MY NAME is Jonathan and I’m a Philly fan. In 1995, the Philadelphia Eagles made what was then the biggest free-agent signing in sports, acquiring star running back Ricky Watters for $6.9 million per year. In his first game as an Eagle, Watters found his new team losing in the fourth quarter to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Quarterback Randall Cunningham (I once went trick-or-treating at his house) threw a pass to him over the middle, and as the ball neared, Watters saw defensive backs fast approaching. He put his hands up and, instead of catching the ball, batted it down.
After the game reporters asked Watters why he’d refused to catch the pass. He explained that the Eagles were probably going to lose and he saw no reason to take a hit in the middle of the field. “For who?” Watters asked defiantly. “For what?”
It was an enduring and iconic moment. Today, Watters is long gone, but “For who? For what?” remains part of the city’s lexicon.
No town has a more heartbreaking sports history than Philadelphia. For 21 years–nearly my entire life–the city has gone without a champion of any kind–in baseball, basketball, football, or hockey. Growing up just a few minutes from the City of Brotherly Love, I am one whose heart has been broken so often that it has hardened to stone. Or maybe disappeared altogether.
When Smarty Jones faltered in the final stretch of the Belmont Stakes a few weeks ago, failing to win the Triple Crown, no one from Philadelphia was surprised; we’re used to losing.
We’ve taken it hard. Philadelphians are renowned for acts of ill humor, and in my time I’ve seen a lot. Top prospect J.D. Drew was drafted by the Phillies. He chose to sit out of baseball for a year rather than play for Philadelphia. Eventually he signed with the St. Louis Cardinals, and fans threw batteries at him the first time he came to town.
Others got worse. On a trip to Philadelphia in the early 1980s, the unofficial mascot from the Washington Redskins was accosted and wound up in the hospital.
In December 1989 the Dallas Cowboys visited, and Eagles fans–encouraged by city district attorney (and future mayor and governor) Ed Rendell–pelted their coach with snowballs.
In 2001, the ’76ers made it to the NBA Finals, where they faced the Los Angeles Lakers. During Game 4, fans booed the halftime entertainment because one of the singers was wearing a Lakers jersey. The Lakers won the series behind the sharp-shooting of Kobe Bryant. Bryant grew up just outside of Philadelphia. That didn’t help. The following season, the NBA held its all-star game in Philly and Bryant was awarded MVP honors. The fans booed him mercilessly.
The best-known booing in sports history took place in Philadelphia on December 15, 1968, as the Eagles battled the Minnesota Vikings. Santa Claus was circling the field, waving to the crowd. Fed up with another losing season (the Eagles were 2-12), the fans booed Santa.
So Matthew Scott should have known what he was getting into. Matthew had undergone the first successful hand transplant performed in the United States and was chosen by the Phillies to throw out the first pitch of the 1999 season. His toss fell short of home plate. The good people of Philadelphia booed him, too.
All of which made the recent news almost comforting in its constancy. The Phillies opened a splendid new ballpark this season, and the architects tried hard to make it “fan friendly.” For instance, they built the home team’s bullpen 10 feet away from a balcony, so that people could gather to watch their favorite pitchers warm up. The visitors’ bullpen was tucked away, out of sight.
This arrangement lasted but a short while. Instead of admiring the home-team pitchers, fans congregated around the bullpen and heckled them. Just two games into the preseason, Phillies pitchers had had enough of their fans. The hecklers were so vicious to their own team that the Phillies swapped bullpens with the visitors. Only in Philadelphia.
There are questions of cause and effect: Do Philadelphians boo because they lose, or do they lose because they boo? The Catholic in me wants to believe that losing is cosmic justice; that we deserve it because we’re so prickly.
But the romantic in me believes that all the booing and heckling and battery-throwing is caused by the losing. The fans boo because they still care. Philadelphians may be the last people in America who have refused to accept sport as mere entertainment. They believe that the games mean something, that athletics is an important part of the human condition, and that it matters whether you win or lose.
–Jonathan V. Last
