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HOW DO YOU LIKE MY OPENING DAY SHOES? I decided to splurge a little on some retro Phillies gear, even though these shoes look more like retro gear from the Philadelphia Stars of the Negro Leagues.  I'll be wearing them tonight when Cole Hamels takes the mound for the first place Phillies as they celebarte their 2010 home opener.

 I have an op-ed piece in today's (April 12) Inquirer about great Phillies names. Here's the "director's cut" version:

 Name a Phillie, any Phillie, from the deep bench of wonderful player names during the 127 year history of the Philadelphia Phillies Baseball Club. Chances are you chose the name of a great Phillies player: Mike Schmidt, Steve Carlton, Chuck Klein, Scott Rolen, or Bob Boone. But did you choose a great player with a great Phillies name? I submit that there is a difference between the two. Steve Carlton is the name of a great Phillies pitcher. Robin Roberts is a great Phillies name. From Blondie Purcell in that inaugural year of 1883 to Raul Ibanez in 2010, the Phillies have had memorable names. Tug McGraw is a great Phillies name. Larry Bowa is a great Phillies name. Grover Cleveland Alexander is not a great Phillies name because it's a pain in the butt to say out loud. Wayne Twitchell is a great Phillies name.</p>
<p>So what makes a great Phillies name? Not greatness, certainly. It's the sump'em sump'em, the sound the name makes in your mind and when its spoken out loud. Del Unser is a great Phillies name. It just sounds right. Sometimes great Phillies names rise like hope on a muffin out of the boredom of losing seasons. Mickey Morandini. Tell me you don't want to say that name out loud right now. Mickey Morandini. What an irresisitibly great Phillies name. Growing up in Philadelphia gives you an ear for such morsels. I was born too late to actually see a Phillies infield featuring Granny Hamner, Putsy Caballero and Puddin' Head Jones, but how could a double play combination of Tinker to Evers to Chance possibly be more immortal in baseball lore than Granny to Putsy to Puddin' Head? Clay Dalrymple is a great Phillies name. Willie Montenez is a great Phillies name. It's all personal, of course. It depends on your age and heart condition, when you started caring, when you stopped. When you stopped again. When you absolutely positively stopped caring about the Phillies. Cookie Rojas, Kiko Garcia and Reuben Amaro are great Phillies names.. .

  Ivan DeJesus is a great Phillies name because when you say it twice real fast it sounds like the Woody Woodpecker song. "I-van-de-JEE-sus. I-van-de-JEE-sus! Ha-ha-ha-ha-hah!" Lance Parrish should have been a great Phillies name, but it's not, because he sucked. Then there's John Wockenfuss, the Smuckers brand of great Phillies names. With a name like Wockenfuss he'd better be. . . he wasn't. Wockenfuss teams in the mid-1980's inspired a Philadelphia fan version of the Wiffenpoof song"We are poor little fans who have gone astray. Boo, boo, boo." In 1915 a Phillies outfielder named Bud Weiser batted .244. for the National League pennant winning team. In 1939 the Phillies traded to get Boom Boom Beck, a pitcher (William Walter Beck) who earlier earned his nickname pitchiing against Philadlephia in Baker Bowl. The Phils called him "boom boom" for the sound of their line drives hitting the tin coated wall in right field. And we traded for this guy. Probably because he had such a great name.


The current defending National League champions are well stocked with great Phillies names, two of which (Chase Utley and Shane Victorino) could make the all-franchise name list. The acquisition last year of Ben Francisco (I'll he's got a cousin named Sam Diego) deepened the bench of great pinch hitter names. Any lovers of great Phillies names are keeping their fingers crossed that relief pitcher Antonio Bastardo latches on with the big club. What Phillies fan wouldn't want to have a custom player jersey with the big letters spelling BASTARDO across the back? Some names were made for Phillies pitchers. Some names were made for Philadelphia -- Pretzels Pezzullo? Pickles Dilhoffer? Stuffy McInness? Casey Stengel, who played outfield for the Phillies in 1920, would be a great Phillies name if he hadn't gone over to the dark side later in his career. Greasy Neale, who joined the club in 1921, would be a great Phillies name but the Eagles get first dibs on the name because Greasey later coached the Eagles to two consecutive NFL championships. Pitcher Jose DeLeon doesn't have a great Phillies name, but he does have mine, so he makes the list. There's nothing more personal than a player with your name. .


Harry Kalas (talk about a Phillies name) could transform a basic two syllable Anglo-Saxon name into an epic home run call that hung in the air as long as the ball itself: "MICHEAL JACK SCHMIDT. . ." And to hear what Harry the K did with the pronunciation of the Irish-Italian union that resulted in the name Mi-ckey Mor-an-DI-ni is to taste what five-star chefs do in the kitchen.


  From the very beginning, Phillies players have had great names. Imagine what Harry could do with the sound of Phillies names from the very beginning. Harry Henderson and Blondie Purcell played that first season. Cyclone Miller and Shadow Pyle joined the team the next year, 1884, and before long there was Cannonball Titcomb, Kid Gleason, Pop Schriver, Woody Wagenhort, Piggy Ward, Kid Carsey, Dummy Stephenson, Billy Sunday and Phenomenal Smith. Yes, THAT Billy Sunday who did a little pitchen' while perfecting his preachin'. Billy Sunday's teammate that 1890 season was Phenomenal Smith., born John Francis Gammon in Philadelphia on the last day of 1864. Turns out ole Phenomenal was a bit of a dick. Alienated his teammates Probably something to do with his nickname.

   Phenomenal sucked, incidently.

Yanks for the memories: Show me the money

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So what? We lost again. Is there any Philadelphian who doesn't know that feeling? Not the losing so much as the intuitive and fatalistic process of preparing to accept defeat. The numbness before the inevitable. The certainty before the final out. I felt this eerie calmness as early as the second inning of Game Six. Not a sense of doom or even disappointment. Just an odd familiar mental clarity, a serenity amidst a floodtide of emotions. I never lost faith. I never stopped believing. But my brain knew what my heart refused to acknowledge. It isn't our night.

I felt the same way in 1993 during Game Six in Toronto and I reacted the same way. I needed to be alone, away from the shouts and groans and curses of others, not friends, not family, not strangers. I needed private time by myself to mourn the passing of a dream. Just me and the TV and what might have been. When Joe Carter hit that three-run homer in the ninth inning against Mitch Williams I was sitting alone in a darkened room except for the unforgiving glow of a black and white television screen.

Last night I managed to keep the lights on and refused to assume the fetal position. I also refused to look at the TV. I didn't want to give reality the pleasure of my attention. It isn't denial if you refuse to participate in the ceremony.

My seven stages of grief bypassed shock, disbelief, bargaining, guilt and anger, while pole vaulting over depression and landing safely in acceptance -- all in the span of a Budweiser commercial. This is a self protective speed response learned from surviving bitter years of dashed hopes. Imagine being a 14-year-old boy in 1964 when the first place Phillies blew it dramatically and unforgettably, losing 10 of their last 12 games in diabolically ingenious ways. I was that boy.

That two weeks of agony in September of '64 was spiritual death in slow motion, almost like being a Mets fan today. And my faith, my confidence, my Philadelphia sports pride was in hospice care for years. I barely paid attention to the epic '67 Sixers championship. It took twin Stanley Cup titles by the Flyers in the mid-70's to rekindle the passion. And it took World Series victories in 1980 and 2008 to convince me that the monkey on the Phillies back was not just dead, but truly and sincerely dead.

So congratulations to the New York Yankees. They were the better team, not to mention the best team money could buy. They represent everything we have come to expect from the perennial American League champions of the national pasttime -- including a most valuable player who can't speak English after six years and tens of millions of dollars earned while playing baseball in America. It required a translator for MVP Hideki Matsui to say nothing in Japanese that he couldn't have learned to say in English off a placemat at Friendly's.

And of course that awkward post-game interview came after Game Four hero Johnny Damon mentioned that he was in the final year of his Yankee contract while expressing his joy about winning a second World Series ring. Somehow I can't imagine anyone in a Phillies uniform saying such a thing at a time like that.

 

 

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