The air at Citizen’s Bank Park was thick today. Thick with excitement. Thick with anticipation.

Thick with lint.

A full house waved their rally towels nearly to the point of disintegration today as the hometown Phillies completed the most breathtaking comeback in franchise – and dare I say, league – history, climbing out of a 7 game hole with 17 to play and overtaking the New York Mets as champions of the National League East. The Phillies are going to the playoffs for the first time in 14 years, and I was there to see it happen.

I was there when we chased away the ghosts of 1964.

I was there when we threw away our misgivings about the pitching staff. And the manager. And the ownership, just for a moment of bliss.

I was there when the Phillies won the NL East.

The last time it happened, I was 11 years old. Baseball was important to me, but it wasn’t my #1 sport. I was more concerned with the Flyers, or the Eagles, or how to get 30 lives in Contra. I remember going to a makeshift merchandise store not far from my house, and I remember buying the NL Championship hat that I just threw away a few years ago after rediscovering it under a few layers of petrified dust. But I don’t remember how much or how little the 1993 playoffs meant to me.

This, I’ll never forget.

By virtue of a friend of my father, who had a pair of extra tickets just two rows from the shallow right field grass, I found myself sitting in prime position to witness the rebirth of baseball in Philadelphia. From my perch in section 113, I found the perfect way to follow the game: keep an eye on the Phils’ actions during gameplay and, between each pitch, steal a glance at the right field scoreboard and watch the Mets’ chances be held off by a Marlins team whose playoff hopes were dashed ages ago.

The atmosphere in CBP was dumbfounding. Never before have I seen a crowd hanging so tightly on every pitch; never before have I seen a crowd so invigorated by a routine fly ball, so disappointed by a single outside pitch. It was, without a doubt, the single most exhilarating professional sporting event I’ve ever attended (the all-time event still lands somewhere in the ’03-’04 SJU basketball season).

For once, I can remember what it feels like to play October baseball. For once, I can know and appreciate what it’s like to have a playoff baseball team. I’m still walking around in a daze, trying to wrap my head around the whole situation. Here’s just a sampling of how it felt from my seat. I’ve also posted a set of photos I was able to take at the game.

[coolplayer width="480" height="380" autoplay="0" loop="0" charset="GBK" download="0" mediatype=""]

[/coolplayer]

“10,000 losses…but more championships than Tampa, Colorado, Houston, Seattle, Texas, Milwaukee and San Diego combined. Go Phils!”

Thanks, Mothball, for putting things into perspective. Then again, consider the following, written by my boss to me in a recent birthday card.

“In your lifetime, you have witnessed exactly one professional sports champion. Where were you in June 1983? Go Sixers.”

Now there’s the Philly spirit.

Bonus points to anyone who identifies from where I ripped off the title of this post.

The few complaints I have about the game: it won’t let you set you schedule down to the date, and so my win over Villanova last night propelled me to a perfect 4-0 instead of an impressive 19-0; junior Dave Mallon is conspicuously missing from the roster, but perennial bench rider Artur Surov is there, along with an imaginary #55; and Dick Vitale does the color for every game (I never thought anyone could be more annoying than Madden). But at $3.99 for the game plus a few bucks for the beers, I can’t really complain; it’s probably the best gaming investment I’ve ever made. And yes, that even includes the fact that I’m special enough to own a Wii.

…shooting. You can’t go far if your entire team is full of streaky scorers. There are too many opportunities for them to all go into a funk. More to the point, there are too many players on this team who won’t shoot, particularly Rob Ferguson. He didn’t take a shot in the first half last night, and passed up open shots in the second half. For as talented a scorer as he is, this is unacceptable.

…fundamentals. I can count on one hand the number of players who followed through on their passes last night instead of throwing a wild, weak pass that more often than not wound up in the hands of a Colonial.

…leadership, in that there is none. Not every team can have a Jameer Nelson, but there has to be somebody who will take control of games, fire up his teammates, and score in bunches when he needs to. Against Temple Wednesday night, and in a few other situations, it was Jawan Carter. Once or twice, it was Pat Calathes. But there needs to be someone to do this consistently.

…chemistry. Phil Martelli’s teams have always been better in February than in December. Until this year. Needing to rely on four freshmen to basically run the team, there was no player with enough experience to teach the others.

It could go on an on like this. But there’s one thing that stands out. The problem with this team…

…is that they’re all back next year.

It may not seem like a big number, especially considering the fact that both Bobby Knight and Herb Magee became the winningest coaches in Division I and II, respectively, with more than 800 wins, but for the past twelve years, Martelli has averaged almost 20 wins. More than that, he’s given the Hawk faithful a lifetime’s worth of memories, from his trip the NIT’s final game to winning the A-10 championship to the undefeated season. Martelli will dismiss the accomplishment, lavishing praise on the men that he’s surpassed – names like McKinney and Ramsay – but he’s deserving of every bit of the acclaim that will now be attached to his name. Martelli has become an integral part of Hawk hoops history. As an alumnus, employee, and a longtime friend of the Martelli family, I can’t imagine someone more fitting for the role.