When the World Series began, there were several “givens” most observers could agree upon:
* That the Rays were one of the best feel-good sports stories in years.
* That Rays Manager Joe Maddon would charm the media.
* That Phillies pitcher Cole Hamels would be outstanding.
* That Phillies closer Brad Lidge might be impossible to score on.
* That Philadelphia fans would discredit themselves yet again.
Sure enough.
By all accounts, Phillies fans lowered their minimal standards for civility by abusing, intimidating and threatening Rays’ family members and employees in Game 3. Including children. As Rays’ owner Stuart Sternberg pointed out, “We’re talking about behavior more suitable for a prison yard than a family ballpark.”
Alas, that quote was likely taken as a compliment.
There’s a rowdy, obnoxious element anywhere there are games, testosterone and beer. But only in Philadelphia — my home town, I admit — is such behavior not just condoned – but celebrated.
“Yo, Philly’s a tough town,” would be the rejoinder, once cleaned up. And having besotted, paunchy, mutant vulgarians as fans is simply part of a “home-field advantage.”
Rays officials had to ask Major League Baseball and Phillies management to intercede and do, well, something. Assuming that a culture of crude-and-lewd fandom wouldn’t change over night, many in the Rays’ traveling party didn’t even bother to attend the next game.
That’s a disgrace – only exceeded in its ignominy by the perverse pride the Philly fan base takes in its barbarian-driven, home-field advantage. Citizens Bank Park as Tora Bora.
A number of the Phillies players, a consensus classy lot, were at the top of their game for the Series. Too many Phillies fans were at the bottom of theirs.
Would that they only cared about clinging to guns and religion in that part of Pennsylvania.