So the plan was: Go to Philadelphia to see the Giants knock the Phillies around for three or four games. Catch some art museums, eat the obligatory famous sandwich, catch some jazz, walk up the Rocky steps and then move on. Check on all that. We even saw Rocky himself in art museum.
CHECK on almost all of that.
For the Monday game, the first of four, we took a ride share down to the park named after a bank. I predict this will soon be the fate of all parks of all sports. When we entered the stadium my wife informed the lovable security guy that we were siding with the Giants.
“Enjoy your loss!” he chirped.
Knowing that the Giants had just dominated the Braves with a three-game sweep, I marveled at his foolishness. At least until shortly after the national anthem. Then the wheels came off rather quickly. Jeff Samardzija pitched like a guy with a need to punish himself. The Phillies obliged with a combo of homers and base hits that seemed almost comical after a while. The Giants fans in 130 were not laughing. I started to resent not only the Phillies but the city of Philadelphia. And then the state of Pennsylvania. I paused my resentment train there.
Why? Because resentment was fast losing to the unstoppable joy of being in great seats watching baseball on a cool night in May. The fans of both teams were, after all, still fans of the game itself and in that regard shared that roughly understood bond of round ball devotion. And pretzel love. Everybody loves pretzels.
Even the old school usher, after complementing the Giants fan’s nice showing at the game, offered that he hated seeing any pitcher twist in the wind. Perhaps he forgot about Jonathan Papelbon. But he was right. I’ve felt something approaching mild guilt for feeling deep joy over watching the usually flawless Clatyon Kershaw blow a healthy lead in the World Series. You don’t want to see people fail, per se. You just want to see their team lose.
And lose we did. The Giants got swept. They got kicked. They were heckled. They fell down and got back up like Rocky but then fell down like Jerry Lewis. They dropped the ball. Literally. It was depressing, embarrassing, and painful to watch. But I kept watching. Enjoying our loss. Well, at least enjoying the background of it. Like we were taking some rotten medicine wrapped inside a cheese steak.