When I was rebelling against my Catholic upbringing as a child, I went through a phase where every time I sneezed and someone said “Bless you,” I’d shout “God doesn’t exist!” and run out of the room. My rebellions never really changed the world as much as I thought. They usually just forced some awkward laughs from my parents as they’d try to cover up my behavior in front of yet another dinner guest, while I eavesdropped from around the corner to see just how hard my actions had rocked their world.
They got pretty good at pretending I had brain damage, which, given the amount of gel in my hair, was a feasible explanation. But the important thing is, they didn’t let the weakest member of the family be the sole representation of us as whole.
Here’s what makes us look bad the week after being named the most loyal fans in the country.
- The vice president of America, an outed Phils fan, wearing a Yankees hat while bro-grabbing with Mariano Rivera.
- The editor of Philadelphia Magazine announcing he used to be a Mets fan (But it’s okay because he moved to Philadelphia and started rooting for the Phillies. Which doesn’t make him a bandwagon fan because [404 SYSTEM ERROR REASON NOT FOUND] )
- The guy in front of me at the grocery store telling someone “Well hell, I just can’t watch the Phillies when they’re bad.”
I just think maybe we could be a little more subtle about our despicable betrayals, is all.
Let’s start with you, Mr. Vice President. I get the whole “politician” thing. By now you most likely feel like a hollowed out shell, gutted of any true emotion as you’re dropped into any and every photo-op your attack squad of publicists can find. You may be allowed a sad, wistful glance out the window at Citizens Bank Park as your motorcade speeds past, but when it comes down to it, the hats slapped on your head are according to what logo will drive the citizens of the region in which you’re currently standing into a frenzy of overzealous hee-haws. But Obama wore the ChiSox hat in Nationals Park last year when he was throwing out the first pitch, and those teams barely touch each other. You’re french-kissing the devil now with that awful thing on your head, and you’re laughing–laughing–as you do it. Just know that every chuckle chews a little further away on your soul, and one day, when you’re looking through a scrapbook of photographs and you’re wearing a different hat in each one, you won’t even be able to remember what it was like to speak without somebody’s hand up your ass.
And you, Mr. Editor of Philadelphia Magazine. Who likes the Mets and Phillies in the same lifetime? And who openly admits it if they for some reason do? I know you probably thought it’d be a great opening; really ensnare the reader with a radical statement in bold. Nicely done. The problem is, how will anyone read your column when the rest of the page is covered in rage-vomit? Being aware of a tradition is not the same thing as being a part of it. You don’t go to Pat’s and order the fish.
And finally, this guy. When things get difficult, you turn off the TV and stick your head between the couch cushions? Baseball is based on suffering. Why do you think the Phillies blogosphere has enough writers to occupy a loud, opinionated country whose chief export is quirky t-shirts? Because we needed a place to vent our frustrations in public and the cops have all of our pictures. Look at you, with your fat baby and your stupid non-generic brand Cheerios. YOU THINK YOU’RE REALLY SOMETHING, DON’T YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH. YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME BECAUSE YOUR CHEERIOS BOX DOESN’T HAVE A CARTOON BEAR SHOUTING ‘BEAR-IOS!! Compare with Cherrios‘ ON THE SIDE. WHY DON’T YOU GO SHOP AT TRADER JOE’S WITH THE REST OF THE ZILLIONAIRES. NICE BABY, BY THE WAY. THAT’S JUST WHAT THE WORLD NEEDS. ANOTHER CLUSTER OF HIPSTERS FUCKING TO THE RHYTHM OF AN ARCTIC MONKEYS SONG UNTIL THEY POOP OUT A NEW GENERATION TO TELL US WE “PROBABLY HAVEN’T HEARD” OF THINGS.
Now. Excuse me. I’d like to be alone with my Bear-ios.