I look out my West Philadelphia window right now, and what do I see?
Yes. Two guys fighting over a satellite dish.
But I also see the sunlight careening off the soft autumnal clouds, and the breeze picking up and dropping a chill in their that makes me want to get up and close the window.
Okay, no. I can’t see the breeze.
Playoffs are within reach tonight, and while the Phaithful are performing attitudinal 180s because of a win last night, its hard not to be optimistic with the magic number down to only a game. And we didn’t even have to wait for the last game of the season to know it.
We’re a different team than last year at this time.
We don’t see Pat Burrell in left anymore, we see an older guy who had the season of his career.
We don’t see 100% perfection from a certain closer who cost us a few.
We don’t see stellar performances from some of our starters we’d come to depend on.
We don’t hear HK’s voice crackling through the radio inform us which one of the Phillie is “the man.”
We see Jamie Moyer sitting in the bullpen, Greg Dobbs nowhere to be found, and the Mets in the midst of an epic failure of a…
Well…not everything’s different.
But who isn’t whimsical at this time of year? It seems like everyone’s forgotten about what worried them yesterday, as tonight may be the night we all feared would never come.
Grab your towel, and hold onto your butts. For Christ’s sake.
Let’s finish this shit already.