For an entire generation of fans, "28 years" might as well be "forever."  I was born in November 1977, approximately one month after the infamous Black Friday NLCS game against the Los Angeles Dodgers.  This made me not quite three years old when the Phillies won their first World Championship in 1980 (that still sounds so strange; recognizing a second championship is the "new normal" I suppose).  I have no memory of this event and only hazy memories of the Phillies postseason teams in 1981 and 1983.  Mike Schmidt was (and still is) my all-time favorite player, and his tearful retirement press conference in 1989 breaks my heart to this day.

For the vast bulk of my life, the Phillies were a mediocrity, a time-filling activity I got to share with my dad and my older brother, and my grandfather on the odd Sunday afternoon, during the muggy Pennsylvania summers, ranting and raving about countless blown opportunities, crummy trades, and general failure.  "Typical Phillies!" became the mantra of the deflated.  Lance Parrish.  Joe Cowley.  Phil Bradley.  Just more slop thrown into the endless, decades-deep gruel of Philies baseball.  But at least my dad and my brother had 1980.  I had nothing. 

Then came that great season in 1993.  The reason we clung so tightly to that 1993 team is because it was all we had!  That one perfect summer in an entire lifetime of disappointment and failure, where the destination was a heartbreak, but the journey was pure, unbridled joy.

The World Series was always something for those other teams, like the A's, the Reds, the Twins, and even (barf!) the Mets.  The mere concept that the Phillies could get there was almost science fiction. 

Now, it's ours.

This Championship relieves the 30-and-under generation of the burden and heartache of having to hear about 1980 from parents, from older siblings, from co-workers and neighbors.  This is a piece of glory to be cherished, savored, and shared, and remembered in the hopes that we don't have to wait nearly 30 years to share the experience with our children.