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."