One thing I have been struck by as I stroll through the Philly sports blogs is how proud everybody is, and I have yet to see one Negadelphia statement, even in the comments sections. It’s like the Grinch, replete with pictures of himself as a centaur on his wall, stole Christmas, and yet all of us Whos down in Whoville are still holding hands and singing. Yeah, the Yankees took our title, and good for them. But they didn’t take away the pride this team has instilled the city with, or the excitement they’ve provided us with these past three years. I think, when it was all said and done, we didn’t see this season as a few bad decisions in pitching to the King of Porn or another Brad Lidge meltdown. We didn’t see it as an “All or Nothing” scenario. It was a win-win scenario, where a team brought us way too much joy to let it come crashing down because of one or two games, and another trip to the Series was just icing on the cake.
The season had plenty of highs and lows. I’ll never forget Harry throwing out the first pitch at the ring ceremony game, nor will I forget that devastating text I received a week later with the awful news. Game 2 of the NLDS was the first Phillies game my dad and I ever watched together, and I will never forget us negotiating with scalpers outside of the stadium. I’ll remember Brad Lidge’s struggles, and I’ll remember the Wawa sandwich maker sitting next to me at a bar in Narberth, telling me about the pros and cons of making sandwiches as I watched Lidge hold on for dear life in Game 3 of the NLDS. I will never forget Victorino’s enthusiasm, Ryan Howard’s exhortation of “Get Me to the Plate”, Jimmy’s huge double against the Dodgers, or Chase Utley’s remarkable World Series performance. I will remember Chooch-tober bleed into Chooch-vember, I’ll remember Cliff Lee’s behind the back stab in Game 1, I’ll remember the postseason where Jayson Werth became a household name to baseball fans across the country.
One of my favorite memories came after that final nerve wracking out in Game 5 of the World Series. I was at a bar with 20 very good friends, and after the screaming and high-fiving concluded, we broke into a rousing rendition of Harry’s favorite song, “High Hopes.” There we were, one game away from the devastating Game 4 loss, knowing that we still needed to beat the Yankees twice more, and yet we were singing madly about ants and rubber tree plants, as if a comeback was inevitable. It was not. And with two outs in the top of the 9th of Game 6 and the Phillies trailing 7-3, Shane Victorino came to the plate. Battling a severely injured finger and the best relief pitcher in Major League baseball history, Shane refused to go down quietly. Cracking foul ball after foul ball, each one certainly causing him pain, Shane kept our dimmest of hopes alive. Someone at the bar uttered, “If Shane can get on, it’s Chase and then Howard. There’s still hope.” And that, my friends, is where Philadelphia stands today. Even in the direst of circumstances, down 7-3 in the top of the 9th with two outs and two strikes, Philadelphians no longer say, “We’re screwed.” They say, “There’s still hope.” That is no small thing. It is the legacy of both a team we’ve learned to never give up on and an announcer that we’ll never forget.
…Thought he could move a rubber tree plant.
Anyone knows an ant can’t…move a rubber tree plant.
But he had high hopes, he had high hopes.
He had high apple pie in the sky hopes.
So when you start to feeling low, ’stead of letting go
Just remember that ant
Oops there goes another rubber tree, Oops there goes another rubber tree,
Oops there goes another rubber tree plant.
When you are down with your head on the ground
There’s a lot to be learned, so look around
Once there was a silly old ram,
Thought he’d punch a hole in a dam
Everyone knows a ram can’t
Butt a hole in a dam
But he had high hopes, he had High Hopes
He had high apple pie in the sky hopes
So any time your feelin bad
‘Stead of feelin sad
Just remember that ram
Oops there goes a billion kilowatt, opps there goes a billion kilowatt
Oops there goes a billion kilowatt dam!!!
In what’s about to become more viral than a nasty case of warts, the Harry Kalas “High Hopes” group has been created on facebook. Join up and support the cause for our unique tribute to baseball in Philly.
We’re going to begin petitioning this afternoon so help show some Phillies love by spreading the word on facebook.
Father’s Day was this past Sunday, and needless to say, it was a tough one for Todd Kalas. It doesn’t get any easier this week, as the Harry’s beloved Phils are in Tampa playing the Rays, the team that Todd works as an announcer for. Here’s an excellent article in Tampa Bay Online about Todd and his dad.
Todd Kalas, 43, with the Rays for 12 seasons, marvels at his dad’s farewell tour.
In his last postseason, the father worked a Series with his son and pronounced his beloved Phillies World Series champions. In the last game he ever called in Philadelphia, on the day the Phillies received their World Series rings, Harry Kalas, Harry the K, threw out the first pitch. And in the last game he called, the day before he died, the Phillies came back to win at Colorado on Matt Stairs’ homer, punctuated by Kalas’ trademark “Outta here!”
I’m sure I’m not the first one to suggest this, but it blows my mind that the following hasn’t picked-up media or internet steam, especially during this baseball season: having Harry Kalas’ version of “High Hopes” be the Stretch song at the Phillies games. Honestly, does every ballpark in the country have to sing the same song? Why are we locked-into “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” or forced into the automated regurgitation of “God Bless America?”
Harry Kalas is a multi-generational icon to this team and this was his song. It’s silly, for sure, but it’s unique and as much as Harry was ours, so is his song. Following that logic, if it was good enough for HK to always trot out, it should be the unique home calling card of this team for years to come. Seriously, if anyone feels the same way drop us a line and we’ll try and get a petition going.
Great article from yesterday’s Inky by Bob Ford about what a bad signing Ray Emery is. It also correctly mentions the exculpatory and myopic issue of blaming Martin Biron for the Flyers’ late season collapse.
The Phillies look to win one at home tonight for a change, assuming the weather holds up. In case you were wondering, their non-Nationals home record has fallen to 8-16 and they are now 3-4 against the American League this season.
Raul Ibanez leads the team in batting average, home runs, RBI, OPS, runs scored, slugging percentage, hits and is tied with Shane Victorino and Pedro Feliz for most doubles.
On the Dan Patrick show, Bud Selig looked to deflect some of the effects of the steroids era away from baseball and onto football. Choose from any of the fish above and your choice will appear as the picture in the dictionary next to Bud Selig’s name. With that said, it’s always fascinated me that steroids is a much bigger deal in baseball than any other of the big three sports. Wouldn’t it stand to reason that PEDs would have bigger effect on the performance of those athletes versus hitters and pitchers?
I’m not trying to be flip or ironic here, I’m really not. The news today is that the Phillies will have Harry Kalas’ casket at home plate Saturday for fans to view beginning at 8:45 a.m. As the espn.com article points out, this is not the first time something like this has been done; legendary St. Louis announcer, Jack Buck, was put on public display at Busch Stadium after his passing in 2002. I say this with absolutely no disrespect intended: are we approaching the point where there’s some exploitation going on here? Do fans, the overwhelming majority of whom have never met Kalas, really feel the need to see his dead body?
I suppose that assuming the Kalas family is ok with this (which they must be since it’s happening) then it passes muster. Every media outlet in the Delaware Valley is doing something to honor Kalas, which they should because of his relationship to the sports culture here. But I’m hoping that the memory of Kalas’ contributions is enough for his fans and that these memorial demonstrations don’t get to the point where they’re going past the intention of honoring him and begin approaching the fine line of becoming exploitative and tacky.
As tributes to Harry Kalas come in from arond the Internet we were struck by this one, authored by New York Times writer and Phillies fan Tyler Kepner. Included in the post is the poem Harry Kalas read at his Baseball Hall of Fame Induction.
This is to the Philadelphia Fan
To laud your passion as best I can
Your loyalty is unsurpassed
Be the Fightins in first or last
We come to the park each day
Looking forward to another fray
Because we know you’ll be there
We know you really care
You give the opposing pitcher fits
Because as one loyalist shouts, ‘Everybody hits’
To be sure in Philly, there might be some boos
Because you passionate fans, like the manager, hate to lose
Your reaction to the action on the field that you impart
Spurs us as broadcasters to call the game with enthusiasm and heart
We feel your passion through and through
Philadelphia fans, I love you.
The only Phillie we never booed has passed away. The voice of our collective joys and sorrows. The man we grew up with, shared our sidwalks with, cooked out with and traveled to the shore with is gone.
Harry Kalas called the World Series. He called Mike Schmidt’s 500th homerun. He said “outta here” a thousand or more times. But those were just moments.
What Harry Kalas really did was provide a soundtrack to our lives. A soundtrack that never went out of style.
One thing I have been struck by as I stroll through the Philly sports blogs is how proud everybody is, and I have yet to see one Negadelphia statement, even in the comments sections. It’s like the Grinch, replete with pictures of himself as a centaur on his wall, stole Christmas, and yet all of us Whos down in Whoville are still holding hands and singing. Yeah, the Yankees took our title, and good for them. But they didn’t take away the pride this team has instilled the city with, or the excitement they’ve provided us with these past three years. I think, when it was all said and done, we didn’t see this season as a few bad decisions in pitching to the King of Porn or another Brad Lidge meltdown. We didn’t see it as an “All or Nothing” scenario. It was a win-win scenario, where a team brought us way too much joy to let it come crashing down because of one or two games, and another trip to the Series was just icing on the cake.
In what’s about to become more viral than a nasty case of warts, the 
Details are very scare at this point, but it’s being reported that