image via Deadspin / Gawker Media
You might have noticed that I'm a baseball fan. Can't help it; it's a congenital defect that I get from my father. And maybe my grandfather on my mother's side, but mostly it's from my dad.
You might also have noticed that I haven't had much to say about baseball since we saw the giant inflatable hot dog. There is a reason for this: I am incredibly superstitious, and I didn't want to jinx anything.
There are big and small ways that the Phils have been part of our lives all summer long, but for the most part, I have tried not to focus on them too much, tried not to get fixated, tried not to know about all of Lidge's blown saves and Howard's late inning heroics and Ibañez's astounding season and Victorino's hot head and big mouth and Feliz's butt ...
... but of course these things are a part of me, part of my DNA, part of what makes me who I am, and so even though they've been at the back of my mind, they've always been on my mind. And they'll stay there. I might not be watching, but I'll know what's going on.
And, like always, I'll have high hopes. (Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.)