After watching the wet slop at Game 5 at the Linc today - and the incredible game suspension in Game 5 in the middle of the 6th inning 2-2 in a game that never should have even been started given the weather forecast, all I can keep thinking about is: what the Philadelphia fan needs is a creed, like the unofficial one at the Post office. Instead of "Neither snow, nor rain nor heat stays these couriers from their appointed rounds", it ought to go something like this:
Philly fans stayed the whole world series, chilled to the bone, most likely catching pneumonia. But they know they need to take in Game 5, wet socks and all, since they have no idea when it might ever come back.
Even if they have to show up at the Linc tomorrow at 8 PM to do it.
We are Philadelphia fans. We love each other like brothers, but will roll others out of the upper decks like nutters. We are cheesesteak-eating, soft pretzel-munching Rocky's, Pat Croce's, Bernie Parent's. We go about our day with memories of bitterly falling short in key situations, near-complete ineptitude in the front office, strange blot clots taking out top goalscorers one series before the Stanley Cup, Allen Iverson, mysterious stomach viruses affecting our starting quarterbacks, and - worst of all - Mitch Williams. Each day we curse New York and the Rangers, Giants and Yankees which play there. And neither fog bowls, nor World Series downpours, nor Eric Lindros, nor gloom of Doug Moe stays these fans from their appointed rounds.
Philly fans stayed the whole world series, chilled to the bone, most likely catching pneumonia. But they know they need to take in Game 5, wet socks and all, since they have no idea when it might ever come back.
Even if they have to show up at the Linc tomorrow at 8 PM to do it.
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