The Day The Boos Died

For the last futile 25 years, fans of Philadelphia sports have been characterized as tortured souls destined to die without championships while they rot in the jail that exists below their stadium.

With every Joe Carter to blast Mitch Williams, there was a Scott Stevens to decapitate Eric Lindros. For every bad batch of Chunky Soup to project out of Donovan McNabb's esophagus, there was a Tyronn Lue to halt Allen Iverson.

The city's central sports hero actually never existed. There is a statue of this incomprehensible Philadelphia celebrity (and I'm not talking about Smarty Jones) named Rocky located at the Art Museum, but Sonny Liston is all but forgotten.

My hate affair with Philadelphia began in 1993. I just began 3rd grade when I moved to the rough cul-de-sacs of Connecticut to the even rougher fields of rural Chester County. My teacher, Ms. Kelly, a Flyer fan, would get at me for the Ranger's past woes-a Stanley Cup Championship had not been had for 54 years. That would be the last year I would ever hear of this, as that Spring, Messier would hoist the cup up like a freak granted early parole.

From then on, I knew I had to lay it on to all my Philly frenemies (as there were a lot growing up in PA and South Jersey).

The Yankees would win, and those would be written up as purchased titles. The Knicks, well... The Giants at least found some congratulations come my way after many rooted against New England.

But I found almost an equal joy in every Philly loss. The Red Wings took them in '97, the Eagles in '05 against the Pats. The Sixers in '02 by L.A. No other statement proved more true... "my enemy's enemy...."

Well, for the city that has had one of the worst runs in sports, I say good job. No city deserves to go that long in ruins, unless if its Cincinnati and no one cares. I hate to admit it, but Philly has always had the best fans. Sure they can turn on you in a dime (McNabb), but they can also jump right back on you (McNabb).

Here's to another 25 years!