City of Big Brotherly Love - Tuesday, August 28

We arrived in downtown Philadelphia at 3:00 and found parking at 3:30.  With so many historic choices, we debated where to start.  The Liberty Bell?  Independence Hall?  Ben Franklin's statue?

We chose Village Whiskey.



Ari had the burger at Village Whiskey on his last trip to Philly, and he insisted that we return.  We each order the basic burger -- lettuce, tomato, house spread, sesame bun -- and while we waited, Ari made a startling prediction.  "There is a 20 percent chance we order a third burger," he proclaimed.  I expressed my doubt.  Not only would a third burger be excessive, but it might reduce the number of sandwiches I could eat during the rest of the day.  Then the burgers arrived:

Their burgers are spectacular, highlighted by perfectly cooked beef and a bun that tastes like a croissant.  I took one bite and flagged down our server.  

Good things come in threes [Ari's Note: TWSS]

After demolishing the third pastry burger, we headed to the Reading Terminal Market to pick up more food.  Philadelphia is known for heavy, heart-threatening sandwiches, and we weren't going to the game empty-handed.  Terminal Market has dozens of food stands and grocers.  The most famous is Tommy DiNic's.  A year ago, it already attracted more customers than any other food booth at the Market.  But when we arrived in Philadelphia, Adam Richman had just named Tommy's roast pork sandwich the "Best Sandwich in America."  Ari got a roast pork with provolone and broccoli rabe.  That sounded too healthy, so I ordered a chicken parmigiana sandwich at Carmen's.  

Fed and loaded with more food, we drove to Citizens Bank Pallpark.  Ari called Shima, who passed on some insider insider knowledge about free parking.  We drove into an industrial complex about half a mile from the stadium and parked next to a few other baseball fans.  


Ten minutes later, we approached the best sports experience I've ever encountered.  Philadelphia has teams in all four major sports -- the Phillies, Eagles, 76ers, and Flyers -- and their stadiums are all within one block of each other.  Across the street from the arenas and ballparks is Xfinity Live!, a mall of sports bars, restaurants, enormous televisions, and outdoor beer patios.  They also have a lawn where we played cornhole.  Cornhole is a game I had never played before: players take turns tossing bean bags at a platform with a hole in the middle.  Landing your bean bag on the platform nets you one point.  Tossing it into the hole gets you three points.  Ari had the three attributes of a cornhole champion:

(1) Incredible focus.  Behind those sunglasses, his eyes burn with cornhole intensity.

(2) Textbook form.  Look at the outstretched arm, the raised back foot, the straight left knee.  It's body art. 

(3) A horrific opponent.  In four games, I only sunk one throw in the hole.  I lost 21-3, 21-9, 21-14, and 21-16.  I kept getting better but my best was never good enough.

At 6:15, we crossed the street to Citizens Bank Ballpark.   Citizens is a big, fun stadium.  It's clean.  It has bright colors.  The scoreboard is great.  And it houses the Philly Phanatic, one of the few tolerable mascots in sports.   With our next stop in New York, where Ari lives and I used to live, this was our last true road game.  Philadelphia didn't disappoint:

Good ballpark

Great sandwich

The first inning felt like the beginning of a blowout.  The Phillies' leadoff hitter walked, their number two hitter got hit by a pitch, and Chase Utley walked.  Slugger Ryan Howard came to the plate with the bases loaded and nobody out.  Howard annihilated the fourth pitch, crushing it over the right center field wall for a grand slam.  The Mets surrendered four runs without recording an out.  But the New Yorkers clawed their way back, eventually tying it 5-5 in the eighth inning and winning it 9-5 in the tenth.

As the Mets and Phillies had their petty skirmish on the field, a more important battle was being waged in the stands: our fight for good seats.  As usual, we purchased super cheap tickets.  As usual, the seats were at mountain altitude.  And as usual, we intended to improve our view.  These were the seats we purchased:

Right field, upper deck, close to the line.  They might have been the two worst seats in the park.  So we did what we had been doing for two weeks: we snuck into better seats.  No problem, right?

Problem.

The Phillies security team takes their job seriously.  At other parks, ushers only guard the best seats.  Here they guarded everything from the expensive seats behind home plate to the $5 tickets in the upper deck.  At other parks, one usher is assigned to a section.  Here each section is defended by two ushers trained to thwart bums like Ari and me.  At other parks, once you weasel your way into the seats, you're good for the rest of the game.  Here the ushers' vigilance never ends.

The Phillies even have an usher monitoring from above!  Big Brother was always watching.

In the face of this additional security, we stepped up our game.  We searched for large groups that were heading to their seats between innings so we could be disguised in a crowd.  Once, I distracted a pair of ushers with questions while Ari tried to slide past them into the good seats.  And anytime we actually got to the seats, we did everything possible to fit in: when we unwittingly sat down beside a family about to celebrate a 5-year-old's birthday, we stood and sang Happy Birthday with the rest of the family.

It didn't matter.  The ushers were unstoppable.  

They kicked us out of the great seats.

They kicked us out of the good seats.

They even kicked us out of the upper deck seats.

We tried and tried, but sometimes you have to tip your cap and acknowledge you've been beaten by a superior opponent.  So we went up to the head of stadium security.  "We've been on a baseball roadtrip," we told John.  "We buy the worst seats and sneak into the best.  It works everywhere -- Kansas City, St. Louis, Milwaukee, Chicago, Cleveland.  But not here."  We told John about how his delta strike force ushers were impenetrable.  He loved it.  "We run a tight ship around here," John beamed.  

John is smiling because he won.  We're smiling because we're in the presence of greatness. [Ari's Note: He looks like Lenny Clarke from Rescue Me.]

"So what are you gonna do now?" John asked.  I sighed.  "We're thinking about going to our actual seats."  John shook his head.  "Be persistent," he encouraged us.

We eventually tiptoed into seats in the left field corner -- much better than the seats we paid for, but far worse than any seats we'd occupied all trip:

If you look really closely, you can almost see a baseball game in the distance.

We settled in and enjoyed the game.  Of course, we never quite relaxed.  Every time the ushers walked by, I thought, This is it.  They found us.  

But they let us be.  We even grew bold.  After the seventh inning stretch, we asked one of the ushers to take our picture.  

It was the least he could do.