Before I get to my recap of Phillies Photo Day, I need to address the first part of this Octrilogy (?). When I first started writing these I planned on making it all one gigantic post but then realize that was impossible. As a result, the first post is just called "The Promised Monster" without telling the people which part it is numerically, and without a title. Seeing as how the rest of the entries in this series will have a Roman numeral, and a secondary title, I feel like I should go back and edit the name of Part One for continuity's sake. After racking my brain trying to think of a good name that fits the post, I came to the conclusion that I should give it the lamest name that any human could possibly imagine. So, if you go back now, you will see that the first post is called - The Promised Monster I: A New Hope. I hope you like it.
And away we go.
PART THREE: Phillies Photo Day
It was 1998 (probably) when I first learned that the Philadelphia Philles were holding an annual event before one game each season where the players, coaches, staff, and commentators would come down onto the field so that the fans (also on the field, behind a highly secure string) could meet them and take their pictures either with them or solo. For whatever reasons, I didn't get around to going to Photo Day (sometimes Night) until The Year 2000. I was real excited because it was Pat Burrell's rookie year, plus Schilling was still on the team then (though not for much longer) along with many other guys who were almost average Major League players. Unfortunately, I had one of those wind-up disposable cameras that year and many of the pictures (including Burrell's) didn't develop properly. Even though it was a fun event, I was mad cause technology, or the lack therof, had once again crushed my dreams. It wasn't until May of 2002 that I was able to go back and take another crack at it with my new digital camera. The new camera did a great job, but I missed Burrell this time so it wasn't quite as fullfilling though it was better than the previous one. The highlight of that roll was the picture I got where I had shortstop, Jimmy Rollins, flash the West Coast sign because he was from Oakland . . . California, not Michigan. I think it made him feel closer to home so he did it without hesitation, and then went on to triple off Randy Johnson in the game (you're welcome). Here is the classic picture that hangs on my wall (and potentially your wall for a small price):
Hit 'em up, J-Roll, hit 'em up.
We skipped 2003, but we went back last year which was the first one in Citizen's Bank Park. Now my camera was two years old and it was starting to go crazy one me, which led to some bad reults, plus once again I missed Pat Burrell. A month after my failure I bought a new camera that I would take a picture of to show you but, well, you know why that can't happen. On July 9th of this year, Brother, my dad, and I went down to The Bank each with certain goals. Brother wanted a picture with superstar second baseman, Chase Utley, my dad wanted a picture with rookie firstbaseman, Ryan Howard, and all I wanted was a picture of Pat Burrell (mainly because he is the most unintentionally hilarious baseball player who doesn't speak Spanish).
Right off the bat I had my chance to track down the elusive Burrell. We got there a little late so he had already started making his rounds, so I walked-ran as fast as I could to track him down. Finally, I got him posing for some kids while trying to make himself look like some cheesy late-80s B-movie star:
One reason Pat Burrell is so unintentionally hilarious: his intro song is Dio's, "Holy Diver."
Next up was Billy Wagner, who I was actually hoping we'd trade so we could get another pitcher and a thirdbaseman or catcher for the future, even though I really like having him on the team. Billy likes to speak his mind, and he's definitely the best lefthanded closer of all time, so I guess it's better that he's staying around for now. Nothing really funny happened but here's the picture anyway:
Way to still be on the team, Billy.
As Wagner was leaving, my dad saw that Hall of Fame broadcaster, Harry Kalas (voice of Chunky Soup commercials and NFL films for those who don't know him), was approaching. Harry Kalas is worshipped in this city almost as much as the Eagles, so it is a major deal to have your picture taken with him, which is what my dad wanted. Harry came by and my dad asked if he would pose, and in his calssic voice, Harry said, "oooof course."
My dad would probably like to have this picture framed, but he'd need to find someone who isn't me to print it first.
I almost forgot about this next guy I want to show you. In this next picture, you'll see a man who looks to be in his 20s in the middle of a crowd of people. Now, the untrained eye might think that this was maybe a rookie pitcher just called to the Majors for his first taste of The Show. Upon further review however, you'll notice that this is just some white nerd who came dressed up in his own Phillies uniform. I wrestled with the idea of walking up to him and asking him to pose for a picture with me, but it was too risky because then I would miss an actual real player. Instead, settle for this:
The sunglasses on the collar of his jersey only add to this guy's coolness.
Before I show you this next picture, I need for you to imagine what the greatest picture of all time is in your head. Close your eyes and get a good look because it's the last time you'll ever see it. What follows is very hard for me to explain because I don't want to ruin it with words. All you need to know is that the man on the right is veteran centerfielder (and one of the premeire players of the 1990s), Kenny Lofton. On the left is my father, and in the middle is the very first "pound" of his lifetime. Enjoy:
This picture almost isn't even real in my eyes.
Right on the heels of Kenny Lofton was my good old pal Jimmy Rollins (see way above). I thought that he might remember me if I asked him to throw up the "W" again, so I tried to see if lightning would strike twice (not the bad lightning, but the good lightning). Not only did he say "nah" but he went on to say that, "I can't do that for everyone." Everyone? Everyone?! I thought that what we had was special, and there he was tossing up gang signs to everyone he meets. Why I never. Upon second thought now I have a theory: in the original "W" picture you can see that some woman to my right is also taking the same picture that I was, but from a different angle. I bet that this lady went home showed the picture to all her friends and claimed that it was her idea. Her friends then went all around town and told everyone they saw that Rollins would toss up the "W" whenever asked. Since this has been going on for years now, I bet that Rollins is sick of turning his fingers into a "W" and only does on select occasions for money (or, of course, for kids - who get everything they want even though they have no idea what's going on around them) thus making my second offer quite annoying in his mind. Since this has to be the case, I can't be mad at him because I'd be annoyed too. Instead I took this picture:
This is the precise moment that Jimmy Rollins broke my heart.
At this point of the afternoon, the three Duffy men (I use that word as lightly as possible) were a combined 1/1 (Burrell) on our three goals, with the unexpected bonus of the Harry Kalas picture, and the instant classsic Kenny Lofton picture. Up next on our list was Ryan Howard, who can't take away Jim Thome's job fast enough. As it turns out, Howard was walking around with the man we hope he'll replace, but since we just wanted Howard (or Mr. Electric as I like to call him) we called him over separately and asked if he could pose. Brother decided that he also wanted to get in on this so he jumped in last second and here's what we got:
My dad's so small here it looks like he could be their son, even though that probably isn't possible as of now. Give it time though - it could happen.
Since I felt bad for Jim Thome because he's probably the nicest guy in the game, and because his suckiness this year isn't completely his fault, I asked if he would pose with me. Thome, of couse, agreed because, well, because I just told you why. Here it is:
Look how small Thome's head is in comparison.
Now, by my count we were 2/2, with two bonuses, so naturally, it was time for a let down. I don't really blame Chase Utley because as of now, he's probably the most popular Phillie, and worshipped equally between men and women (though for different reasons, obviously). I guarantee you that every sinlge person there asked for him to pose with someone, but since he's not one to soak up praise, and since the game was about to start, he just rushed threw everyone and rarely even stopped. I would've done the same thing I reckon. In fact, he could've come out with a shotgun and murdered half of the crowd and he would still be as beloved (and possibly even more beloved) as he would be without a shotgun. He's just that kind of guy, and every team in every sport has one like him. We should be so lucky that he even came out at all.
Chase Utley can do no wrong. He's our Jesus.
The last player worth mentioning is rightfielder, Bobby Abreu. I guess it's fitting that he's the last player we saw because however funny we think Pat Burrell is, Abreu is about forty-nine times as hilarious. A lot of it has to do with the fact that he no speak English no good, but a lot of it is his cheery outlook on life, and his lazy attitude on defense, combined with the fact that he may well be the very best hitter in the history of Philadelphia (though Howard Eskin might say otherwise). This picture was taken just a couple days before he set the all-time home run record at the All Star game in the Home Run Derby with 41 total HRs. On the other hand, this picture was taken the morning after Bobby Abreu took us on a Cribs-like tour of his brand new Manhattan apartment on Comcast Sports Night (our local SportsCenter for those outside Philadelphia). Bobby's apartment is on the 37th floor of some building in Manhattan, which at the time was still unfurnished, though he had spent at least one night there. I came to this conclusion during the kitchen part of the tour when he said that he doesn't cook because he could just order food all the time. Here's how Bobby explained food delivery (the following is said while he's pointing at his front door):
"Just make a phone call, open the door, and the food is gonna be right there."
Bobby's NYC version of Cribs was the funniest thing I've seen since a I saw his South Jersey version of Cribs two summers ago. Since it had such an imapact on Brother and me, I decided that I should compliment him on his new apartment right after I asked him to pose for a picture with me. Well, I did just that and it didn't turn out quite like I planned. As I was reaching my arm to put it around his shoulder, I thold him my thoughts, and I think it creeped him out, big time. He hesitated and then said thanks, though he probably thought that I was some stalker because he is the type of guy who could easily forget that he did an interview showing on his new apartment, or that there was even a camera there in the first place. Brother thankfully chimed in that we saw it last night on TV which calmed Bobby down a little, though he was still probably very confused. It didn't really seem to bother him during the Home Run Derby though (you're welcome, again).
If he wasn't creeped out by my apartment comment, I'm sure my head once again did the trick.
Well that's all from the players side, and then we were told that we had to leave the fireld so they could prepare it for the game. On the way back to our seats, my dad wanted to take a picture in front of the 385 ft. sign in left-center field. You would think that would be a simple enough request, but not in this city it isn't. We had to wait at least three minutes while some guy in his 60s could take multiple pictures of his wife posing provocatively in front of the sign while she gently stroked the Southwest Airlines sign at the same time. In the end we were able to get the picture we wanted, but the one I took of this lady is much better and if you're still reading this post you deserve to see it:
It really is an attractive wall, you know.
I'll leave you all for now with a poorly framed picutre of me and Brother, for obvious reasons (thanks dad), and also with the last picture I took from the field. I'll be back later tonight for Part Four which will be a short one about our daytrip to Baltimore (I bet you can't wait for that), followed by a surprise final Part Five.
Me and Chase Utley.
and we'll close with a cool one:
A bird's-eye-view of the left field foul pole. The bird, of couse, would have to be standing below the pole and looking upwards for it to work.
To be continued . . . . . ;
