A Night to Remember

Editor's Note: Lemme upgrade ya. Nice read. - WC

The home screen on my cell phone showed the date to be December 14th, 2010. The thermometer on my dashboard showed the outside temperature as 25 degrees Fahrenheit.

Outside my car, gusts of wind chilled the air. Puddles froze on grassy fields. Dirt hardened with the frigid conditions.

And yet, there it was – the familiar pattern of red glowing lights, peaking over the treetops a few miles in front of me. Philadelphia may celebrate the holiday season with brilliant light shows within Macy’s and the Comcast Center, but I knew instantly this was no homage to Christmas or Santa Claus.

A minute later, the remainder of the Cira Centre revealed itself, illuminated by the signature Phillies "P’ glowing white against a 29-story backdrop of red lights.

It was a moving culmination to a magical day.

It all started less than twenty-four hours before, around the time when Monday was yielding to Tuesday. Had I not already been working late, an incessant ringing of my phone would have roused me from even the deepest slumber. Rather – as my television slowly revealed a chain of stunning developments – I was the one waking people up: Ashley on Naudain Street, Steve in Madison, Wisconsin.

Had they mistaken reality for a seemingly ludicrous dream, no one would have blamed them. No one would have expected Cliff Lee to come back to pitch for Philadelphia.

In the wee hours of a Tuesday December morning, we all sat in our pajamas in front of our televisions. We were all suddenly longing for the first Friday in April, the day when baseball season begins once again.

We forgot about the heartbreak of losing to the San Francisco Giants less than two months ago. We forgot about the years of futility for the worst franchise in American sports history.

We forgot that this coming Sunday, the Eagles can take a giant step toward securing an improbable playoff berth and division title. We forgot that the Flyers were evolving into a dominant force with legitimate Stanley Cup aspirations.

We forgot about personal pains and family hardships. We forgot about basically anything that did not pertain to the momentous breaking news.

Cliff Lee was coming back to Philadelphia.

From a purely statistical standpoint, the significance of this decision is astounding. With the return of Lee, the Philadelphia Phillies – the last of the original National League teams to win a World Series, the first team in American professional sports to lose 10,000 games – may now boast the single greatest rotation of starting pitchers in the history of Major League Baseball. In reality, nothing has been done to prove this point. On paper, the prospects for success are unprecedented and unfathomable.

If you recognize the bewildering gravity of a statement like, "Cole Hamels is now the fourth starter for the Phillies," you know something special must have occurred.

Yet, if this were just about baseball, this city’s exuberance would be considered egregious. At a time when countless thousands of Philadelphians are unemployed, undereducated, and unable to find success, how otherwise could this city justify the deification of a man being paid more than $100 million over the next five year? 

Philadelphians celebrate Cliff Lee because we realize that the true story here cannot be defined merely by the who and the what. It is the how and the why that make this saga so sweet to relish, so magnificent to rehash time and time again.

Lee balked at a more lucrative offer from the New York Yankees, walking away from the franchise that always gets what it wants. Without saying a word, he made a statement about New York City, the self-proclaimed ‘greatest city in the world.’

He did it to come back to Philadelphia. He did it to play for us, the ‘phanatic’ fans that cheered and adored him throughout the greatest three months of his baseball life. He did it because he felt something special every time he stepped onto the mound at Citizens Bank Park, surrounded by forty-six thousand twirling white towels.

He did it for reasons he may not be able to articulate at this time. He did it for reasons already understood by every Philadelphian. Our sports teams are not a way of life in Philadelphia. They are our life.

When reporters write about the "tens of thousands" of fans who turn out to watch the Giants victory parade in San Francisco, Philadelphians bitterly imagine the millions who would have inevitably flocked to Broad Street once again to celebrate another World Series.

While other cities paint statues of barnyard animals to place around their avenues for public art, this city beautified its streets with elaborately decorated statues of the beloved Philadelphia Phanatic.

When people and pundits across the country lambast Philadelphians for being the worst sports fans in all of America, we know they do not understand true passion and pride.

Fortunately for us, Cliff Lee understands. He knows that Philadelphia is special.

On Tuesday night, the proof was in our skyline, emblazoned with the Phillies emblem. This prominent display transcended our elation, appreciation, and brotherly love. It was visible evidence that the Phillies are not just our baseball team.

They are an integral part of this city.