R.I.P Jim Fregosi – It’s a sad irony that just a couple of days ago I finally got around to reacquainting myself with the mystical significance that the 1993 Phillies have taken on in my life. Back in the early 90’s Baseball in these parts wasn’t exactly a sport openly embraced by the greater population, just a strange American sport that wasn’t Basketball. As for the Philadelphia Phillies, well they were considered a waste of time, hopeless, losers, if anyone bothered to consider them at all. It was suggested by many people within game on these shores, coaches especially, that my time would be better spent forgetting about the Phillies and watching the Atlanta Braves in order to hone my skills by watching the ‘best in the business.’ The Atlanta Braves were professional, clinical, consistent, and to me insidiously fucking boring. Between their lack of personality and emotion to their collective haircuts that you could ‘set a watch to’ watching these pricks was not a way a 9 year old wanted to spend his time much less a suitable muse to model my passion around. Despite the attempted outside influence, my heart stayed true to the Phillies who entered the 1993 season with another last placed finish and team that would do well to be described as a prison squad. DUI’s, long hair, chewing tobacco, mental illnesses, and border line psychopaths for players were the perfect ingredients for the usual train wreck waiting to happen, except this time it didn’t. Somehow, someway, you Jim Fregosi managed to coordinate these nutcases into an exceedingly functional team who proved everybody wrong by rising up to win it’s division and subsequent playoff showdown, with guess who, the Atlanta Braves. As the memories of sitting down to watch this showdown on TV with my Dad come flooding back to me, mere words can’t properly express the delight I derived by seeing the irrelevant, unfashionable, and unwashed Phillies send the goody two shoes Braves and their despondent faces back to Atlanta empty handed. Whilst you may have fallen at the final hurdle that season, respect was earned, the thrill remains eternal, and I would never need to acknowledge the advice “watch Greg Maddux” again! This is probably a strong contender for the most bizarre recently deceased tribute going around, but where the ’93 Phillies are concerned, that fits perfectly. R.I.P. Skip, you won’t be soon forgotten.
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