Dad wrote those words down as Harry spoke them because Dad had a different ending in mind, and he wanted to be able to quote the Voice of the Phillies at the exact moment when all seemed lost. There were two strikes on Shane Victorino, who had tied the game with a solo home run in his previous at bat. The next pitch was a ball. Dad saw it all as it was meant to be. The full count. The scorching double to left center that the Flyin' Hawaiian stretched into a triple.

This would be the hit we talk about for years to come. Because Victorno would tie the game running home from third on a passed ball and then score the winning run in the 12th inning. A Victorino victory that would turn the tide in these playoffs. The Rockies sweep would become a Phillies landslide. The Diamondbacks would go down in five. And the Yankees, who had to do to the Indians what the Phillies did to the Rockies, and then beat Boston in seven, would lose the World Series to the Phillies in four straight.

Dad was sitting in his underwear in front of an electric fan listening to the radio in the humid after-midnight October heat when he had these thoughts. Yes, he'd been drinking. He barely heard Harry describe the ground ball Victorino hit to Kaz Matsui -- the Bucky "Freakin'" Dent of this playoff series who chose Thursday to hit his first career grand slam -- and just like that it was over.

No joy. No savior rising from these streets. Just a baseball game won by the better team.

And Dad was amazed by how little it hurt. He felt, instead, this odd sensation; this weird, warm, almost tender emotion. What's the word? He felt appreciation. Unqualified, heartfelt, sincere appreciation. These Phillies, this team, had given him and his city something he wasn't sure even existed anymore in professional sports. Pride in an honest day's work. Pride in each other and the uniform they wear. You can't ask much more from a team.

That and beating the Mets, of course.