Last night’s Game 3 was the most entertaining 7–0 result I’ve ever seen. Despite the lopsided outcome, it was impossible for even the most nonpartisan people watching at home to feel anything but feral joy.
That’s the effect these Phillies have on us. They are the most relatable band of ballplayers I can remember. They are having the time of their lives, and they are not afraid to show it—a refreshing deviation from the buttoned-up humdrum we get from most teams. They are large, lovable lads who crush dingers and celebrate every single one of them as if they had just hit the final beer-pong shot after pounding Yuenglings all day long.
The story of these Phillies is remarkable. I won’t dive into their improbable journey from the beginning of the season to where they are now, just two wins away from capturing the World Series, because you probably know most of the points on the timeline. And besides, their accomplishments are much better understood through raw, visceral emotion.
Perhaps the best encapsulation of their season happened in the second inning of last night’s game. One of my roommates was watching the game with me, and when Wet Guy Brandon Marsh stepped to the plate, I told him about a revelatory detail from this extraordinary work of journalism by Jake Mintz, of Céspedes Family BBQ fame and Fox Sports: The Phillies center fielder dumps water on his head between every inning.
Moments later, Marsh launched a solo home run, which at first, he said after the game, he didn’t think was gone. Following that brief confusion, he proceeded with his trip around the bases, his moist mane flapping as he galloped toward the plate. As he neared the dugout, he left out a loud, guttural, inarticulate shout. My roommate’s reaction: “He’s a kinda crazy man.” Yes, yes he is. They all are. Heck, we all are, too. That’s why we love them.