Loser Gets Jersey

Philadelphia vs. New York. Three teams. Four games.

by E. James Beale

It started at 7:46 last Saturday evening, and ran until 11:48 Sunday night. Philadelphia vs. New York. Three teams. Four games. On the line: First place in the NFC East, a meaningless Atlantic division win, bragging rights and, oh yeah, the 105th World Series trophy. And we were there.

Phils in Five

7:46 p.m.: With the 76ers squaring off against the defenseless Knickerbockers and the Phillies throwing last year's World Series MVP against a Yankee who had to be lured out of retirement this year, things are looking up. The city is expecting two quick wins before two Sunday battles. After 12 guys in the tri-state area watch Samuel Dalembert and Jared Jeffries jump it up, we're under way.

8:08 p.m.: How excited is Philly for Game 3? Pac-Man, back-from-the-dead Billy Mays and a slutty witch are all rocking Phillies gear.

9:15 p.m.: With Game 3 officially on, Fox and Hound switches over the last of its 432 televisions.

10:02 p.m.: Jimmy walks in a run, the crowd tries to lift the park off its foundation and Pettitte is rattled. On the swag scale (zero is Kanye on Leno, 10 is Kanye just before Taylor Swift gets the mic), Philadelphia is walking down the red carpet with a bottle of Hennessy and a bald stripper. A die-hard fan hits up my cell: "My biggest concern right now is literally becoming another Pink Hat nation after the parade." "Hamelsed"

10:33 p.m.: Hamels doesn't get a call and Teixeira gets ball four. Recently we've been using "Hamels" as a verb — as in, "to face adversity in the midst of success and fail miserably." Will Hamels Hamels?

10:34 p.m.: Yup.

10:52 p.m.: The Yankees go up 5-3, the Knicks have sent the Sixers into OT and Hamels calls it a day. It seems like six years ago that "Hamels or Lee to open the NLDS" was even a discussion. The "What happened to Cole?" debate is on. (My theory: He never got into shape during his offseason, and six innings into games he loses his stuff. My girlfriend's theory: Heidi isn't giving it up.)

12:06 a.m.: Those $500 seats empty quick. An hour later the Center City streets are dead. It's the greatest drinking night of the year (Halloween + extra hour = debauchery), and the Yankees ruined it. Worse, CC and the Giants are on the docket tomorrow. This city takes losses like the apocalypse.

E-A-G-L-E-S Eagles

8:42 a.m.: Early, the Iggles rule the day. I ask three groups about the "games" and get three answers about the Giants. There are a couple of Utley jerseys and one kid with a drawn-on mustache and a custom-made Chooch shirt, but down by the stadiums you'll find more Jerome Browns and Shady McCoys on guys' backs than Ryan Howards and Jimmy Rollinses.

10:06 a.m.: A man in a Justin Tuck jersey and a Yankee hat walks by. "Giants and Yankee fan?" one fan asks incredulously. "He's going to get ripped up." The entire city seems on edge. Freezing rain begins.

1:05 p.m.: The first "asshole" chant of the day is broken off by Leonard Weaver busting up the middle for 41 yards and a TD. Ten minutes later it's already a two-touchdown game. Almost immediately, the crowd starts buzzing about Phils in six. We're so easy. "Fuck the Yan-kees"

1:24 p.m.: The Eagles are obliterating the Giants. It's 30-7 by half and the entire crowd starts caring more about letting New York know they suck than the happenings on the field.

4:17 p.m.: The game is over and the 69,144 fans all head back to their tailgates to refuel.

8:22 p.m.: Spirits are high. Even when the Phillies fall behind, the game never feels lost, and when Pedro Feliz breaks out of his slump to tie the game we're all reminded what this team can do. At 4-4, and on the heels of the Eagles' domination, everyone in the city expects a win. Here We Go Again.

11:29 p.m.: They don't get it. The Phils hand the ball to Brad Lidge and the city reaches for its ankles. When Damon gets on, the crowd goes mute — they've seen this before. Ballgame. Yanks up three games to one.

E. James Beale has declared himself archduke of Newark. Worship him at e.james.beale@citypaper.net.