My instantaneous reaction when the Phils' star reliever, Brad Lidge, struck out the Rays' last batter is still fresh in my mind. It started as, "Oh, the Phils won the World Series . . . then, registering at a deeper level, "The Phils actually won the World Series! . . . then, finally, with a gasp, "My God! the Phils WON THE WORLD SERIES!! THEY'RE WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!" At which point I did the only thing a proper "mature" fan could do--I ran into the next room and gave my wife a great big bear hug.
There is something to be said for having low expectations. The lower they are, the less the disappointment when they're not met. Certainly, as a human being (and particularly as a psychologist) this was a lesson I'd already learned many times. But the one downside of such cautious skepticism is that it does require a major mental adjustment to truly enjoy the long sought-after fruits of victory when they do appear.
Having two nephews (both of whom are more die-hard Phillies fans than, even as a young adult, I could ever permit myself to be), I was curious to inquire about their own responses to the Phillies' monumental victory. In an e-mail, Ryan (now 34, the older of the two brothers--and who may well have taught his younger brother, Jordan, to be as crazy about the Phillies as he was) waxed rather philosophical: "Anger and frustration are natural emotional states for Philly fans," he opined. Then he reflected: "So much pessimism is built into [their] psyche. . . . Every year we see teams from different cities pull off fantastic, inspirational victories to become world champions. . . . Why can't this happen to us? Why do these other teams get to enjoy these greatest of joys, but we never get to feel what we so desperately long to feel?"
I found myself touched by the vividness of his lament, so fresh in his mind even though his beloved Phils had finally brought him just that "high" he had so long envisioned--and so much envied others for experiencing. And I was again reminded how it's impossible not to identify with a team that you follow day by day, and year by year. Rooting for a losing team shouldn't in any way affect how we feel about ourselves. But I realize that it's probably universal--and inevitable--that whatever we invest in, equate ourselves to, or compare ourselves with, ends up affecting our very sense of self. It's something like the psychological concept of vicarious traumatization, which describes the circumstance of an individual's becoming traumatized by closely identifying with another who was in fact traumatized. Or growing up in an alcoholic family and thereby feeling a deep sense of shame--even though you yourself were never alcoholic and, objectively, have nothing whatsoever to be ashamed about.
So many years my junior, Ryan nonetheless portrayed something quite similar to what I've described about myself above: "I stood in front of my TV in complete disbelief, overcome with a raging storm of emotions. . . . I was fully aware that the Philadelphia Phillies had just won the World Series; however, my identity as a Philadelphia sports fan could not reconcile this discordance. . . . And just standing there, taking it all in and riding . . . eyes wide on [this] emotional rollercoaster, was truly a spectacular experience."
At long last, that elusive high was his to claim; and I found myself feeling genuinely happy for him. I understood. . . .
Jordan, at 24, 10 years younger than Ryan, was also thrilled by the experience. But as exuberant as he was, he also had been emotionally affected by a history of cruel disappointments--and waiting for a "next year" that never seemed to materialize. At the tender age of nine, and unfortunately already "hooked" on a team so very risky to root for, he had witnessed that magical season of 1993 in which the Phillies, playing really exciting baseball, made it all the way to the World Series . . . only to lose, in one of the most heartrending ways imaginable, to the Toronto Blue Jays.
In his own words: "I remember that I just couldn't cry hard enough to alleviate the pain of losing. In fact, when talking to my mom about the upcoming World Series this year, she said, ‘Do you remember when they lost in '93 and you said you wanted to jump out of a window? Just promise me that you won't watch it from a high floor.' I said, 'Ma, don't worry, I live on the ground floor.'" Every bit as touchingly as his brother, he went on to comment, "I have known what it means to be a Philadelphia fan. It means having a lot of heart, but always being a loser in the end. It means devastating heartbreak. . . . It means watching every other city experience greatness."
But now the agonizing wait was over. Jordan, finally had a Winner to identify with. "WE are the champions!" he proudly proclaimed. "There is NO ONE better than us in the world! It is an amazing feeling and completely surreal. . . . As I gallop around the neighborhood, finding a combination of childhood giggling and emotional crying, in between screams of "WE WIN!!!!! THE PHILLIES WON!!!!! . . . I know that I am overjoyed, but that the true reality hasn't hit me yet. . . . I've only known for my team to ALWAYS lose the last game of the season [so] it will definitely take some getting used to."
Jordan had the poor fortune to be born in 1984; and since 1983 (when Julius Erving and Moses Malone helped the 76ers win an NBA championship), before a couple of days ago none of Philadelphia's professional sports teams (whether the Phillies, Eagles, 76ers, or Flyers) had ever brought this city the trophy it so much craved. And the situation is actually worse than one might think. For in the past 25 years these four teams advanced to their championship game seven times--and somehow managed to go 0 for 7. No accident then that Philadelphia (compliments of these four luckless teams) has at times been called "choke city."
But I'll close this piece by suggesting that Phillies fans everywhere not spend a whole lot of time looking forward to next year--that they not focus on repeating the wonderful "high" they've just experienced. Rather, I think it's best to simply savor this present championship to the fullest, and keep it "real" for themselves as long as humanly possible. . . . For who knows when it will happen again?
