Blog Sample: I Hate Philadelphia Sports, and Its the Only Thing I’ve Ever Loved

Today, I wanted to dress in all black and feed ducks in the park. The type of outfit that has been made iconic by the legendary sorrows of characters like Johnny Cash or Michal Scott seems to be the only thing that could properly encapsulate the sorrow my beloved sports teams have put me in. Unfortunately though, I’m paid to spend a bunch of time rambling about said sports teams on the internet daily. So feel free to laugh at the pain I’m wallowing in sitting here at what’s hopefully the end of an infamous run of athletic failure in my home city of Philadelphia.

I have developed a messy tradition over the last year of drinking enough alcohol to make Andre the Giant blackout after tough Philly playoff losses. For those of you who aren’t being constantly reminded of what the city of brotherly love has been through at the hand of its sports teams over the course of the last twelve months, I’ll remind you. First, the Phillies lost the World Series. Next, the Eagles lost the Super Bowl. Now, the Sixers just lost another second-round playoff series, their fifth in the past six years. My liver will never recover. Of this I’m certain. But I’m also starting to believe that my outlook on life has been permanently altered by the pattern of disappointment that has plagued my last trip around the sun.

The end of the Phillies’ run was painful, but being in college in Philadelphia gave me some of the most fun nights of my life. For lack of a less overused cliché, I was on top of the world. This all came crashing down as I watched the National League home run champion bunt his last pitch of the season behind the catcher for a strike three in his final at bat of the season. And with that, every good memory of that run is now tainted by one of me throwing a temper tantrum having a rational response to such a disaster of a final effort.

The Eagles’ run was different. From early on, they were Super Bowl favorites, and they walked over opponents all year without breaking a sweat. The people who seemingly make a living pouring salt in my wounds on Twitter will tell you that their schedule was easy, but in disagreeing with me those people also proved their lack of credibility. The Eagles were unreal this season. They played a well in the big game, but the they blew it. Blame Johnathon Gannon. Blame the refs. Blame the field. It doesn’t matter. I cried. I blacked out. And I didn’t feel the same for weeks.

The Sixers’ playoff run is the one that proves my lack of intelligence. All season, I said I wouldn’t do it. I said I wouldn’t let them get my hopes up. They swept the Nets in the first round. Big whoop. The problem came when we won the first game of the series against Boston, without Joel Embiid. I bought in so hard. I dropped enough money to feed myself for several weeks on a ticket to game six and watched us get out to a big lead against the Celtics. In the last five minutes of the game, the MVP of the league didn’t touch the ball. Coincidentally enough, the Sixers didn’t score in that stretch. The series, and quite possibly Joel Embiid’s career in Philadelphia, ended right there.

I wish I could get over these losses and move on with my life like most sports fans do. Losing is a part of sports, but in Philadelphia, we build our history and emotions off of it. The Phillies have lost more games than any professional American sports team. That’s the opposite of a fun fact. Also, the Eagles sold their soul for one championship, and I don’t know if they’ll ever win another. Now the Sixers are just continuing an all-time stretch of playoff mediocrity. Throw in the fact that the Flyers are one of the worst hockey franchises ever assembled, and the fact that Philadelphia apparently has a soccer team that lost in dramatic fashion too. Do you understand why I’ve been hit so hard by these events you’d think Aaron Nola threw them?

I haven’t learned nearly what I should’ve from these fandom defining losses. But one piece of advice I’ll give, is maybe drink some extra water before the big game if you aren’t emotionally mature enough to handle its ups and downs.