My favorite place is Citizen’s Bank Park in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The weather is not perfect. In fact, sometimes in May it drops to fifty degrees. The people are not the most polite. Do not let the nickname ‘city of brotherly love’ fool you. The team is not always the best; 1980 was the last time Tug McGraw jumped up and down on the pitcher’s mound, celebrating the World Series Championship. In case you’re keeping score at home, I was not born yet at this time. Indeed, all of these aspects cumulate to make this rugged little ball park the haven that it has been for me since its inception three short seasons ago. If you were to sit behind home plate, this is what you would see. You would see Pat Burrell standing 30 feet in front of a miraculous brick wall. Above this wall, you would see the most poignantly placed red, green, and yellow flowers that add a whole lot of grace to a team with a whole little bit of it themselves. Beyond this wall that has broken at least one center fielders nose you will see something much larger than a score, a nose, or a franchise in general. You will see the most glorious view of the Philadelphia skyline a person can buy for only $13. You will see the memories of, yes, Thomas Jefferson signing the Declaration of Independence at City Hall. You will then come back down to Earth and see the team that, despite falling short but so close of something beautiful, I’m thinking a championship, for over five years has stuck together and formed a magical bond. You will see my childhood, growing up in these streets that are missing the tangible beauties of other historic cities such as Boston and their trumped on Red Sox yet are abundant with the pride that makes me call it home.
May 20, 2008...2:42 am
Favorite Place
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