Christian Laettner, I still hate you!

Laettner cutting out my heart

Laettner cutting out my heart

I never win anything even remotely related to skill or the ability to analyze complex data sets to project a likely outcome.  Gave up on sports wagering years ago after – finally – coming to the realization that I sucked at it.  Could never even begin to understand horse racing and handicapping odds.  Nor could I fake the slightest understanding of a daily racing form …

Recent years I gave up on one of my last remaining weaknesses … the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament brackets (for entertainment purposes only). I have always enjoyed the tournament, especially the early rounds where upsets lie in deadly ambush.  But winning “entertainment purposes” from my finely honed college basketball acumen?

Not gonna happen …

Funny how most people I know rarely ever watch pre-March Madness college basketball, yet they believe they can reasonably predict the end result of the sport’s 66-team, rabidly emotional, magically unpredictable, championship-determining tournament.

I was one of those wackadoodles once; but it hasn’t been the same for me since 1992.

That was the year the East Regional was held in Philadelphia’s Spectrum.  It was the year of Duke, Kansas, UCLA, and Ohio State as the top ranked teams.  It was the year Michigan made the run from a 6-seed to runner-up, losing to Duke in the National Championship game.

It was the Year of Christian Laettner.

I know the feeling.

I know the feeling.

Normally the NCAA Tourney was just a reason to spend several afternoons in a public establishment amply equipped with televisions in the company of friends.  But in the early rounds of the 1992 tournament bracket I was en fuego!  As the Round of 32 ended, I realized I had a pretty good bracket collection going … through no fault of my own.

As luck would have it, I had ridden Michigan as my surprise entry into the Final Four.  I had the potential – with a Kentucky win over Duke – of having three of four Final Four survivors! (Kansas and Ohio State having been ousted earlier by University of Texas – El Paso and Michigan respectively.)

So, like any other stat geek with a finely developed obsession common among baseball fans and fantasy sports addicts (Guilty x2), I spent hours analyzing the various permutations and likely results from the conveniently supplied Excel spreadsheet provided those like-minded “entertainment purposes” fans who had ponied up the $10 donation.

And I quickly realized that if Kentucky won its Regional Final matchup against Duke, I would be in the primo “entertainment purposes” driving seat heading into the Final Four and almost unbeatable due to a significant “entertainment purposes only” point lead!

I was on top of the world!

And then this happened …

For a more rounded, less suicidal (mine) version of this History of Misery event watch Ric Bucher‘s video report of The Carnage that left me with a nervous facial tic for years whenever I glimpsed the basketball floor at the Spectrum.

Of course, I don’t really hate Christian Laettner.  I simply hated what his exceptional skills on the court contributed to my wakening realization that fortune did not await me as the result of my keen sports betting insight.

So yes, I guess I hate Christian Laettner for saving me untold fortunes in the 20 years or so since.

It’s a complicated anti-relationship!

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Birth of a Phillies fan

(In celebration of Opening Day 2014, a trip down my personal baseball memory lane …)

My first recollections of Philadelphia Phillies baseball came during that Season From Hell – 1964!  You really do not have to explain that reference for most Philadelphia baseball fans, especially those over the age of 55.  Most long-time Phillies fans and – due to generations of legend sharing - even many of those newer to the game can recite the scenario that played out that year.

Gene Mauch

What I remember is my father sitting at the kitchen table; the radio playing; listening to By Saam, Bill Campbell, and Richie Ashburn (in just his second year with the Phils); usually smoking cigarettes with a quart bottle of Schmidt’s or Ballantine’s beer and a glass sitting on the table beside him.  He would sit there throughout the game, because in those days the games were rarely televised during the week.

So some of my first Phillies memories were the turmoil and angst being lived and endured – one game after another – as the Phillies frittered and fumbled away a 6 1/2 game lead over the rest of the National League with only 12 games to play.

(Of course none of this in any way lead me to feel sorry for NY Mets fans who went through two straight years of this in 2007 & ’08!!) 

It was difficult watching Dad go through that September.  He lived for his Phillies, much more so than the Eagles.  He would just shake his head, when he wasn’t yelling at a botched play or a wasted at-bat.  But he was hardly the only one suffering from Phillies Depression in my young 8-year-old universe.  Neighbors – both adults and older, more aware kids – could find little else to talk about.

And when the end finally came, there was a sense of disbelief, then anger … anger at Phillies manager Gene Mauch especially.

That was a HUGE part of my introduction to Phillies baseball.

The Phillies didn’t make it easy back then for their young, impressionable fans in the 1960s and early ’70s.  From 1965-1974   the Phillies posted just three seasons with winning records.  Among the more abysmal campaigns were losses that totaled 99 (’69), 95 (’71), 97 (’72) and 91 (’73).  It’s hardly the kind of performance that builds loyal fan followings in most cities.

And yet they remained Our Phillies … Dad in particular never lost his love for the game, especially his affection for the Home Team.

Bobby Wine

The players I remembered from my first years paying attention to Phillies baseball were Clay DalrympleTony Taylor, Johnny Callison, Jim Bunning, Bobby Wine, Chris Short, Wes Covington, Frank Thomas, Cookie Rojas, John Briggs, Rick Wise, Jack Baldschun, and of course Richie Allen.

My biggest thrill as a young Phillies fan was my first visit to Connie Mack Stadium as the Phightin’s took on those Houston Colt .45s.

Back in the day, we only saw baseball and all our sports on TV in black & white.  I can remember sitting down next to Dad as he watched a football game (most likely Notre Dame) and asking him which team he was rooting for, the “white” team or the “dark” team?   Whichever one he picked - for some contrarian reason – I would say I was rooting for the other team.  Maybe it was just my sense of balance that demanded someone root for the ‘other guys”.

Clay Dalrymple

That night at Connie Mack I can remember entering the stadium bowl from the tunnel and being absolutely stunned by the colors.  The bright green grass especially … the red and white uniforms … the grays of the visiting team … the colorful billboards … the right field “spite fence” … the brown dirt of the infield … When you are used to seeing an event purely in blacks & whites & grays, you suddenly realize what you have been missing; what color and natural sound add to the spectacle.

To top it off, as we took our seats in the upper stands along the third base line, I was horrified at the steepness of the grandstand seating.  For the first three innings I was so afraid  that, if I leaned forward too far in my seat, I would go tumbling down the rows of seats and be thrown from the grandstand to my untimely – though spectacular – death.

The images and sounds are memories still so vivid I doubt they’ll ever fade.  For me, there was no turning back.  I was hooked.  Hooked forever …

For that, Dad, I cannot thank you enough!

(Joseph Vincent Shortall passed away in August 2001.)

Failure to launch

Sydney Cricket Grounds

Sydney Cricket Grounds

Mission Plan:  Awaken at 0330-0345 hrs and catch Major League Baseball‘s first game of the 2014 season, between the Los Angeles Dodgers and Arizona Diamondbacks from the Sydney Cricket Grounds in Sydney, Australia.

Mission Status:  Failure, Complete & Utter

I finally woke up at 0550 hrs, well past the 0400 hrs starting time, and figured I might as well fahgettaboutit.

So in the tradition of Great OverSleepers such as Jean-Paul Jean-Paul, what do you think did in my ambitious plans for MLB’s Australian Opening Day?

Was it the …

  1. Snooze button
  2. AM/PM confusion
  3. Radio alarm volume control

Answer will be posted tomorrow!

The Power of Pancakes

pancakes2IHOP declared today to be National Pancake Day.  It says so on my Facebook feed, so it must be important.  It is also Happy Faschnaut Day, a.k.a. Donut Day.

National Carb Days are almost semi-religious holidays for corporate Big Carb evolving from fear for the dawning of the Christian Lenten season, where Catholics in good standing will forsake the siren calls of the IHOP/Dunkin Donut/soft pretzel triumvirate.

Well, maybe not so much the latter in this area.  That’s a Philly thing.  We can only go so far in demonstrating our devotion.  We barely survived edicts of meatless Fridays, which tended to put an economic crimp in the local cheesesteak economy.

In any the case, the point of this post is to celebrate the mystical properties of the pancake!  Any connection with National Pancake Day is purely coincidental.

I say this because I witnessed the Power of the Pancake this weekend!

The story has its genesis in the struggle of addressing the needs for elderly parent care.  There is never an easy solution to the question, what do you do when parents are aging to the point where more focused supervision is required?

My experience includes the breadth of care options available, from Independent Living through intensive, full-time managed care to end-life hospice services.  There are blessings and curses with each choice.

Our latest experience and challenge is the decision to invite our last parent to join us in our home.  My father-in law in a good guy, one I have always gotten along with though he has his blustery side and bouts with stubbornness.

When the choice was presented, I agreed easily enough, although there was a bit of anxiety about how such an arrangement might change a home dynamic with which we were all comfortable.  My wife’s piece-of-mind over a relative living alone was enough to persuade me.

KOQ-571.tifOur solution was to remodel our basement in recognition of my FIL’s desire to remain as autonomous as possible.  So autonomous in fact that his new digs are the nicest in our home (just in case your first impression was an episode right out of the King of Queens)!  The transition however has been anything but seamless.

We had to move him in earlier that expected and before his new palace was in move-in shape.  The remaining construction and approaching holidays made the situation a bit dicier, resulting in a hangover that threatened our expectations for limited disruption to the established household routine.

The difficulties which developed involved the usual sources of close-proximity conflict … mismatched expectations, fumbled communications, and the tendency to avoid rocking anyone’s boat at all costs.  Growing frustrations however required that the situation be addressed sooner rather than later; before the atmosphere we were trying to protect turned fetid, breeding anger.

I was tasked with being the Diplomat of Harmony.

My solution?  Breakfast!

nrAjVpmpU4T94vbK4Wmnt7_CmRKB49G7m-wiN6BxBqf03Octsc48KiZUqOpxXfhzNtnR=s151So this past weekend I invited my FIL out for breakfast at Hatboro Dish!  I did not tell him the reason for the invite.  Found out later he was suspicious, thinking we were going to through him out.  (Insert link for King of Queens episode)

Carol, not a fan of Big Breakfast, opted to let the guys hammer things out at an establishment full of sharp objects.

As we sat down, Jim dithered over the menu options.  I chose the bakery-quality cinnamon roll French toast, which is made by Lochel’s Bakery a few hundred feet up York Road, and Jim chose the pancakes … with strawberries … and whipped cream … soon to be marinated in maple syrup poured from a jar, not emptied from cheap plastic packaging.

Did I mention he’s diabetic?  However, it’s my belief that once you get to a certain age, you should be free to enjoy whatever you can, reasonably and safely.  I let him enjoy his loaded pancakes.

Once we finished our morning meals, it was time for The Talk.  Dreading the moment I put all my cards on the table, I wasn’t sure how Jim would take the challenge.  Changes had to be made.  But addressing them would not necessarily be easy.

What I found out though was that Jim was as unsettled about what was going on as we were.  We had a factual, very honest discussion of expectations vs. reality as it existed.  It was more relaxed than I had anticipated … a friendly, direct, unemotional conversation about how to improve the home situation.

Our discussion couldn’t have gone better.  Almost immediately function and comfort returned to our home!

Now this pleasant outcome could be attributed to a number of things -  personality traits, mindsets, shared values – that helped us at the breakfast table that day.  Either way you look at it, it’s hard to have a bad morning when looking over a stack of pancakes!

Flattery, thy name is …

DarrenTwissell_Old man ring_thI must be looking good at the gym!

I had completed the first half of my grueling cardio workout (OK … a slightly grueling 20 minutes on the elliptical), and decided to take advantage of an open basketball court instead of Part II on the treadmill (normally 25 minutes).

My gazelle-like movements on the court (Picture a very old, slightly overweight gazelle.), abundance of old-guy energy, and my deadly accurate, quick release was obviously turning some heads.  I’m pretty sure I sealed the deal when they saw my signature Jabbar-like sky hook.

That would be Maurice Jabbar, a 75 year-old I once saw play in the Smithsonian Geriatric League.  He owned that guy in the wheelchair! And maybe “sky hook” is a bit of an over-sell; but it sounds a lot sexier than “hop hook”!

No, it looked nothing like this ..
No, it looked nothing like this ..

Anyways … I’m working up a good sweat and in mid turn-around jumper (Picture … Well, you get the picture already.)  I sense someone behind.

“Hey, want to play two-on-two?”

It’s a guy about half my age.  (OK … Half my age 10 years ago …. maybe 15)  Obviously he was impressed.  Or maybe just really desperate for a playing partner.

What he doesn’t realize is I’m very near passing out; everything south of my waist (Yes, everything!) is groaning for me to stop; and I feel one sudden move away from a major muscle spasm.

I must have looked at him like he had six heads, because he suddenly looked alarmed and glanced around … probably to locate the nearest portable defibrillator.

I took in a huge breath; mustered all my remaining strength; and very slowly told him, “Thanks, but … I’m … almost done … here.  And … have to … go soon.  Besides … you guys … are … way … too young … for me …”

He looked either disappointed or relieved that he wouldn’t have to administer CPR.  It was tough to tell through the gauzy haze of my overheated, sweat-drenched face.

“But you’ll be on my side.”, he said.

My guess is he was an ER doc.

Because it’s mine

Was so, so close to having the garage finally cleared out from the renovations.

Plenty of room to move around.  No more playing Sliding Block Puzzle just to find the tool box.  Maybe even fit two cars in there for the snows expected tomorrow!

(Get your milk and bread! NOW!!)

And then it was finally time to get the father-in-law moved in.

Mike's Scratch 'n Dent

Mike’s Scratch ‘n Dent

I hate my life.

But my wife had some comforting words, “Stop whining.”

She doesn’t understand me.

No man is an Island … unless an Island he is

zombie-hands

Now I know what a Zombie Apocalypse
might look like …

I stand alone.  It’s official.

At some point this week, my last hope that good parenting, a quality standard of living, and the example – so often set here – that a grounded political philosophy can hold up to any intellectual challenge was smothered in the simple act of renewing a Pennsylvania driver’s license.

My youngest son changed his voter registration to Democrat.  And he is the smart one!

Was the smart one …

How did he express his change of affiliation when asked?  “I changed my mind.”

He made it sound like he was changing his socks.

Maybe it’s a statement on my Leadership.  Maybe I didn’t politically proselytize enough when the boys were so impressionable the correct politic would have been permanently ingrained, like their Philly accents.  Maybe I made one too many mistakes as a parent.

Oh well …

So now I am surrounded.  But that’s OK.  I can take solace in the following.

    • Neither one of them votes to my knowledge; and unfortunately, getting an Absentee Ballot is about to get a lot harder for one Temple Owl!
    • Mr. Hoot is also going to love taking the Broad St Subway back to school in the company of so many of his Democrat buds!
    • The two lost offspring who still list our home as primary residence do not as yet have to buy their own healthcare on those sterling examples of Government efficacy and Democrat “know how”, those Obamacare exchanges.  (I just want to be in the room when they find out how much they will be paying!)

doctor-obamacare

    • Neither have they had to worry about supporting themselves entirely on their own, and by doing so discover just how hard it is to stay ahead of the curve all the while supporting so many who simply don’t bother trying.
    • Nor do they possess the baseline from which they can gauge all that marvelous Hope and Change to which they are obviously drawn.
    • I still hold very limited influence over my Better Half. Carol votes Republican – I think – but has little interest in changing party affiliation for some reason.

In the end, I will continue to stand as the Lion at the Gate.  Politely accepting the political materials dropped off at the house by my Democrat opposition during elections cycles and quietly sorting the mail.   Not sure why those materials never seem to arrive with their intended receivers.

I guess all’s fair in Love and Poltics!

Of course I told the house’s latest Democrat that he will always be welcomed back into the real Party of Progress … once he regains his senses!

But for now, I am the lone Grand Old Party stalwart beating back the political zombies seeking to weaken the ramparts, while keeping the inmates calm and reassuring them that they can have their political say the second Tuesday of every November!

A Cranky GrandPop’s most Excellent Adventure …

Me and Harper Jeanine

Me and Harper Jeanine

Last week was a week to end all weeks!

OK … Maybe that’s a bit of a stretch.  But for Carol and I, it was definitely a week of incredible joy sandwiched by high-levels of anxiety and a touch of aggravation with an extremely cold coating of Winter.

The almost Head Injury

The Aggravation portion of the week started last Friday when I noticed a 7 degree difference between the house heater’s thermostat setting and inside temperature.  After ten minutes of playing with the thermostat while listening for the reassuring sound of the heater kicking on (a well-known method of heater evaluation), my wife offered some of her folksy wisdom.

“The heater’s not going to come on just because you’re staring at it.”

I couldn’t argue with her.

Fortunately the heater eventually came on by itself, but it was a portent of things to come.  And on Sunday morning I woke to a cold house and no heat from a unit just a year-and-a-half old (Lennox).

Sunday was a miserable day with rain freezing on the ground.  Not that I appreciated that as I frantically called my very responsive HVAC guy.

Dan described the potential pitfalls of ice damming up outlet vents and warned of the nasty, icy weather outside.  The first thing he wanted me to do was check the opening on the outlet vent for over-icing.

Of course I was half listening (Carol would be shocked …) as I wiggled into boots to contend with the snow piled up around the side of the house where the vent was located.

So I stepped out of the house, crossed the porch; stepped casually onto the first step … And promptly landed right on my gluteus maximus after a failed Flying Salchow with a Twist.  Nothing hurt but my pride and my wet, cold butt.  The scary part was feeling the back of my head lightly thumping the cement porch, inches from a serious head injury.

The solution to getting heat into our home this day ended up being the skillful hammering – That’s right, hammering – on a half dollar-sized piece of indubitably foreign-manufactured plastic that forms a pressure switch.

As I triumphantly declared “Heat on!”, Dan the heater guy, promptly offered me all his weekend emergency service calls!

Harper Jeanine (Needless to say, the highlight of the week/month/year!)

Princess Harper

Princess Harper

Sunday night the alarms went off.  A simple call from the northern edge of the Shortall family, a small town near Williamsport, set in motion a whirlwind of grand parenting speculation and frantic decision-making.

Mom’s water had broken and the Launch Clock was running!

We opted to wait until first thing Monday morning to leave for the Home of the Little League World Series hospital because the weather up north consisted mainly of freezing rain. And of course, shortly before we were to leave on our three-hour race to the north, we got the call that we were Grandparents!

Harper Jeanine … 7 pounds, 12 ounces of incredible unbaby-ugly cuteness was born at 0719 hours at Williamsport Hospital!!

And with hitting official Grand Pop status, I aged a decade – mentally – in an instant.

But without a trace of subjective Proud GrandPop blathering, I can assure you that she is in fact the Most Beautiful Baby of 2014!

She has all her fingers and toes. (I checked several times.)  She smells of new-baby-scented perfection. (I checked several times.)  And Harper Jeanine looks a lot like me. (That I checked a few more than several times.)

There is no doubt she is the product of a perfectly developed and extremely attractive gene pool, of which of course I consider myself Lead Specimen.  And no, I am not saddled with an overactive self-perception!

Heat?  Who needs heat?!?

004c0803llold-man-winter-blowing-bad-weather-into-a-city-postersAfter a joyous day of baby coddling and embarrassing goo-goo talk, Father Winter decided to ratchet up my desire to retire to Arizona with two days of the coldest weather many will remember ever experiencing.  The Wind-chill in Williamsport on Tuesday began at -6 and wormed to a toasty +10 by mid-afternoon.

Since I was tasked with welfare checks on our new tenant, my father-in-law, who declined to make the trip with us, I made several “What’s up?” calls home.  When I asked my FIL how everything was on Tuesday morning, he told me the house was cold.

uh oh …

“How cold?”, I asked, “What’s the thermostat reading?”

He laughed, and told me without a hint of concern, “53″.

uh oh …

Now fortunately, I have a very good neighbor, an ex-Marine who loves a good crisis.  He’s a dependable, no-nonsense, get-it-done type.  We help each other out whenever we can.  Everything good neighbors are supposed to do.

No one wants a frozen Pop-Pop

What I felt like going out to my car Tuesday morning

And he’s good friends with my former Marine HVAC guy!  So, with a minimum of frantic scrambling, more pressure switch pounding, and frequent house checks by the Marines, we were able to avoid Frozen Pop-Pop Syndrome.

Getting the cheap foreign-made replacement part was another problem altogether, complicated by the horrendous weather, or so the parts supply source kept telling us.

So for two days I spent a bit of time making phone calls and requesting neighborly Wellness Checks.  And I harassed my helpless HVAC guy who eventually had to beg the required part from his Lennox tech rep.

This Winter is stacking up to be a real (select your favorite Adjective of Disbelief here).  But Harper Jeanine is here, and everything will end up just fine!

OK, since you insist …

What could be better?!?

What could be better?!?

Cranky Man’s favorite Philly sports moments

A tribute to the only reason I ever watched a Sixers game

A tribute to the only reason I ever watched a Sixers game

Now before I disappoint, I must warn you that this is not a treasure trove of Cranky Man’s various sports accomplishments.  Many though they are, I was a child born before the Age of Electronics-at-Your-Fingertips.  Sadly there is no video, films or even a decent grainy photo of those numerous magical moments from my past.

No video of those broken field runs on cold, snowy days with a well-worn pigskin under arm as I danced through flailing arms or plowed through helpless tacklers on makeshift gridirons along Ashton Road.  No snapshots of my gazelle-like grace as I tracked down a moonshot homerun fail on a sun-scorched softball field at Thomas Holme School at Willits and Holme Avenues.  No montage of my patented top-shelf, net-filling wrist shot during ridiculously hot and humid summer night street hockey games in the parking lot of the old Crown, Cork and Seal factory at Angus and Ashton Roads.

Sadly those magical moments are lost forever to the public except as they reside in my somewhat refracted long-term memory, exaggerated somewhat perhaps - like photo-shopped wedding pictures of an imperfect bride.  However, I might be able to find a few witnesses, given enough time and access to a sufficient supply of memory jogging altering alcohol.

No, what we have here are those distance moments and recent events in Philly sports history that shaped my psyche as a Philadelphia sports fan.

Some of the moments I have selected may surprise you.  In many cases they are not those iconic moments when Championships were sealed for the Ages.  Instead, they might be the plays that made that Championship seem probable, maybe inevitable.

Some are simply those indelible feats of personal accomplishments from which heroic sports memories are made.  Several memories are those of epic failure, that as an early sports memories many recall those long stretches of Philly sports futility.

Needless to say, your list of memorable Philly sports moments will include some of these, and others as well.  So feel free to offer your own, and maybe it will show up on a future trip down Memory Lane!

The Earliest Baseball Magic - Fathers Day 1964:  The family is bundled into the car driving home from an afternoon Fathers Day visit.  I am eight years old.  Dad turns on the radio just in time to catch the last few innings of Jim Bunning‘s perfect game for the Philadelphia Phillies against the futile New York Mets in the first game of a sun-baked doubleheader.

Video: A perfect Fathers’ Day

It took him just 91 pitches and was the first perfect game in the National League in 84 years.

It was also the year of the Great Phillies Collapse of ’64, something of which we dare not speak.

Bunning was an all out, full-body thrower; often finishing his follow through his left forearm on the ground.  He would retire from baseball in 1971 and would be elected a U.S. Senator from the Commonwealth of Kentucky in 1999.  He still serves in the Senate,

The Night Superman wore a “P” – June 23, 1971:  It was an ungodly hot day in Cincinnati as the Phillies prepared to take on the Reds that night.  Pitcher Rick Wise was not feeling well on the back-end of a bout with flu-like symptoms.  When he stepped out onto the Riverfront Stadium Astroturf field, the on-field temperature was close to 120 degrees.

Wise recalled that his warm-up pitches seemed like they could barely reach the plate.  Yet after the Reds went down in order through the first nine batters, Wise started to feel stronger figuring the heat had sweated the last of the flu from his system.  When he batted in the fifth inning, Reds starter Ross Grimsley left a slider up in the zone and Wise hit it out of the park for a homerun.

At some point after this, a bored fifteen year-old heard from a friend that Wise was pitching a no-hitter.  The Phillies weren’t much better – if better at all – than the 1964 version.  So not many 15 year-olds spent their time inside the house during the Summer watching them struggle in their mediocrity.  But a no-hitter is a no-hitter, so we all ran into the house to catch the last innings.

In the eighth inning, with a no-hitter a very real possibility, Wise came to bat against reliever Clay Carroll.  When he looked down at the third-base coach for the sign on a 2-0 count, George Myatt simply turned his back to Wise.  He could swing away.  Carroll layed one out over the plate and Wise drove it for his second homerun of the game.

In the ninth, Wise got two outs and none other than perennial hit machine, Pete Rose, stood between Wise and no-hit, two homerun immortality.  Rose worked the count to 3-2 then …

Video: The Reds get Wise’d

In one of those romantic twists that makes baseball such an interesting game, Rick Wise was the starting pitcher in that second game of the doubleheader in which Jim Bunning pitched his perfect game 7 years before!

Favell’s Big Flop … April 2, 1972:  It’s the last game of the Philadelphia Flyers 1971-72 regular season.  The hometown hockey club, which I had just started to follow, needed to simply avoid a loss to grab the last playoff spot.  A win or even a tie against the Sabres in Buffalo would do the trick.

Doug Favell was in the nets.  Favell was known as a flopper, who loved to flop and flail in the crease.

As the third period ran down into its final seconds, the Flyers clung to their first playoff berth in stubborn defensive hockey and a 2-2 tie.  With just 15 seconds left in the game Sabres defenseman Gerry Meehan – a former Flyer himself – collected a puck inside the Sabres zone and made a pass in the neutral zone.  As he cleared the blue line he got the puck back …

I was devastated and for months broke into nervous twitches every time I heard the name Doug Favell.

Clarke and The Hound:  Of course much better Flyers memories were right around the corner!

Bobby Clarke‘s overtime goal in Game 2 of the 1974 Stanley Cup Finals didn’t clinch The Cup, but it convinced this Flyers fan that they would inevitably bring Lord Stanley to Philly for the very first time!

Then in 1975 the Flyers won the Stanley Cup again.  But it was Bob “The Hound” Kelly who set the table just 11 seconds into the 3rd period of a scoreless Game 6.  He absorbed a hellacious hit from Buffalo defenseman Jerry Korab; controlled the puck behind the net; and with a little help from Bobby Clarke nudging Korab out-of-the-way …

Current Flyers and NHL broadcaster, Bill Clement scored the second and final goal to wrap up the Flyers successful Stanley Cup defense.

Boone to Rose:  Any Philadelphia sports fan knows the date, October 21, 1980.  On this night the Phillies would win their first World Series.  But it was this iconic play between Bob Boone and Pete Rose from the clincher that seemed to represent the hand of the baseball gods to anoint those Phillies as World Champions.

Wilbert romps through Cowboy-land:  It was January 7, 1981.  The Philadelphia Eagles had been improving steadily since Dick Vermeil had been hired as coach in 1976.  By 1978 – and the Miracle in the Meadowlands   – the Eagles were playoff bound over the next several seasons.  Then, on a bitterly cold day in January 1981, they were facing the Dallas Cowboys in the NFC Championship Game and a chance to go to their first Superbowl.

On their very first drive of the game, the Eagles drove down to the Cowboys 42-yard line and Wilbert Montgomery set the tone for the rest of the day.

A great bonus …  Listening to the call by Tom Brookshier and Pat Summerall.

Wilbert’s romp and an unbreakable defense won the game 20-7.  The Eagles lost the Super Bowl however, to Jim Plunkett and the Oakland Raiders.

J & J … No, I was never a big Sixers fan; but there have been times I watched, enthralled to see some of the best athletes to ever play in Philly.

In 1983, when the Sixers won their last NBA title, it was Julius Erving, Bobby Jones, and Moses Malone – the final piece to the puzzle – who made it possible.  Jones playing the perimeter and stout on defense; Malone backing up his “fo’, fo’, fo’” playoff series prediction; and Julius simply being Julius.

Shane, Stairs and Utley’s Gambit:  When the Phillies finally broke through again in 2008, their ascendency to World Series Champion was no sure thing.  Yet it was a collection of plays that eventually convinced me that it could, should, then would happen.

Carol and I sat in the 300 level at Citizens Bank Park when Shane Victorino hit his grand slam off C.C. Sabathia in Game 2 of the National League Divisional Series.  It followed an epic at-bat by starting pitcher, Brett Myers.

It convinced me that the Phillies just could win this thing.

Video: Victorino slams Big C.C.

Victorino did it again, with the Phillies down 5-3 in the 8th inning of Game 4 of the National League Championship Series at Chavez Ravine against the Los Angeles Dodgers.  I always though Victorino’s home run off Cory Wade was even bigger than Matt Stairs‘ game-winning deep space launch off Jonathan Broxton, because it changed the entire Dodgers relief strategy as well as tied the game.  Both were unforgettable moments that convinced me the Phillies should win the whole enchilada.

Video: Victorino lines a fence topper

Video: Stairs launches Broxton

But it was Chase Utley‘s play in the rain-delayed Game 6 of the 2008 World Series against the Tampa Bay Rays that proclaimed to this fan that the Phillies would win their second World Championship.

Video: Utley goes schoolyard on the Rays

The rest, as they say, was His-TO-ry!

And finally, I leave you with this little gem that slightly pre-dates my own backyard football career.  How exactly we are able to reach all the way back to 1928 to watch a sandlot game of football is amazing!