Introduction Those who lived and died with the Philadelphia Phillies during their glory years of 1976 to 1983 will never forget the evening of Tuesday, October 21, 1980. Game Six of the World Series was being played at Veterans'' Stadium in South Philadelphia. The Phillies held a three-to-two game lead over the American League champion Kansas City Royals. Perennial losers who had reached the Fall Classic just twice before in their ninety-seven-year history, the Phils had pinned their hopes for their first world championship on the left arm of their pitching ace, Steve Carlton. Through seven innings on that cool, crisp autumn evening, Carlton was un-hittable. He alternated between a 90-m.p.h.
fastball, a wicked curve, and a devastating slider, limiting the Royals to a single run on 4 hits while striking out 7 before he was pulled from the game in the eighth inning. Mike Schmidt, who would later be named the Most Valuable Player of the Series and one of the most feared power hitters in the game, gave Carlton all the support he needed in the third inning when he singled to left to drive in two runs. The Phils added another two runs in the sixth for a 4-0 lead. Tug McGraw, the Phillies'' colorful reliever, entered the game in the eighth with two runners on base and no outs. After walking the bases loaded, he managed to retire the side allowing just one run. Ever the showman, Tugger provided more drama in the top of the ninth when, with one out and the Fightins'' clinging to a 4-1 lead, he loaded the bases again. Curiously, Philadelphia''s infamous fans, the so-called "Boo-birds," held their tongues. They had grown accustomed to disappointment after the Phillies won three straight division titles in 1976, ''77, and ''78, only to lose in the playoffs each year.
Somehow they knew tonight would be different. Kansas City''s second baseman Frank White came to bat and swung at McGraw''s first delivery, popping a high foul ball near the Phillies'' dugout. Catcher Bob Boone leaped from behind home plate in pursuit of the ball as Pete Rose, the team''s spark plug, converged from first base. Boone expected "Charlie Hustle" to call him off, but he heard nothing. "Where is he?! Where the hell is he?!" Boone panicked, as he neared the edge of the dugout. Normally, the Phillies catcher would simply let the ball fall to him, but now, not knowing where Rose was, he felt he would have to fight his teammate for the ball. Rose stopped short as Boone reached out to make the catch, but the ball glanced off the heel of his mitt. Ever alert, Rose snatched the ball for the second out of the inning.
"We can''t lose now," thought Larry Bowa, the Phillies'' fiery shortstop who had been with the team since the hard luck days of the early 1970s. "Not even if fuckin'' Babe Ruth himself comes up." Fortunately for Phillies fans, Ruth''s playing days were long over. But Kansas City did have one more threat, Willie Wilson, a dangerous leadoff man, who had a reputation for hitting in the clutch. When Wilson stepped to the plate, the "Vet," the Phils'' sterile concrete stadium, rocked with anticipation as more than 65,000 screaming fans took to their feet. City policemen on horseback lined the warning tracks down the left and right field foul lines. Attack dogs had also been brought onto the field to discourage fans from rushing the players. McGraw, so exhausted that he considered asking Manager Dallas Green to lift him if he couldn''t get Wilson, eyed his surroundings, desperately searching for inspiration to face one more hitter.
"Anything," he thought. "Let me find anything to get through this last hitter." Just then, the comic reliever noticed a horse over by the warning track in foul territory. The steed was in the process of dropping a big, brown mud pie right there on the Astroturf . "Hmm, if I don''t get out of this inning," McGraw mused, "that''s what I''m going to be in this city. Nothing but a pile of horse shit." In Philadelphia, such negative motivation often produces the desired result. McGraw worked a 1-2 count on the Royals'' left fielder and looked for another sign; not from the catcher, but from his surroundings.
Staring at a German shepherd seated next to the Phillies'' dugout, the reliever thought, "K-9." "This is the ninth inning and I need a K--the baseball score sheet mark for strikeout," he later explained. Confident that supernatural forces were behind him, McGraw, at 11:29 p.m., toed the rubber and drew a deep breath, preparing to deliver the pitch that would unlock nearly a century''s worth of pent-up frustration for the City of Brotherly Love. He fired the ball towards home plate. It was, as he would say later, "the slowest fastball I ever threw" because "it took ninety-seven hard years to get there." Wilson swung and missed.
For a solitary moment, time seemed to stop. All the years of losing, the decades of last-place finishes, the eternal frustration that had been passed down from one generation of fans to the next now belonged to the history books. Amidst all the tears, laughter and sheer jubilation was the realization that a miracle had happened--the Phillies had finally won their very first world championship. McGraw raised his arms and jumped skyward. Schmidt dashed in from third base as Phillies converged on the mound from every conceivable direction. Just before the players could close ranks to embrace each other, Michael Jack, in a rare display of emotion, dove onto his teammates. Photographers freeze-framed the scene for posterity, indisputable proof that the Phillies really did capture a world championship. The celebration had begun.
More than a million fans turned out for the parade down Broad Street the following day and to hear McGraw deliver one of the city''s most memorable quips. "All through baseball history, Philadelphia has taken a back seat to New York City," said the comic reliever, whipping the crowd into a wild frenzy. "Well, New York City can take this world championship and stick it!" he roared, thrusting a copy of the "We Win!" Philadelphia Daily News skyward. Sound unprofessional? Perhaps. But the remark also resonated deeply with Phillies'' fans, who had always taken a back seat to the Big Apple and that city''s historically successful sports teams. Philadelphians, having long suffered the reputation of perennial losers, had finally been given reason to believe in something bigger than a baseball game. They could now bask in the national spotlight that had eluded them for nearly a century. "The world is different today," wrote Gil Spencer of the Philadelphia Daily News , "because a Philadelphia baseball team is on top of it.
" Between 1980 and 1983 the Philadelphia Phillies captured two pennants (1980 and ''83) and a world championship. The team was even stronger in 1981. The experience of a pennant race and winning both the National League Championship Series and World Series prepared the club for a return to the fall classic. The previous year''s rookies had a season of major league experience to their credit. All of the veterans returned with the exception of Greg Luzinski, who was sold to the Chicago White Sox. There were also some important additions, including outfielder Gary Matthews, a dependable .300 hitter, and infielder Ryne Sandberg, a future Hall-of-Famer whose presence improved an already strong bench. Accordingly, the Phils, barring injuries, were odds-on favorites to repeat as World Champions in ''81.
If they had accomplished that feat, the Phillies would have established a dynasty, a team that captures two or more world championships and three or more pennants in five years or less. They would have joined the illustrious ranks of the Philadelphia Athletics clubs of 1910-14 and 1929-31, the 1926-28 New York Yankees, the 1969-71 Baltimore Orioles, and the 1972-74 Oakland Athletics-- baseball teams among the greatest in history because of their ability to win consistently over a prolonged period of time. But a Phillies dynasty never occurred because of a players'' strike that resulted in a sixty-day work stoppage. The Phils, who had been in first place before the strike, were unable to regain their winning ways after play resumed in the split season. They lost a best-of-five-game playoff against the Montreal Expos, who became division champions. Nineteen-eighty-one was a watershed not only for the Phillies but for the national pastime itself. Afterward, labor relations between an increasingly powerful Players'' Association and owners who were equally inflexible became more acrimonious than ever before. While labor conflict had resulted in a series of work stoppages during the previous decade, never had there been a split season with a mini-playoff to determine divisional championships.
Although free agency, established in 1975, spelled the end of the reserve clause binding a player to one team unless he was traded, sold or released, it affected only an elite group of performers. After 1981 player salaries skyrocketed and many others followed the money trail, leaving the club that originally signed them. Old loyalties were forgotten and the notion of a homegrown team, like the 1980 Phillies, was a thing of the past. Family-operated teams, like the Carpenters who had owned the Phillies since 1943, became frustrated with the ongoing labor conflict and sold to new, corporate owners who were more concerned about profits than winning. Fan interest in the game also waned after 1981. Cable television increased the number of viewer outlets, bringing the game into people''s homes and delivering a sharp blow to attendance. More fans chose to stay at home or watch professional football, a more action-packed alternative to baseball. Further eroding the fan base was the growing publication of kiss-and-tell books, which revealed the seedier side of the ballplayers''.