, the Latvians had a hockey player named Ankipans. Still can't stop laughing from that one. Just say it out loud to yourself. Then you'll understand.

I had been deeply concerned that the new Gatorade would have to lessen its 'G' content in order to make it healthier. But my fears have been assuaged: G2 has half the calories, but all the 'G.' Thank God.

Memo to the Eagles: The reports are true. Free agency has actually begun.

Anyone else crazy-psyched for baseball season?

Bird-brained

"I'd like to shake your hand, Disappointment,
Looks like you win again." --Neil Young

There are no words. Except maybe one: ich. Not "ick." "Ick" doesn't quite cover it. Not that "ich" totally does either, but that guttural "ch" sound makes it a somewhat more appropriate reaction to Saturday night's debacle.

But I'm a blogger. Considering my last post was the day before Halloween, and we'd only played two games of the World Series at that point, I wouldn't blame you if you forgot about me. But I'm technically still a blogger. So there have to be words. And believe me, there are. And though I'm a sorry excuse for a blogger at the moment, my new year's resolution is to get back to the grind, or at least not let two and a half months go between postings. Besides, there is no sorrier an excuse for someone or someones posing to be something else than your very own 2009 Philadelphia Eagles.

Chances are I won't be saying anything in this blog that each of us hasn't said (or screamed) already over the last two weeks; the one difference being that I won't use any expletives or obscenities (no matter how much this team may have earned it). But perhaps it will help the venting process--hopefully for you, most definitely for me. So, in the immortal words of the Joker (how appropriate), "Here...we...go."

The defense was--how shall I put it?--not good. (I know, I know. "Thank you, Captain Obvious.") The rushers were dominated by that dirty cheater Flozell Adams, whose Native American name is Trips Defensive Linemen. The three-headed monster of Marion Barber, Felix Jones, and Tashard Choice made the line look like Swiss cheese. They didn't blitz enough, and when they did, it was picked up so easily, Romo didn't miss a beat. Not that he needed so much time, with the secondary looking flat and stunned the whole game ("Oh! You mean Romo might be targeting his Pro Bowl tight end Jason Witten? Didn't think of that!" "Wait, wide receivers can go into the middle of the field, too? Whoa!")

In every off-season, it seems, in recent history, some fan favorite is let go by Andy Reid, met with not a little bit of public outcry. It happened with Hugh Douglas, then Jeremiah Trotter, then Jevon Kearse. Each time, when everyone asked how Reid could let them go, vowing that we would rue the day of that player's release, it never came back to bite us. None of them went on to do anything substantial--at least, in Trotter's case, not with any other team, and even then, his productivity in the second stint is still nowhere near that of the first. So, I learned to give Andy the benefit of the doubt, at least in this realm. If these guys were being released, there must've been something they saw--or didn't see--that we have no idea about.

But what was proven, one of the things we learned over these last two weeks in Dallas, is that the Eagles sorely miss one Brian Dawkins, both in play and in heart. It's clear to me now that letting B-Dawk walk away from the place he wanted to end his career was a pretty big mistake. This isn't to say that had we kept Dawkins, we would have won either or both of these games. There were too many things that went wrong to be so simplistic and inaccurate. But they certainly would have been much closer.

Yet, no matter who's playing defense for you, they're going to be thoroughly exhausted when forced to play a shade under 40 of 60 minutes. And why was it that the defense was seemingly never allowed off the field? That's right: because the offense was pitifully inept, not to mention miserable to watch. Either the O-line gave Donovan no time, or there was no one open downfield, or Donovan characteristically threw to the feet of his receivers. I'm so glad that we traded a first-, fourth-, and sixth-round draft pick to acquire Jason Peters, who, when he's not getting burned for a sack, is getting flagged for false start penalties and continuing to block players seven yards out of bounds. It's called a snap count, Jason. Look into it.

And speaking of snaps, I'm sure I'm missing something, but how hard is it to snap the ball to your quarterback? In all of my years playing touch football, I never snapped the ball off of my butt. Anyone out there had that problem? Didn't think so. That's Pee Wee League stuff.

I love how Donovan entered onto the field--laughing, dancing, running right up to the barrier between him and the fans. Oh wait, no I don't. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the whole routine. The laughing when he overthrows receivers for what would be easy touchdowns, trying to look like he's so loose and cool under pressure, when time after time, all he demonstrates is that he simply can't handle it. And it's not just with his arm. You know what the great quarterbacks do when they need a first down and no one is open? THEY RUN. They scramble out of the pocket and they find a way to move the chains. This is true of every great quarterback, regardless of whether or not they were considered "mobile." Elway did it. Montana did it. Young did it. Heck, Roethlisberger did it. These guys weren't exactly the speediest or most elusive. Donovan is, or, at least, he was. But you'd never know it watching him now. When the stakes are highest, Donovan never seems to rise to the occasion. Ever.

What I saw over these last two epic failures, where there was so much to play for, was a team unprepared, uninspired, and undisciplined. And that goes back to the coach. Everything mentioned above--the shortcomings, the flaws, the mental errors--all trickles down from the top. And that's you, Andy. I didn't get to blog about it, but the final straw for me was the Chargers game, with all of those opportunities to score touchdowns--a first and goal from the 1, to cite just one example--yet always coming away with, at most, three points. That was when I was done with Andy. Now I can't even stand the sight of him. You know what they have on NFL teams now, Andy? This crazy new invention called RUNNING BACKS. You can use them to--wait for it--run the ball! How can play-action work if you haven't established a running game? Why should a team prepare for anything but the pass when you only have your backs run maybe 10 times a game? Is there a brain in there? Why don't you call timeout after you've already received a delay-of-game penalty? I'm sorry, Andy, but you're an idiot.

Perhaps we shouldn't have been so surprised or disappointed. After all, there was just one win this year against a team over .500, and an 0-4 record against teams that made the playoffs. And, as much as we all would rather stick toothpicks under our toenails than admit it, the Cowboys are a better team.

But it would've been nice, especially after watching the Packers' valiant efforts on Sunday, to see some fight in this team. Against the odds, in a hostile environment, down a couple of scores, to know that you gave all you had and left it all out there on the field. The Eagles didn't even roll over. They never showed up.

When we all knew it was over, perhaps even at 7-0, Matt texted me the words: "February 17th." When I texted back what happens then, he said: "Pitchers and catchers report."
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Other Musings:

I really like the Windows 7 commercial with the somewhat-dorky guy in glasses. The girl comes in and says, as though she's ratting him out and trying to embarrass him, "He called his mom." And he doesn't even miss a beat, so unashamed, as he says, "Of course I called her. She needed to know this."

"Never send a truck to do a Sierra's job"? Really?? Like, seriously?? Wow. And you know the guy who thought of that is really proud of himself.

In general, I think the Bud Light commercials with the "Too Light/Too Heavy" thing are obnoxious, like most commercials overcompensating for terrible beer. But I have to admit: The paintball one gives a little chuckle. Something about "Bravo Delta, this is Echo Charlie" that makes it work.

Mark Sanchez gained a lot of points with me today, when I heard his reaction to Pete Carroll's signing on to be coach of the Seahawks. If you remember how Carroll reacted to Sanchez's decision to go pro, then you'll probably appreciate the cleverness of this, even if it doesn't give you a laugh like it did for me.

Showdown

"So. It is down to you. And it is down to me." --Vezzini, The Princess Bride

I had dreaded it for months. Working as I do on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, I hoped the day wouldn't come. But, of course, it happened. Mariano Rivera struck out Gary Matthews, Jr., and the hypothetical became reality. A Phillies-Yankees World Series. To say that I'm in the thick of enemy territory is like saying that LeBron James knows a little something about basketball. I had to put a sign on my office door that says, "No se habla beisbol aqui" in between the teams' logos.

Yesterday was a nice day to come into work, especially after all the classless garbage seen in the Gotham tabloids this week. The Post ran a cover that screamed both amateur and immature, calling us "Phrillies" and "Phrauds." How clever. The Daily News ran a headline that said, "Silly-delphia thinks they have a chance against NY." Oooh. Silly-delphia! Crushing!

Cliff Lee put to rest forever the few lingering questions and murmurs concerning some pitcher on the Blue Jays whose name I can't remember. Chase Utley wasn't impressed by CC Sabathia's prior dominance over left-handed home run hitters. And the Yankee bullpen let a close game get out of hand, raising more red flags (double-meaning intended) for an arrogant and obnoxious fanbase.

Today? Not as good a day to come into work. Last night was frustrating. But let us first give credit where it's due, as compared with the New York news channels, who began their broadcast as if someone had died, blaming the Yankee bats rather than appreciating the masterpiece that was Cliff Lee's outing. AJ Burnett pitched beautifully. Occasionally he was helped out by certain players forgetting that it's impossible to get a hit with the bat on their shoulders. But that doesn't lessen how good Burnett was. He deserved the win. Pedro Martinez pitched well, and gave his team a real chance to win, which is all you can ask for from your starter. Though I never give up until the last pitch, I knew it was all but over when Chase grounded into the double play in the 8th. You don't get many chances like that off Rivera. So when you do, you have to cash in.

The silver lining, of course, is that we did get the split in New York. The Yankees had the best home record in baseball, and we took one in the Bronx. Now we head home for three. The word "amazing" is entirely overused in our vocabulary nowadays, but that would be precisely the appropriate adjective if we can sweep at home and repeat as champs.

I'm looking square at you, Cole Hamels. For Halloween, I'd love to see you dressed up as you from 2008. Think you've got that costume stashed away somewhere?
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Other Musings:

Does the Eagles' offense know that byes only last one week? As my friend Shwa once said in a similar win over the Redskins a couple of years ago, "Only the Eagles could win and still make you feel like crap."

A couple of logical questions for Fox and other broadcasters of sports: How can there be a "game-changing" or "game-saving" play when the game isn't over yet? How can you have several players, like the "Eagles defensive line," be the "player of the game"? It's like when John Madden used to put ten guys on his asinine horse trailer. And by the way, I can't tell you how much I don't miss that man.

Have you heard the annoying whistle for PC Richard & Son? It sounds like something you should do when your car blows a tire. It's like the Dragnet theme they play at the Wachovia Center when the opposing team gets a penalty against the Flyers. It's certainly not a positive sound. And then I noticed they play it after strikeouts thrown by Yankee pitchers. Hated that place before. Hate it more now.

Enough with "DAY-O." It doesn't mean anything, you never play the next line, and if that's what you need to keep the crowd in a ballgame, your fans are idiots.

And, so that I end on a positive note. For fun, a great article by Gene Wojciechowski on ESPN.com giving fifteen reasons why the average fan should root for the Phillies. Also, in a great article by Jayson Stark, he provides some awesome perspective: "It wasn't so long ago that this franchise had played in two World Series in its first 97 seasons of existence. And now it's about to play in its second in 12 months." As my boy Kevin texted me, "I never thought I'd live to see a team like this."

Somehow, Some Way

I never give up hope. If I've learned one thing as a Philadelphia sports fan over the years, it's that as long as there's time left for something dramatic to happen, it can and very often will.

And I never gave up hope on Monday night. Not completely. But after the bottom of the 8th inning, when the Rockies put up three runs to take a 4-2 lead, even I, Optimist Prime, prepared myself for a Game 5 that would somehow be even more intense than Games 3 and 4. I was already in a text conversation with my friend Matt, who had tickets to Game 5 in Philly for Tuesday night:

"What we feared would happen last night happened tonight. Looks like you're going to the ballgame tomorrow night."
"I can't go. Gotta teach."
"You gonna sell it?"
"That's the plan."

But that wasn't the plan. Not for the Phightin Phils. Two strikes, two outs in the ninth, down two? No problem. Sure, I'd been sitting at the bar with my friend Tim silently praying and thinking of all of the amazing two-out rallies this team had put up in the past. But I was figuring out how soon I could get home from work Tuesday night so that my drawn-out heart attack could resume.

Then Utley walked. And then Ryan Howard rocked a game-tying double to deep left. And then, I thought, "This is awesome. Now I have to prepare for extra innings." But again, this was not part of the plan. Jayson Werth, redeeming himself for an ugly strikeout earlier in the game with runners on, drove a single to right center, and as suddenly as possible, the Phillies were winning. Un. Believable.

And so, heading into Game 1 of the NLCS rematch against the Dodgers, let me just say this: I expected the division. We should have beaten the Rockies, but that is with all due respect to them. They were a very good team, especially at home, and we needed to play our best ball to beat them. So, kudos to the Rockies. And big kudos to the Phils, the Road Warriors, rising above freezing temperatures in a place not friendly--in terms of record--to visitors.

It goes without saying that we can beat the Dodgers. But I don't expect to, not in the way I expected to repeat in the East. If the Rockies are a very good team, the Dodgers are certainly near the "great" category. And so, this series is going to be exciting, and could obviously go either way. And as such, combined with the fact that--in case you forgot--we did win it all last year, I'll be somewhat okay if we can't beat LA again. In my mind, the series hinges on the performance of one man. It's not Cliff Lee. It's not Ryan Madson. It's not even Brad Lidge. It's Cole Hamels. If Cole can be even 80 percent of what he was last year, we win.

The call here is that he does. Phillies in six.
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Other Musings:
I'd like to personally thank Miller Lite. Not for the unique brewing process in which hops are added three times. But for the fact that I had been wondering what greatness tastes like. Now I know.

Anyone notice the Olive Garden commercial with the frat guy from Road Trip? I can't find it online, but you know who I'm talking about. Every time I see it, I want to yell, "Psi! Chi! Psi! Chi Chi!"

If you haven't seen this yet, this is literally one of the most amazing things I've ever heard. They're naming it the call of the year. Might be the greatest call of all time. Check it out.

Saints and Sinners

"Was it business or personal?"
"A little bit of both."
--The Usual Suspects

When I started writing this blog, I made an unofficial promise to myself that I would uphold and maintain, to the best of my ability, a separation of church and state. In the context of this blog--as well as that of my religion--I understand that using that term is perhaps funny, perhaps inappropriate. Perhaps both. That even though there are several overlapping aspects and practices associated with both my religious and Philadelphia faiths, I made the choice for this space to focus on the latter, avoiding the ample opportunities to bridge the gap between my two worlds. (I know that I bent that rule in calling the delightful 44-6 drubbing of Dallas the Miracle of Chanukah. But come on. That was literally irresistible.)

But in the vein of the honesty and forthrightness that this time of year calls for from people of the Jewish faith, I must confess: in celebration of the traditional second day of Rosh HaShanah, I didn't see a snap of yesterday's game.

So all of my commentary on it comes from highlights, stats, and the perspectives of friends and family. Yet, as I learned that the final score of yesterday's beatdown was Saints 48, Eagles 22, I realized something not a little perverse: that missing yesterday's game, in its entirety, was God's new year's gift to me. Happy 5770 to Josh.

A lot of people shared with me that Kevin Kolb, in his first career start, was not so much to blame, and that the fault lies primarily with the defense. To these people, I pose the question: what did you expect? That Drew Brees wasn't going to find his receivers? The man threw for over 5,000 yards last year. 5,000. You had to know he'd score some points.

The truth is that this was all about expectations. Fans are less likely to point the finger at Kolb this week because everyone--absolutely including myself--came into yesterday with little to no hope of his doing well. In six games last season, he went 17 of 34, with four interceptions, and a pathetic quarterback rating of 21.8. Why Andy Reid chose this guy was, and probably still is, as inexplicable as why his name is pronounced "cobb." At least in part because the bar was so low, 391 yards was a pretty impressive number, even if he did have 51 pass attempts.

Yet the real story of the game seems to be Kolb's mistakes, crucial in both magnitude and timing. First and ten from your own 3 with 1:40 left in the first half of a game tied at 10. Knowing how potent the New Orleans offense is and that they have two timeouts, you gotta figure you have one job in that situation: get one first down. At the very least, take enough time off the clock and give your O a little more space so that, if you have to punt, you don't have to do it from your end zone. Give Brees a short field, and he'll kill you for a TD almost every time.

Added to the frustration of that costly three-and-out is the basic fact that the Saints are not exactly known for their defense, ranked 23rd in total defense last season. I did give Kolb credit for actually running a one-minute drill and getting a field goal back before the half. (Perhaps finally arriving into Andy Reid's vocabulary are the words "clock management.")

I know that the Ellis Hobbs fumble to start the second half is certainly not Kolb's fault, especially when he was carrying it like an idiot. But on the next possession--your first of the second half and immediately following a bad, quick touchdown the other way--you can't get picked so easily inside your own 25. That's twice in a row Brees is starting inside your 30. And on the next possession to go three and out again, against this defense, says you're not doing what you need to be doing, to establish a rhythm and get the momentum going back the other way. Only when Hobbs redeemed himself with a 63-yard return from the 2, and Kolb was the one with the short field, was he able to cash in, his only score of the second half.

I hope I don't sound too hard on Kolb. He's 25 and has limited experience. He may end up being whatever Andy saw that made him want him so badly. All I'm saying is that because our expectations of Kolb were as low as I think they were for most of us, it changes what we view as the things that went wrong in this loss.

While 48 points is a lot to give up, only ten of them came on lengthy scoring drives (two), where the Saints' starting field position was inside their own 35-yard-line. That means your special teams and your turnovers on offense (three of four being Kolb interceptions) are the real cause of your loss. Not your defense. Not against Drew Brees.

But it's all good. Sure, it's a bummer to lose your home opener, but McNabb should be fine (speaking of faith), the Saints are pretty good, and besides, it's the guy's first start. Obviously we all hoped for the best yesterday, but raise your hand if you really believed we were going to win.

That's what I thought.

But it's tough not to feel good about Kansas City and Tampa Bay after the bye week.

I'm just saying.
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Other Musings:

The Phils' magic number is down to six over both the Marlins and Braves. A sweep of the three-game, two-day series with Florida eliminates them. It'd be nice if we were division champs by the weekend. Good news is they still have something important to play for. Obviously the best record in the NL would be ideal. But even if we can't catch the Dodgers, getting the 2-seed would be huge, both for home field advantage in the first round, as well as the elimination of either Los Angeles or St. Louis, should we make it that far. 3-seed would likely mean having to play both.

It seems that the art of the original slogan has all but died. "It's either Bridgestone, or nothing." I don't know if what's on my car is a Bridgestone. But if it isn't, I have a feeling it's still a tire, and it's probably better than just a hubcap.

Anyone see the Wendy's commercial clearly poking fun at Friday's, et al.? I have news for you: Friday's got rid of flair and that entire uniform eight years ago. I know. I worked there.

Pet peeve I've long intended to bring up: the playing of Harry Belafonte's "Day-O" at baseball games. Don't misunderstand, it's a great song, not to mention triggering recollections of that unforgettable scene in Beetlejuice. But they always play just the first one. They play it, everyone repeats, then a pause so that it's not even keeping a rhythm, followed by a repetition. Whose idea was this anyway? Either play the song, or put it away.

Everytime I think Chris Berman can't get any more obnoxious and ridiculous, I'm always proven wrong. You'd think I might have learned by now.

I'm really happy for Guinness celebrating its 250th anniversary. That's definitely cool, and I don't even mind this new sponsorship of my favorite show, Around the Horn. But the next person who yells out, "To Arthur!" is going to get punched in the face. I'm just saying.

An Open Letter

June 26, 2009

Dear Philadelphia Phillies,

I know it's been a while since we last spoke, and for that I apologize. Yes, I've been busy with work and everything, but aren't we all? That's not much of an excuse. Though I haven't always been able to watch you over these last few weeks, I'd still say I've been following you pretty closely. My 15-second refresh button on my phone is how I survive eating dinner in the same room where my wife is watching The Bachelorette.

When I think about why I haven't written a word about you in several months, it's probably a combination of a) the fact that I was still basking in the warm glow of the days (and official merchandise available) since October 29, 2008, and b) the faith I was clinging to that the early season roller-coaster ride would smooth out, that the sheer talent of this team would raise them above the NL East, not to mention the resolve and experience of having just won. I still hoped that winning it all would relieve some of the pressure, that a small dose of relaxed confidence would tremendously benefit this team over the course of the season.

I wanted to write a quarter-season review, give you guys a report card of sorts, after you took two of three in the Bronx against the Yankees on Memorial Day weekend. The strange thing about that series was that you should've swept them, and yet you almost lost the series. No disrespect whatsoever to Brad, whose perfect season is perhaps the greatest in the history of closing, and without whom we all know we'd never have won the whole thing. But Brad has been almost as bad this season as he was good last.

To say that this is all on Brad is not only unfair, it's wholly inaccurate. Madson has yet to prove himself the next dominant closer we all thought he would be in Brad's absence. The bullpen as a unit has slipped, failing to keep the team in tight games in late innings. The hitting with runners in scoring position and number of men left on base are statistics that have been far from in our favor as of late. I know I'm not telling you someting you don't already know, but since taking a terrific two of three at Citi Field in Flushing, you've now dropped ten of twelve games, including six in a row at home to Toronto and Baltimore.

My friends know me as something close to an eternal optimist, always the positive, karmic Philadelphia sports fan. They look to me to be the one raising people's frustrated spirits with a reminder to always keep the faith. And you should know, if you don't hear it enough from me, that I continue to, and will always, have and keep my faith in the Philadelphia Phillies.

But it has been more of a challenge to maintain that role, confidently asserting to friends that you will be there in the end. Please don't misunderstand. I don't expect to win the World Series again this year. I have no doubts that you are talented enough to be right back in that winner's circle. But to expect it is unfair, both to you and to us, only setting everyone up for disappointment.

I am disappointed, however, in the missed opportunities of late. Especially while the Mets are momentarily riddled with injuries and question marks. Even playing slightly-better-than-.500 ball would've made a little space between you and the rest of the division heading into the summer. I feel very fortunate, as I'm guessing you do too, that, at least until tonight, you're somehow still in first place. Meaning that, as bad as it's been, the division's still yours to lose. Most people, including our neighbors in Queens, would have to agree with that.

So, gentlemen: the weekend in Toronto offers fresh opportunity. It is a chance to close out strong what has proven to be a tumultuous month, to get this train back on the tracks. I know you can do it. Show me. Show us. Tonight.

Always yours,
Joshua H. Strom

Going Out With a Whimper

"So close, yet so far away." --Hall & Oates

"Today I sing tomorrow's song." --Phish

The world was a beautiful place.

Danny Briere's power play goal had given the Flyers a 3-0 lead at home over rival Pittsburgh four minutes into the second period. Fifteen seconds later, toughguy Daniel Carcillo beat the living snot out of Maxime Talbot, exiting the ice with an energetic salute to the riled-up faithful at Wachovia Center. All the momentum was swinging our way. Visions of a miraculous series comeback--or at least a Game 7--danced in our heads. All was right with the world.

I was jumping up and down with excitement. I was about to turn to my friends and say that the last Flyers player who won fights and then saluted the crowd like that was Dave Brown.

I didn't have the chance.

Talbot skated off the ice and put a finger up to his pursed lips, as if to say "shh" to the Philly crowd. He must have known something we didn't. Because fourteen seconds later, former Flyer Ruslan Fedotenko poked home a loose rebound, and the momentum vanished. And Briere's goal, enormous for not a whole minute, would be the last of the season.

Sure, there were a couple of saves that should've been made, like on Sid the Punk's game-tying soul-crusher at the end of the period. (Marty, you gotta snag that out of the air.) Sure, Jeff Carter's sudden inability to score didn't help. And sure, the officiating was absolutely offensive in its rampant inconsistency and blatant favoritism towards Pittsburgh's dynamic duo.

But this loss isn't on the refs. And it isn't on Marty. It's on everyone.

Saturday afternoon didn't hurt so much because we lost. Once we went down 3-1 in the series, I had resigned myself to the fact that it was over. Not that I gave up hope for a comeback, mind you. But I was prepared that the season would end. Between that and the manner in which this team finished the regular season (especially the home loss to the Rangers on the last day that kissed home-ice away), even I, the eternal optimist, had significantly lowered my expectations. And I wasn't wrong.

No, Saturday's loss hurt because for 52 of the 60 minutes of game time, the Flyers didn't show up. It was all reaction, not action, like the entire game was a glorified penalty kill. Once the Pens tied the game, we could feel the end was near. The problem was, the players did too. There was no urgency, no desperation, no fight til the final horn sounded. There was nothing. And since you get out of something exactly what you put into it, here we are.

In a seven-game series, the better team wins. Plain and simple. Many complain about the length of the hockey postseason, and they're entitled to have their own ignorant, wrongheaded opinion. The Penguins were the better team and, along with Boston, are the favorites to represent the East in the Stanley Cup Finals. So, I'm okay with losing to a better team. I just wanted to see some fight, some pride, just something. Anything. And I got nothing.

I still really like this Flyers team. As said multiple times throughout the season, the pieces are in place, both at the pro and minor-league levels, to be in contention for a while. Carter, Richards, Briere, Gagne. And you have to love the breakout of Claude Giroux. There's nothing that he doesn't do, and he's 20. Just wait til our #1 pick and Jersey native James van Riemsdyk hits the ice. Last season we overachieved, this season we underachieved. Get me a shutdown, physical defenseman like what Derian Hatcher used to be, and maybe an upgrade at goalie, and we're a Cup contender.

Be sure to tune in next year, friends. Same Flyer-time, same Flyer-channel. But hopefully, a different result.
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Other Musings:
In the meantime, an almost completely opposite dynamic was in play in Florida this weekend. Down 3-0 to the Marlins in the ninth, all was wrong with the world, no Phillie could hit, and I was wondering if we'd been spotting teams 3- and 4-run leads before the game even started. By the middle of the ninth, it was 7-3 Phils. By the end of the weekend, the Marlins were swept.

I've actually been watching the Sixers. They came all the way back last night to tie it at 81, and then Hedo Turkoglu drained a 3 with 1.1 left on the clock, and home-court advantage went back to Orlando. Sad.

In other news, the Eagles are still actually operating. The draft brought us a great wide receiver in Jeremy Maclin from Missouri, and running back LeSean McCoy from Pittsburgh. I'm happy with what I know of both of these players, and I like the acquisition of cornerback Ellis Hobbs from the Patriots. But I'm especially excited by the fact that we now have a DeSean and a LeSean. How many teams can say that?

I saw a guy at the gym the other day wearing a Yankees world championship t-shirt. This is the essence of what I hate about Yankees fans, because there's no better representation of how they feel about winning it all. It's to be expected, an entitlement. So much so that you wear the shirt to work out in. I haven't even taken mine out of the package, let alone worn it.

I like how the commercials for the new Mets stadium call it a "world-class home of baseball." They just wanted to use the word "world" and couldn't follow it up with "champions."

I really like the commercial for the Kia Soul with the hamsters. A great social commentary, but what really makes it is the little nod the passenger gives out the window.

Lastly, I almost bought a case of Bud Light when I saw this in Philly a few weeks ago.

A Banner Day

"You once wrote,
'There comes a time when all the cosmic tumblers have clicked into place,
and the universe opens itself up for a few seconds
to show you what's possible.'"
--Ray Kinsella, Field of Dreams

You can call it coincidence. And I know most of you will. But I happen not to believe in coincidence.

On Saturday afternoon, Philadelphia said a tearful final goodbye to Harry Kalas, legendary voice of the Phillies for nearly four decades.

On Sunday, something magical happened. Or rather, somethings magical happened.

The Phils were down 4-0, in danger of losing their third in a row at home to the lowly Padres. Then Chase Utley hit a two-run shot in the sixth to make it 4-2. Then Jimmy Rollins came off the bench, with five hits in his first 40 at-bats this season, and smacked a pinch-hit homer, and suddenly it was 4-3. Ryan Howard came up in the ninth and hit a single only he could hit. Because the outfielders had to play him so far back, he blooped one into shallow center, and the tying run was aboard for Raul Ibanez. Up 2-0 in the count on pitcher Edwin Moreno, Ibanez crushed a changeup towards rightfield. If it stayed fair, it was certainly gone. And it was fair. Ballgame.

I know I wasn't the only one saddened by the fact that we wouldn't get to hear Harry call it out. But I was comforted, if only a little, that somewhere in heaven was heard, "Swing and a long drive to deep leftfield...is it fair?...is it fair?...it's OUTTA HERE!"

At the same moment, the Flyers, down 2-0 to the Pittsburgh Penguins in their opening round series, stormed to a 2-0 advantage on goals by Jeff Carter and Mike Richards. But with 13 seconds left in the first, Evgeni Malkin, Public Enemy #2 in Philadelphia (guess who's #1) beat Marty Biron to cut the lead in half. Then 13 ticks into the second period, Rob Scuderi scored, and just like that, a great period of hockey was undone in less than half a minute.

But that's when the French Connection took over. Danny Briere collected the rebound of a Darroll Powe shot, dished it beautifully to a wide-open Claude Giroux, who slammed it into an empty net. Just a few minutes later, when the horrible officiating crew called Mike Richards for a hold no one saw, the Pens went back to the power play. Giroux carried the puck deep into the Pittsburgh zone by himself. As we applauded his efforts in taking time off of the penalty, he spun away from defender Kris Letang, zoomed behind the net and found Simon Gagne all alone in front for the shorthanded goal. Jared Ross, called up from the Phantoms last Monday, scored his first ever NHL goal to make it 5-2. And Gagne's nifty empty-netter salted it away at 6-3. Now it's a series.

By the way, Claude Giroux is the real deal. Not enough space to elaborate quite yet, but Giroux, just 20, accomplished what I think they used to call a "Gordie Howe hat trick." A goal, an assist, and a fight. He may not have gotten the actual five-minute major for fighting. But it was a fight. I'm counting it.

And then there were the Sixers. Having finished the season losing six of seven for a .500 record of 41-41, no one gave this team a chance against the 3rd-seeded Orlando Magic. And it certainly looked like everyone was right, as the Magic built an 18-point lead in the third quarter and began the fourth up 14. Orlando went ice-cold, and Donyell Marshall, the pride of UConn, helped the Sixers crawl back and somehow tie this game up at 91. An earth-shaking dunk by Dwight Howard put the Magic up 98-95 with 49 seconds to play. Marshall drilled a three to tie it, finishing with 11 points just in the fourth. And with 2.2 seconds remaining, Andre Iguodala, in the face of great pressure by Hedo Turkoglu, floated a 22-foot jumper to steal Game 1 on the road, 100-98.

The magic, it seems, was all for Philadelphia yesterday.
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Other Musings:
I was reading something in ESPN magazine about a hockey player who had spent time in the minors with the Greenville Grrrowl. Yep. No typos there, you read it right. Grrrowl. With three rrr's. Most ridiculous team name ever. (If you look at the logo, you can see that they do the same thing with Grrreenville. I feel like an idiot just typing that.)

I don't know about you, but I love the name Hasheem Thabeet. Everytime someone says it, I get that Go-Gos song in my head. Come the draft, some team is going to be singing, "We got Thabeet, we got Thabeet..."

Just wanted to point out the trashiness that seems to happening at every sporting event recently. You know what they'd all say if it happened in Philly. But of course, when it's somewhere else, there's usually some comment about "a few bad apples," yadda yadda yadda.

Exhibit A: During the Cavaliers-Pistons Game 1, fans were chanting, "Detroit sucks." Note to Cavs fans: You live in Cleveland.

Exhibit B: At Rangers-Capitals Game 2, fans were chanting, "Yankees suck." They were calling out one of the baseball teams of the rival city during a playoff hockey game. Caps fans just took a huge hit in my book. (Not that they care.)

But then again, we are still Philly fans.

Exhibit 1: During yesterday's Flyers game, a skirmish along the boards allowed for a closeup of the players. You could see a fan in the front row flipping the bird--two, actually--at Evgeni Malkin, yelling something I'm sure Malkin couldn't hear, let alone understand. God bless the slow-motion on the DVR. That was classic.

Exhibit 2: When the Chicken Dance was played over the PA, Flyers fans filled in the part usually reserved for claps with, "Hey ref, you suck!" I actually thought that one was pretty clever. The organist couldn't have been ready for that.

Lastly, anyone else think Eduardo Perez on Baseball Tonight looks like a thinner, better-looking, Latin version of Luca Brasi from the Godfather? I'm just waiting for him to say, "The Reds need him to pitch well today...on the day of your daughter's wedding."

A Tribute to Harry

"He had high hopes,
he had high hopes,
he had high apple-pie-in-the-sky hopes."

"The oh-two pitch - swing and a miss! Struck him out! The Philadelphia Phillies are 2008 world champions of baseball!"

"We lost our voice today." --Phillies president David Montgomery

"The Phillies will do their best to honor him, but there is no statue that can be erected more impressive or lasting than the indelible body of Kalas' work. He was a comfort in time of need - and Phils' fans know all about that - and a friend in the darkness of a drive through the night. He was the narrator of a city's soundtrack, the background conversation at countless events in millions of lives.

The birds stopped singing in Rittenhouse Square yesterday. The tugboats on the Delaware couldn't sound their horns. When the carriage horses took their customers past Independence Hall, there was no clop-clopping on the cobblestones. The factory whistle wouldn't let anyone leave work. Kids burst from their school rooms and didn't utter a peep.

Philadelphia went quiet yesterday afternoon. Harry Kalas died at the ballpark, and the city lost its voice." --Bob Ford, Philadelphia Inquirer

"His voice will resonate in my mind the rest of my life. I will never be called 'Michael Jack' again without seeing his smile." --Mike Schmidt, Phillies Hall of Fame third baseman

"Harry Kalas was baseball. And he was Philadelphia. He was as much part of the city as William Penn’s hat. As much part of the city as the green of the Walt Whitman Bridge. We would hear him on NFL Films and think “he’s our guy.” We would hear others speak about the golden voice and think “he’s our guy.” Our pride for Harry was greater than maybe our pride for the Phillies themselves." --Tim Malcolm, philliesnation.com

"When he first came to town in 1971, he was Harry Kalas, the Phillies' new broadcaster. And then, before anyone knew it or realized it, he was just Harry - no last name or formal title necessary. Loved ones don't need those. That's what happens when you invite a person into your home year after year after year. He becomes part of your family, even if you've never met him face-to-face." --John Gonzalez, Philadelphia Inquirer

"Close your eyes, and it's a muggy summer evening and you've just tuned in to the Fightin's, and on the TV in your den and on the radio in your car, all you need hear is The Voice, and from the sound of it, without knowing the score, you can tell instantly whether they're winning or losing." --Bill Lyon, Philadelphia Inquirer

"So enjoyable were Kalas' voice and demeanor that purist fans were known to shun games on TV in favor of listening to his play-by-play on radio. A warm night, a cold beer on the porch, and Harry Kalas describing succinctly all you needed to know, and not one word more. Summertime didn't get any better than that." --editorial from philly.com

"I feel incredibly fortunate that I was in that position and that he was the guy that called it. That will obviously be something I'll never forget. Now it's going to be even more important to me, because every time I hear it, I'm going to think about Harry. It's going to have a lot more meaning than it's ever had before . . . To me, that will always be perfection, listening to him call that." --Brad Lidge

"He is the Phillies. He is the voice." --Ryan Howard

"Summer won't seem the same." --Sister Florence Kobierowski (from Kristen Graham, Philadelphia Inquirer)

(from Harry's acceptance speech as the 2002 Ford C. Frick winner at the Baseball Hall of Fame)

"This is to the Philadelphia Fan

To Laud your passion as best I can

Your loyalty is unsurpassed

Be the Fightins in first or last

We come to the park each day

Looking forward to another fray

Because we know you'll be there

We know you really care

You give the opposing pitcher fits

Because as one loyalist shouts, "Everybody hits"

To be sure in Philly, there might be some boos

Because you passionate fans, like the manager, hate to lose

Your reaction to the action on the field that you impart

Spurs us as broadcasters to call the game with enthusiasm and heart

We feel your passion through and through

Philadelphia fans, I love you."

We love you too, Harry. Rest in peace.


Click here for a video tribute to Harry.

Down...and Out?

"I'm ringin' all the warning bells,
careful you don't hurt yourself."
--Guster

"Your love is like a roller coaster, baby, baby."
--Ohio Players

Just over a week ago, I wrote about the Flyers finally seeming to come around. I described an argument with my friend Matt over the effects of falling just short in Detroit, and how I was "righter" than he was. I spoke of breaking out of the Jekyll-Hyde routine that had emerged in the prior weeks, how the Flyers were finally gelling and hitting their stride. My whole gist was how impeccable the timing was.

It seems I spoke too soon.

Mr. Hyde has returned. Matt is looking wiser for lamenting the loss of crucial points against the Red Wings. And the Flyers' sense of timing, simply put, sucks.

The day after I last wrote, we lost at home to the Panthers, to backup goalie we couldn't solve. Saturday we stormed back to a shootout win against...the Islanders. That's right, the worst team in the league. A home loss to Boston was another missed opportunity, but at least they're good. But last night's loss to the miserable Maple Leafs? In the stretch-run to solidify your playoff spot? That's just shameful. And suddenly, the nine-point, three-game cushion has deflated to just five points over ninth-place Florida. Suddenly, the offense that scared everyone is scaring no one. Suddenly, we're a losing streak away from missing the playoffs entirely.

I don't understand it. But the time to right the ship is running out. And these are the moments where the coach and the veterans need to step up, fire up the boys, and inject a sense of urgency. Coach Stevens, Mike Knuble, Danny Briere, I'm looking at you.

It's time to step it up.
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Other Musings:

Don't look now, but the Sixers are playing good ball, and could make some noise in the East. They entered 2009 at 13-18, and are now 38-35. Recent wins include a shocker over the mighty Lakers in LA, and wins against Miami, Portland, and Atlanta. Just think of what might be possible when Elton Brand comes back healthy next year.

What's really fun to say is that the Phillies begin their World Series title defense this Sunday at home against the Braves. Sure, we all know that I'm the eternal optimist, but why can't this team repeat? Perhaps with the monkey off their backs, they may be more relaxed and thus more consistent than they were last year. And if I'm other NL teams (ahem, the Mets), that's a scary thought.

The Eagles must have signed somebody important by this point, right? Right?

Anyone else think that the Mastercard priceless commercials were old ABOUT TEN YEARS AGO?

I don't know exactly why, but I really like the family in the rollover minutes commercials for AT&T. I find myself at random occasions throughout my week just saying, "Antiques? They're rollover minutes!" I like when she says, "Beat it, kid." Mom wins in this one. But my favorite one is still this one. Mom doesn't fare so well here.

And lastly, just a brief reminder that the Phillies begin their World Series title defense on Monday night.

Up the Ladder

"You need good timin'.
It takes good timin'.
--the Beach Boys

Just ten short days ago, the Philadelphia Flyers were, well, meh. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is exactly as it sounds. Meh. Just say it out loud. You'll understand. The Inquirer's Sam Carchidi explained their slightly deceptive record, how going into last Tuesday's battle in Detroit, the Black and Orange had won just 15 of 37 games against the teams that held playoff positions. (Thanks, Matt.) There was definitely a Jekyll-Hyde thing going on, occasionally brilliant, sometimes awful, where it seemed the team didn't know what it was. Not to mention that the last time the Flyers won in Detroit was in 1988. No exaggeration. 1988. I was in third grade.

I checked the score on my walk home from work and almost ran into someone. We're up 2-0 in the second? Sweet. Thought it would be over by now.

For those who don't follow hockey too closely, you need to understand just how good the Red Wings are. You may recall the late 90's teams that used to win the Stanley Cup every year because they had money and spent it wisely. You may remember the 2002 squad with approximately 300 future Hall of Famers. This team might just be better, and probably for a lot longer. The salary cap has changed nothing, at least not in the Motor City, where the Wings continue to always be among the top two or three teams in the NHL.

And so, when the Flyers blew the 2-0 lead and end up falling 3-2 at Joe Louis Arena, the text argument with Matt began. Matt was angry because we squandered a terrific opportunity to knock off the mighty Red Wings on their own home ice. I wrote something to the effect of, "It's a bummer, but I'm kinda proud of them." Sure, there's no spot in the standings for "moral victories," but I, the Eternal Optimist, was hopeful. This could be the spark, I thought, the clarifying moment where this team becomes aware of its potential.

And Matt was right. I should've been more upset at blowing 2-0. But--at least for the meantime--I'm righter.

Though it's only been three games since the game in Detroit, this is starting to look like a different team. Other than the overall Captain Obvious statistic of the team's health, the most specific reason is the return of one Daniel Briere. I think it was Phil Sheridan of the Inquirer who wrote during baseball season how great it would be if Brett Myers was like the "mid-season acquisition" that wasn't really acquired. That's what I was hoping Danny B would be to this Flyers team.

Two goals in a crazy (and I do mean crazy) 6-4 win in Buffalo, an assist in the crucial 3-1 grinder in Pittsburgh, and a goal and an assist in the homecoming 4-2 triumph over the hated New Jersey Devils later, the return of Briere has added some needed kerosene to the Flyers' fire. The result? The Flyers have finally begun to inflate a small cushion in the race for the playoffs. Going into tonight's action, Philly was holding steady at fourth in the East, three points ahead of and three games in hand on Carolina. But more importantly, we're nine points ahead of the Panthers at ninth, putting us a good bit ahead of the cutoff. Especially having gone up the ladder by beating Buffalo, Pittsburgh, and Jersey right in a row. Only three of the Flyers' final ten opponents currently hold playoff spots.

The East is wide open. And this Flyers team is coming together at just the right time.

As my father used to say, "Timing..............................................is everything."
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Other Musings:

"Did you hear who the Eagles picked up?" "Who?" "No One." "Really? What team did he play for?"

On St. Patrick's Day, Martin Brodeur broke Patrick Roy's all-time wins record at 552. Two days later, a New Jersey court ruled that he must pay his ex-wife alimony of a half-million dollars per year until 2020. Sometimes the justice system does get it right.

Speaking of Martins, why is it that the Lightning's Martin St. Louis goes English in the pronunciation of "Saint," yet French in that of "Louis," (loo-EE)? Dude, make up your mind.

There are so many terrible broadcasters on television and radio. I can't stand the Yankees announcer whose only home run line is, "See ya!" "See ya"?!? That's it? Then, to restore my faith in humanity, along comes Florida Panthers announcer, Randy Moller. Seriously, you have to see this. The other night, I heard him scream, "Do you know the muffin man?" (Thanks, Mac.)

And, just for good measure, Jimmy Rollins once again.

Addition by...Inertia?

"It's been a long time since I hit you with freestyle,
High-tech selections from the rhymes of the Strom files."
(with apologies to Ice-T)

Everyone knew that Philadelphia was going to be a buyer in the craziness surrounding the yearly trade deadline. Everyone was fully aware that the Flyers were hot after stud defenseman Jay Bouwmeester. And as the talented Florida Panther was seen in attendance at a couple of Flyers' games during the stretch run before last Wednesday's deadline, everyone believed the trade to be a done deal, it was just a matter of how.

And everyone was wrong. Because the Flyers got no one.

Well, almost no one. Scottie Upshall was sent to Phoenix for a second-round draft pick and left-winger Daniel Carcillo, the league-leader in penalty minutes. (Have you seen this guy? He looks like a killer.) The only other deal brought defenseman Kyle McLaren from San Jose for a sixth-round pick...until a failed physical nullified the deal.

Carcillo, much to his credit, has actually looked like a hockey player, rather than a fighter on skates. He's also already been in a couple of scraps. So, you gotta love him. And who knows? Maybe this is the Matt Stairs pickup, the under-the-radar pickup who makes one huge play that changes history. I doubt it, but who knows.

So, in the eyes of most hockey analysts, the Flyers were BIG losers at the trade deadline. And maybe they're right.

But maybe they're not.

At the end of the day, the Flyers would have had to give up entirely too much to lure Bouwmeester away from Florida. The Panthers are playing good hockey, for the moment holding the 7th-seed in the Eastern Conference playoff chase. (Though the question must be asked: if a hockey team plays well in Miami, does it make a sound?) And even with Bouwmeester's expiring contract, Florida was now willing to give up its best chance at making the playoffs in a long time. Which meant that the offer would have to have been pretty sweet. Names being tossed around were Braydon Coburn, Matt Carle, and Joffrey Lupul. Coburn is already pretty darn good, and getting better every night. (By the way, everyone in the hockey world continues to talk about the sending of Alexei Zhitnik to Atlanta for Coburn as the steal of the last few years.) Carle continues to impress, and Lupul scored his 19th and 20th goals of the season Saturday against Nashville. So now the Flyers have six 20-goal scorers. Know who else does? That's right. No one.

GM Paul Holmgren looked at his team and decided he likes it just the way it is. He didn't want to mortgage part of the future of this squad to get a rental. As I've said many times before, a) I trust Holmgren, and 2) I really like this team. I don't know if they're quite good enough to win it all this year; I still think they're missing a stand-up shutdown defender. But the East is wide open, and all the more so as Boston has been playing terrible hockey. And as we know, all you've gotta do is make the tournament.

But that's where the nerves come in. We've got a couple of games in hand over almost everyone in the conference, including three over the Capitals, just ahead of us in the 3-spot. If we hold serve, we'll make the playoffs. If we get hot and can overtake the Devils, we can take 3rd or even 2nd seed. But if we go cold, we may not make it at all. That's how tight it is.

But I like what I see.
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Other Musings: Someone needs to explain to me what the Eagles plan to do with 700 draft picks and some $30 million. I'm hoping there's a master plan that somehow brings Anquan Boldin to us. But that would make sense. And we all know how Andy Reid works...

The phrase "mano y mano" should be permanently stricken from our lexicon. It does not mean "man to man." It never has. It never will. It means "hand and hand." Let it go.

ESPN's Mount Rushmore of sports was light years dumber than having a tournament to determine Who's Now. And that was dumb. (Remember when Sportscenter was about real news and highlights instead of But at least I got to hear Rick Reilly use the word "ridonculous."

True story: My good friend Jonah, an employee of ESPN, took me to the ESPN campus. I got to meet Linda Cohn, the Schwab (sp?) and some others. But the biggest thrill was when Jonah and I were walking down a hall, and he says, "Hello Mr. Allen." He turns to me and says, "That's Eric Allen." The words "starstruck" and "speechless" don't even begin to describe. I pulled it together and we had an awesome conversation about watching that incredible '91 Eagles D. He told us that Buddy Ryan was a little crazy, but a good coach. Jonah asked him about Rich Kotite, and Eric Allen was like, "Kotite...not so much." Classic.

Lastly, my new favorite commercial is funny in its own right, and all the cooler cause it's one of our boys. If you haven't seen the Jimmy Rollins commercial for Dick's, it's fantastic. The last one is the best.