In a 2008, Sam Alipour refused to allow an interview with Chris Coste to end until the Phillies backup catcher admitted his story was a lot like Rocky so that ESPN would be able to use the awesome sports/movie parallel they came up with. But Sam was right; in Philadelphia, we follow a specific cycle:
- Hating you
- Acknowledging our hate has beaten you down
- Cheering for you to overcome the odds we created by hating you
I don’t even consider liking a movie if I don’t hate it for the first 30 minutes.
"“I’m not a sexy ballplayer.”–Chris Coste"
Sexiness is a big part of being a Comcast Sports Net analyst for Phillies baseball, as Darren Daulton has taught us. As a casual observer, I’d say it makes up around 65-70% of their job requirements. With guys as fashion and skin-conscious as Dutch on board, competition’s pretty tight. And when Ricky Bottalico is shouting something at the camera, it feels like your friend’s stepdad is yelling at you. So Coste can’t even come in and assume the “deranged for our amusement guy” persona.
Reading The 33-Year-Old Rookie gave special meaning to seeing Chris on the field. Our initial mistrust gave way to a love affair with the backup catcher; something once limited to dimestore sex novels in the checkout line. His success in a bench role after a life sentence to minor league baseball helped get him a World Series ring. Was his his a charmed tale, and were the Phillies, the team on which Fate dropped him, going to be a part of it in the future?
“No,” said Fate, quietly closing the door to success on which Chris had left a vicious set of claw marks. Then Fate signed him with the Astros. Then the Mets. Then the Nationals’ farm system. Fate was kind of being a dick. But if Chris Coste was accustomed to anything, it was the sinister dickings of Fate.
Another Philadelphia underdog story had reached its end, only this one won’t be mowing down a third of Burma’s population with a .50 caliber machine gun on his way out. Fate has has pulled out a chair in Comcast Sports Net’s studio, patting the seat with the gently fiendish grin of a force aware of its own sadly irreversible powers.
Seated the amidst the jubilant roars of Michael Barkann, the merciless chatter of Ricky Bottalico, and the revolving flesh tones of Darren Daulton, Chris begins a new chapter. This one is entitled “The 38-Year-Old Phillies Analyst,” and if Dutch has anything to about it, it’ll be a much more transdimensional read.
Huh. I didn’t even use as many “Darren Daulton sure is weird” jokes as I thought. Good for me/him.