Note: I wrote this on the Tuesday between Game 5.1.and 5.2.

As I crossed the Delaware River from Burlington, New Jersey to Bristol, Pennsylvania on Monday night, I glanced out the window to my left at the Philadelphia skyline 20 miles down stream. The cloudless twilight afforded me a spectacular view of a city illuminated in red.

I turned onto Route 1 and headed into the Northeast portion of the city, passing a store-front sign that read "GO PHILLIES! BRING IT HOME TONIGHT!" And you can be sure this was the theme on every sign from Burger King to Gary Barbera's Dodgeland.

Everywhere I looked, cars had Phillies flags and magnets and license plates holders, and their drivers wore Utley jerseys and National League champions hats. I had been in this city just two weeks ago for the first game of the NLCS, but I knew immediately that this was different. In 19 years of Philadelphia fandom, I had never seen this before.

I headed deeper into the city, crossing through the intersection of Frankford and Cottman. For decades, Northeast Philadelphians have made this their spot to gather and celebrate championships, but it's been 25 years since the last great party at this corner. Hundreds of people congregated here after the Phillies defeated the Dodgers to move on to the 2008 World Series, just as they did when the Eagles went to the Super Bowl in 2004, when the Sixers went to the NBA Finals in 2001, and when the Flyers went to the Stanley Cup Finals in 1997.

But those were never the grand party they have yearned for so long. On this night -- still three hours before the first pitch of Game 5 -- at least 500 people were already together on the sidewalks. They could see dinner coming out of the oven after a long day at work, and they were all ready to have the feast of their lives.

I entered Center City, and as I drove down North Broad Street toward the red-lit City Hall, Phillies fever became even more apparent. In the hour it took me to drive from Bristol to here (thanks traffic), a steady drizzle had formed and night had fallen. There was a sharp chill in the air but nobody seemed to care. I always love rolling my windows down in the city to fully immerse myself in the vibe of the place, because to me there is nothing like it anywhere else.

And on Monday night, that vibe was even more amazing. It was jubilant and it was anticipatory and it was confident. Almost everybody had some kind of Phillies apparel on, but the oddest part was how everybody seemed to be heading in the same direction: South.

I was, too. I circled City Hall and turned onto South Broad Street, deciding now to park my car on 15th Street and hop on the subway to the Sports Complex. I threw on some extra layers and ventured underground at Broad and Oregon. The scene I encountered with each step I took down was something of legend. The sea of red bodies reverberated with a raucous chant of "Lets Go Phillies, clap clap, clap clap clap!" Over and over it repeated, still two hours till game time. I entered that station alone, but as I joined the masses, I suddenly had hundreds of friends.

Somehow, I got on a train. Somehow, I got off that train. And when I surfaced with my new friends at Broad and Pattison, we stormed toward Citizens Bank Park. I looked forward at the five year old ballpark and then looked to my left at the parking lot. It was one gigantic party. People had set up everywhere with TVs hooked up to portable satellites and grills and beers and footballs aplenty. The temperature suggested that this should be an Eagles Monday Night Football tailgate, but Lincoln Financial Field was dark, and the team with more losses than any other in professional sports history had all the attention.

The irony of the tailgating was where a lot of it was taking place: on the site of old Veterans Stadium (now a non-tailgating lot, technically). Demolished in 2004, the Vet was home to the Phils for 30 years, and for almost all of those years the team was an irrelevant joke. The place had its moments -- the late 70s and early 80s, as well as the 1993 season -- but for most of its existence, a terrible stadium was home to a terrible team.

With the opening of Citizens Bank Park, the Phillies dawned on a new era. The five teams that have called this place home have been able to create a new identity for Phillies baseball. Out has gone the losing futility and in has come success. As the entire Delaware Valley flocked to its second home, this chilly October night was to be the culmination of that new era.

The gates were open and most of those lucky enough to hold a ticket were inside already, but there were still thousands of us outside. I saw one exchange where a guy in a Jimmy Rollins jersey attempted to negotiate with a well-dressed, professional looking scalper. The prices certainly warranted his attire.

"Two tickets, section 423, eleven-hundred a piece," he muttered under his breath to only those within direct earshot.

"How about $900 a piece?" whispered Rollins. The scalper simply walked in the opposite direction.

There was a concert being performed by a local cover band on a stage near the third base gate, but the size of the audience  would lead you to believe Bruce Springsteen was on there instead. The crowd filled the void between songs with yet another "Let's Go Phillies!" chant. The excitement level was something I had never even imagined before.

At this point, I met up with a few friends (friends I knew by name, at least) and we walked around the perimeter of the park just taking it all in. We took pictures, somehow found our way onto CBS 3 Eyewitness News, and realized that this was potentially going to be the greatest night any of us would ever spend on Earth.

Inside the stadium, public address announcer Dan Baker called out the starting lineups and the cheers for our Phillies were so loud I'm sure they could've been heard in Jersey. The national anthem was sung. Fireworks went off. It was game time.

We worked our way across the parking lot and stopped near one of the many groups of fans with a TV. They offered us any of the food or drinks they brought and accepted us like we were family. In a lot of ways, we were.

We all watched the game for the next two hours. We watched Scott Kazmir walk the bases loaded and Shane Victorino make him pay. We watched our King, Cole Hamels, pitch an absolute gem for five innings. All the while, we could hear the cheers and the boos from inside the ballpark -- absolutely surreal.

But then the rains came.

After a beautiful day all across the Northeast, it had been drizzling off and on for a few hours. None of the thousands of fans in the area really took into consideration that the rain could possibly pick up and the game could be delayed. But as the third inning turned to the fourth, the skies opened up. We found ways to protect the TV from the elements, but it became increasingly harder to protect ourselves. It was cold. It was wet. As Jayson Stark from ESPN put it, "It was like standing in a freezer while being sprayed with a garden hose."

It was not miserable, though. Not one person left our group, and tail lights leaving the parking lot were nowhere to be seen. Of course those in the stadium would never leave; not after paying those absurd prices for tickets. We paid nothing, but had just as big a stake in this as the people in the stadium. As long as our team was on the field playing baseball, nobody was leaving. We wanted that party we've been waiting 25 years for.

The conditions got really bad. In the top of the fifth, the wind changed the direction of a pop fly at the last second and Jimmy Rollins couldn't come up with the catch. It was obvious that the weather was soon going to start impacting the outcome of the game, and when the players came out onto a drenched field for the top of the sixth inning, we were all shocked.

We watched as the Rays tied the ballgame, 2-2, in near hurricane conditions. The tarp finally came out and shortly after, Major League Baseball suspended the game, saying they'll pick it up whenever the weather conditions allow. We know now that will probably be Wednesday at 8:30 PM, but at the time we were sure of only one thing: we wouldn't get our party tonight.

So here we are. The Phillies are in the sixth inning of a home game, nine outs away from being World Champions, and Citizens Bank Park is empty. This could only happen here. It is uniquely Philadelphian.

After all, its us. Why should this be easy? As we packed up and filed out of the parking lot, everybody was very glum and it wasn't because of the weather. The excitement of an entire region had been deflated like the Hindenberg. On sports radio, everybody was negative. People were complaining and whining and making fun of Bud Selig and all kinds of things.

"God just hates us," one would say. "We don't deserve to win and this is proof," another would say. "We're cursed!" was the most popular idea. I felt this way and I was furious. "I drove three hours home from school and I'm not even going to be able to enjoy this," I kept saying to myself. "I'll probably even get pneumonia."

But even though I woke up sick Tuesday morning, I realized that this is actually a good thing. After 25 years, what's a couple more days? And besides, I don't want this season to end just yet.

I love Charlie Manuel and Jamie Moyer. I love Shane Victorino and Chase Utley. I love Matt Stairs and Ryan Howard and Pedro Feliz. I love Eric Bruntlett and Brad Lidge and even Adam "I suck at pitching" Eaton. I love Pat Burrell. I love the 2008 Philadelphia Phillies. The ride this team has taken us on has been one that no fan will ever forget.

And now we get to enjoy this magical season just a little bit longer. We get to go down to our second home again on Wednesday night and, just as we did on Monday, stare at that red skyline and ride that subway and cheer on the team that brings us all together. One more time, we get to anticipate the greatest night of our lives.