Being a Philadelphia sports fan is very much like living through a Russian novel.

People who know nothing of fact make a lot of comments about the “city of Brotherly love” Often, such comments are limited to ignorant sports commentators। But now and then, the “Philadelphia attitude” becomes newsworthy.

And it has in some ways this week। And I don’t know where to start।

OK-that’s not true। I’d be an even worse writer than I am if I sat down to plunk away at this without any idea what I wanted to say…

Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin dropped the puck at the opening game for my beloved Philadelphia Flyers earlier this week। They lost। She received what I would call a ‘respectful boo” though it was by no means overwhelming. She was received as well as one would hope from a crowd in south Philly that was very likely divided almost down the middle politically. But that has not stopped the media, in their ‘wisdom’ from taking the chance to beat up on the Philly fans. I saw one “reporter” say, “They booed Santa-how will Sarah Palin fare?” Again with this nonsense…

Ohhhh…they booed Santa Claus…।know what? Damn right they did. They booed the hell out of that guy, but do any of you know why?

It was Halftime of a game against the Minnesota Vikings, December 15, 1968. The fans who were not utilizing the time to get more beer or use the facilities, and were actually watching the halftime show, heartily booed a young man in a Santa Claus suit, who had been enlisted from the stands, due to the fact that the guy scheduled to appear as Santa had been snowed in down in Wildwood, of all places.

They pelted him with snowballs, and they booed him heartily…because he made an ass of himself. As my friends from Boston might say, “that guy was wicked hammered...”

The guy embarrassed himself. And he was rightly booed. The fact that sports reporters cling to it even today, nearly 30 years later strikes me as pure laziness. Yeah, cheering Michael Irvin when he got hurt was a little wrong, but that guy tore us up for years. I, for one never threw a battery at J.D. Drew, nor did I throw a snowball at Jimmy Johnson, though I know some who did. Overall, the Flyer’s fans did what they do-expressed their opinion: some booed. Some stood and cheered. And then it was done. Regrettably they lost, as they have all three of their games to start this season, which I assure you, gentle reader, is all that mattered to the fans when the horn sounded.

Philly fans are passionate, they are interactive with the product, they do their homework, and in general, live and breathe the ups and downs of their teams. That said, they probably care more about winning than the owners do, and that has led to generations of disappointment. Many are convinced that the jersey they wear or the bar stool they inhabit makes a genuine difference in whether or not the team wins. I once saw at guy in a bar sent to his car by his buddies to change his shirt after a particularly bad first quarter for the Eagles. He did as he was ordered without argument. I’ve done the mid-game jersey switch myself, as recently as this past Sunday when the Eagles were lucky to get past a pretty weak 49ers team…I’m not proud, but nor am I apologetic. As Pennsylvania native DJ Wiz Khalifa sings, “It’s all in the blood…” But I digress.

Being a Philadelphia sports fan is very much like living through a Russian novel. There are ups and downs, and inexplicable turns of fate. There are characters that come from nowhere and make a demonstrative difference, and there are plotlines that start months away, and culminate 562 pages in in a manner that makes the reader jump out of their seat. And the denouement is so spectacularly tragic, that, while you were glad to have been there to see it, you know you will walk away viscerally changed. Even if you arrive at the conclusion you’d hoped for, you may feel challenged by how you got there. Nothing insignificant ever happens. It all ends up mattering somehow, and the result is usually somewhat melancholy.

In my life, I remember the Phillies 1980 World Series win. To date, it is the only championship for the franchise.

I remember the Sixers 1983 title win, and Moses, and Doc, and Mo Cheeks. I was really into basketball in those years, but I didn’t get to see many of those games on TV. But I loved Moses and Doc. We used to fight on the playground about who got to be Doctor J during our pickup games.

And that was the last championship. I’ve talked about the 93 Phillies here and about the Eagles Super Bowl teams. The Flyers have had their chances, and I’ve written of them in this space too.
I watched the Eagles play in the Super Bowl with my sister back at Ott’s in South Jersey, and up until they lost, it was one of the best nights I’ve had.

I know where I was when Joe Carter hit his homerun and sent Lenny Dykstra, who would have been MVP of that series but for one pitch, into his own version of Philadelphia lore. I was sitting in my dorm room in Ohio, and my girlfriend, who later turned into the wife later on, was dressed to the nines. It was the Fall Formal Dance, and if memory serves, the Artie Shaw Orchestra was playing. Still went to the dance, but Artie’s music never sounded worse.

I’d gone to at least 20 games that summer. I listened to Harry Kalas on the radio on a daily basis. All of those games…I was there for them all, even the one that ended at like 4am and was won by Mitch “Wild Thing” Williams making the game-winning hit, while, as I recall, his Dad was sleeping in Mitch’s Truck. I remember all that, and I remember the names of every player and knew every story. I even got to meet Hall of Famer Richie Ashburn. Well, I accidentally bumped into him, but it was cool. '93 was a fun season, and I don’t think I remember it any less fondly because they lost in the series. Be nice to know what it feels like to have a championship though.

Philly sports fans are a different breed to be sure. I’ve witnessed fights in the 700 level of the Vet, and in the parking lot. I’ve seen a grown man dressed up as “Baby New Year,” diaper and all during a cold winter Eagles playoff game. One time, in the restroom, I saw a guy look at the long line for the urinal and just shrugged his shoulders, and took a leak in the sink. Washed his hands there too.

But, we are nothing if not loyal, and perhaps to a fault. I’ve been very frustrated with my teams, and more than once, I’ve said to myself, there’s GOT to be more to life than this! I’ve tried turning off games that are going poorly-like this weekend’s Eagles and Phils and Flyers games. I try to say that I don’t care, and I say I don’t need to watch. I try to act as though it’s really not important, and that I don’t need to see it all unfold. I can walk away, turn away, is what I tell myself.

But I’m a liar. I always end up turning the game back on, and sometimes, like this weekend, I’m rewarded with the Eagles pulling it out. And sometimes, it goes from bad to worse. I still end up feeling mad, and saying I’ve got to find other things to do with my time and emotional energy, but I can’t stop. I’m hooked. It’s in the blood.

And what’s worse, I’m teaching this to my children. I have passed it on, and while they are all under four years old at this writing, I am passing it on to them. They will toil with me, and while they don’t yet understand what they are in for, I’m comforted by the fact that at least I can pass this affliction on to others. If I do a good job, at least I’ll have the opportunity to suffer with my children.

But in the meantime, the media needs to come up with some new ammunition. The Santa Claus thing is old news, and almost everyone who references it doesn’t know a thing about that day, nor do they understand the people they are lambasting. So, go do some homework. Pure laziness. Do Philadephia fans boo? Yep. Do they boo and cheer sometimes in the same minute. Yep. We cheer what’s good and boo what’s not. Deal with it.

Whether they like it or not, I am actively indoctrinating my children with this mania that more often than not brings me more heartache than joy. At least so far, but I mean, I never had a choice, why should they?

And maybe, one day, they’ll know what it’s like to celebrate a championship. Maybe I will too. I mean, I was 10 last time.

It’s all in the blood, and that doesn’t change.