Illustrations by Eric Reynolds Still, I wasn't quick to wear the jersey out to movies or school
like other kids. The thing just left me open for ridicule. Like
any other rational 8-year-old, I began building up a resentment
toward those who wore them. "Macho goons! Coach's Pet!" I thought,
sizing up the other Little Leaguers. Nasty things still come to
mind when I see a guy in a Phillies cap cruising Delaware Avenue
in his convertible BMW ("Rico Suave!") or selling pretzels in
front of Veterans Stadium ("Wannabe!"). Then something happened a few months ago to make me rethink sportswear.
I sold hot dogs one night at Veterans Stadium and wrote about
the experience for City Paper. A cap and shirt were issued to me as a part of the vending uniform.
I returned the shirt, but kept the hat, figuring they couldn't
reuse it after I'd sweated through the brim. For a long time I
didn't even consider wearing the thing. I was just keeping it
as a funny souvenir. Then one cold day my shaved pate was searching
for cover and that was the nearest chapeau in sight. When I left for work, Philadelphia seemed a little different.
I've lived here for seven years, but have always felt like a bit
of an outsider. I don't eat meat, so the whole cheesesteak phenomenon
is foreign to me. Rocky is a decent movie, but I'm not exactly bounding up the Art Museum
steps every morning. I grew up around New York. so Philadelphia
often comes off like its little brother with a big inferiority
complex. But with the Phillies cap on I was one of the gang. This was early
July when the team was still playing like dirt. Anyone who'd wear
Phillies merchandise had to be a diehard fan. There was a silent
acceptance from anyone I saw with a Phillies jersey or cap and
a warm feeling of belonging. It was like I'd tapped into the Jungian
collective consciousness which helped me understand the noble
struggle of rooting for a team that almost always ends up at the
bottom of their division. I started checking the box scores in
the paper and keeping an eye on how pitcher Curt Schilling was
doing. A strange sense of pride came over me when the Phillies
beat the Yankees, even though the Yankees had been my team when
I was kid. Unsure what was coming over me I call up Dr. Joel Fish, director
of the Center for Sport Psychology. "There's nothing like sports
to unify people across all racial, age, class and gender lines,"
says Fish reassuringly. With the explosion of sports channels
and sports radio, more people are devoting their time to surveying
every hit, run and trade. In this city, sports are a rallying
point unlike any other. Fish thinks people on the East Coast are much more loyal to their
teams than anywhere else in the country. "We've had the teams
for longer," he explains, "and it's a tradition that has passed
down from your father and grandfather." What about Philly's history of obnoxious fans? Is this something
I should be a part of? "You can't fool Philadelphians," he notes. "If a team's not playing
well they're going to let you know it. But the fans are there
for you. It's like my marriage. I get into fights with my wife,
but I still love her and I'm there for her." Hmm, the good doctor seems to make sense. Ready to pursue my new passion '90s style, I look up a Phillies'
Web page and come across Jeff Lamana's. Searching for insight
into the Phillies fan psyche I give Lamana a call. The 24-year-old
phanatic tells me how the Phillies are a "nitty gritty, get down
and play ball" kind of team. He laments a few of the trades in
pre-season, but figures this year's lineup is finally gelling,
so it gives us hope next year. I ask Lamana, who's also a collector
of Phillies paraphernalia, why the hat I have is blue with a red
"P," unlike most caps that are red and white. "They started wearing those in 1994 at the businessman special
day games, but they lost every time they wore it, so they were
considered bad luck and got rid of them after three games." A bad luck hat? The Phillies have it tough enough as it is. I
can't be wearing a blue hat if I'm going to be a true fan. I run down to Mitchell & Ness sporting goods at 1229 Walnut St.
Not only do they have loads of Phillies merchandise, they also
manufacture the Cooperstown Collection - a line of vintage baseball
apparel. This stuff will cost you quite a few peanuts, though.
An authentic Phillies jersey from the mid-'80s is $200. A replica
of the baseball jacket worn by the Phillies in the 1920s will
run you $425. But the navy blue wool with red lettering and tan
leather arms makes it one of the most stunning bits of sportswear
you'll ever find. You'll look like you just walked out of The Natural. Mitchell & Ness stocks at least five different kinds of Philly
caps - all for $22. There have been at least 15 different styles
of caps over the life of the team. As it so happens, the company
just got the license to make replicas of 1950s caps. Salesman
Ray Janelli shows me the "new" Yankees hat that's just come in.
Unlike today's caps that are made out of polyester and cotton,
the vintage style is made out of wool and has a lower crown. The
heavier material should keep my head warm during those cold winter
months. Of course it costs a little more at $32, but I figure
it's worth it. The store doesn't have the 1950s Phillies cap yet,
but it will be in soon. They only have the Yankees hat. I'll be the first one to get it when they come in. But if you
see me down on Delaware Avenue, in a BMW convertible, gimme a
good whack with a Louisville slugger.
Head Game
My fear of sportswear can be traced back to the year I played
Little League baseball. Perhaps it was bad team management or
my larger than normal size, but my jersey didn't have "Harry Bennett
Realty" - the team name - in swooping blue script like everyone
else's. Instead "Harry Bennett" was spelled out in block, iron-on
letters. As if I didn't feel awkward enough playing second-string
right field (aka benchwarmer), the slipshod jersey made me think
whoever ordered the uniforms forgot I was on the team. Then when
they arrived someone probably said, "Hey, we don't have a shirt
for Fatstone," and sent a batboy down to the nearest iron-on shop
to doctor one up. I never complained about it, after all, my best
play was leaning into a pitch to get a free walk. You can only
do that one so many times before the opposing team gets wise.