Four more to go

I'm not going to lie, it hasn't really sunk in yet. Sure, I watched the game. I saw the win. I watched grown men running around like kids after the last bell rings on the last day of school spraying expensive and delicious champagne on each other. I watched ceremonial trophies being given to an oft maligned, and yet highly respected manager and a 24 year old pitcher that through his play almost violently quieted many who up until a couple of weeks ago were accusing of not being able to perform in "big" games. So I do know what happened, but it really hasn't hit me yet. Maybe it's the calm before the storm, maybe it's guarded optimism that's keeping me from truly being able to let go and party like it's 1993, maybe it's fear of the unkown. Regardless of what it is, I do know this: THE PHILLIES ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES.



I grew up in a house* in which it went unquestioned that actions taken within the living room, specifically in plain sight of the TV, were very, very capable of having a direct effect on the Phillies performance on the other side of that TV. If you were to walk into the room and shortly thereafter something detrimental occurred, you would be expected to evacuate the room in a very timely manner. Should something brilliant occur while you were not yet seated, standing was your destiny. And so on. The point of me giving you a window into what future therapists will likely refer to as the "root of my problems" is that I'm not trying to be self-absorbed or egotistical when I theorize that my celebration prior to an actual World Series victory would fall high atop the list of direct causes of a World Series loss. This is not to say that you should avoid celebration, by all means it is well deserved and I genuinely wish you the greatest of times while doing so. This one is squarely on me, and I will respond accordingly. After all, we still have four more wins left before we truly arrive in Mecca, and I can't allow myself to compromise that. Go phils.



* - It is important to note that the main perpetrators of this behavior in the house, my father and his ace rollie Mehmet, converted to being baseball hooligans after being lifelong rabid European soccer fans, and we all know they're fuckin nuts.