Matthew Osborne
“Tell them I’m done, for the love of the game.”
Those were the words Kevin Costner wrote on the baseball in the movie carrying the same name as the back end of that phrase.
It was an underrated baseball movie, not as talked about as “Field of Dreams,” or “The Natural” or even “Bull Durham.” I personally loved “Major League” the most, but all of these movies ever made have tried to tap into something inside the true baseball fan.
Another famous baseball movie quote is from Brad Pitt in “Moneyball.”
“How can you not be romantic about baseball?”
I’ll tell you just how, if you are wondering. 820 losses, that’s how.
Everyone here is enjoying a golden age of Braves baseball and I am happy for you guys. Not all the time, mind you, but in general, I appreciate true fans who grew up with their team, have seen some hard times and are now seeing the rewards.
That was us, the Phillies, from 2007 to 2011.
My family is from Philly, as most people who have met me here know by now. But we had just moved to South Jersey, an extension of Philly with higher taxes and more tolls, in that magical year of 2007.
I took my son Cal to his first game when he was a baby, and that became one of the most famous games in the Phillies’ comeback that year against the Mets. The picture of Cal and I, with him in the baby Bjorn carrier and me with a sandwich in hand, adorns my basement wall as I write this.
Seeing the Phillies win the NL East five straight times and go to two World Series, winning one in 2008, was like a drug for a baseball junkie like me. My work was tied into the Phils as well, so my job and my main (only?) hobby merged into one big red blur. Like Jerry Seinfeld being bombarded by the burning lights from Kenny Rogers’ chicken place, all I could see was red.
And then, Oct. 7, 2011, came and went. That 1-0 loss to the Cardinals – the Phillies’ last postseason game – was more than a baseball loss.
It ended with Ryan Howard crumpled on the first-base line with a blown Achilles and a destroyed career. It saw Roy Halladay tweak his back in the first inning, pitch through it, but end up taking pain pills to abate the discomfort. The pills became an addiction, leading to his death at a young age in a plane crash while under the influence of those drugs.
It also killed a franchise, sending the Phillies on to 820 losses since then.
The 819th of those was nearly my breaking point.
That game was a week ago, when the Phillies lost to the Cubs for the second-straight night. They were on the way to one of their classic September collapses that have been common the last five years. In this day and age where you can watch any team from anywhere – well, unless you are on Bally’s network – I could experience the pain even from here.
But after that loss, I deleted my MLB app. I put all my hats and jerseys away. I changed my father’s contact picture in my phone to something non-Phillies.
Like Tommy the Pinball Wizard, I didn’t want to see them, or hear them or talk about them. If they blew it again, how absurd would it all seem without any proof? But the Brewers were just a little more tight than the Phillies, and the latter were given a gift. They were given another chance to prove themselves, and they wrapped up a playoff spot Monday night with a win over the Houston Astros.
Maybe I should have stuck to my Costner guns and told them I’m done. But that’s not always so easy. So there I will be, Friday night, tuning in for the first playoff game since that night 11 years ago that removed a tiny piece of my heart forever. I wish I could quit you, Phillies, but it looks like we’re stuck together.
Matthew Osborne is the editor of The NortheastGeorgian. Reach him at 706-778-4215 or editor@TheNortheastGeorgian.com.