Philadelphia Phillies Win the Pennant: A Phamily Celebration

When the Flyers scored the winning goal to beat the Capitals in Game Seven of the playoffs this past season, I jumped out of my chair, arms raised in celebration—right into a moving ceiling fan.

Yeah, that hurt.

So this time, as Carlos Ruiz squeezed the final out and clinched the Phillies' first pennant in 15 years, I made sure to take a step to the right.  And jumped around like a fool.

It must have been quite a sight.

This moment was shared by no one—and everyone—as long-suffering Phillies fans across the country exulted in jubilation as the Fightin's captured their sixth pennant in their 124-year history.

Last time this happened, I was home from college on fall break, sitting in my mother's living room, sharing the moment with my mom, sister, and brother, in the Philadelphia suburb in which I grew up. A lifetime of fandom crystallized in that moment—Mitch Williams getting the strikeout, jumping up in the air, and the pandemonium that ensued.

Never in my life had I experienced the thrill of seeing my team reach the World Series, too young to appreciate their previous appearances.

I was six years old when the Phillies won their only World Series. My father woke me up, brought me down to the party raging in the same living room, saying, "You may never see this again in your lifetime."

This time, though, was different. 

I was sitting in my own living room, more than 600 miles away the scene of my last pennant celebration. That home—the house I grew up in—was sold a few years ago.

My brother was landing at Dallas-Fort Worth airport, frantically checking his V-Cast upon touchdown, exiled on a work trip at a very inopportune moment. 

My sister sat in Boston, still rooting for the Phillies, despite adopting her new hometown Red Sox a while back. Thankfully for her, the Sox look to be saving her from a conflict of interest in the upcoming Series.

Mom is living her dream at the beach, celebrating with her new husband of a few years, a good Philly guy with a great collection of old-time Phillies paraphernalia.

Only my father remains in the Delware Valley.

But as they say, you can take the boy out of Philly, but you can't the Philly out of the boy.

And there I was, in Knoxville, Tenn., jumping and flailing and carrying on like a mad-man, trying not to wake my own wife and children who had long since gone to sleep.

No need to wake them now—that can wait four games for the real celebration. And my father will never be happier to be proven wrong.