WE BOUGHT HOCKEY STICKS IN 1974

at Riley’s Sporting Goods on Laurel Street,

sawed them off if they seemed too long.

South Jersey side streets, makeshift games

whacking a plastic ball at the one boy with

a mask, pads, and goalie stick. He’d block

them all and kids chanted like fans at the

Spectrum- Bernie! Bernie! Bernie! Bernie!

We pretended to be Broad Street Bullies-

Bobby Clarke, Bill Barber, Dave Schultz.

In school, we drew pictures of them with

clenched fists, black eyes, teeth missing,

orange sweaters with the famous flying P.

Saturday nights we’d put on Channel 29

in the back room, a fire always burned and

Pop smoked El Productos in his easy chair.

Kate Smith’s God Bless America, the voice

of Gene Hart delivered play by play of battles

with Blackhawks, Redwings, and Canadians.

At Christmas, we asked for black and orange

coats, hats, everyone wanted to be a big fan.

Before bed we’d drink milk in glasses with the

unforgettable saying- Lord Stanley Lives in Philly! 

BACK WITH THE SIXERS

Black jersey and a Phillies cap, we drove down

early in the morning with him belted in the backseat.

He read the directions printed out from the internet,

we found the Philadelphia zoo, I called him My Navigator.

I remember being amazed at how the Monkey House hadn't

changed since my kindergarten class field trip back in ’72.

Been a while, a long time since we've been back.

We rode on to Independence Mall and took photos

with the Liberty Bell, people in Colonial costumes and

stopped to hear songs played with a hammered dulcimer.

Dinner was Tony Luke’s, a small steel structure surrounded

by chain link fence, wedged under the Walt Whitman Bridge

Cheesesteaks with onions and wiz never tasted so good.

We kicked a soccer ball in the empty parking lot at the new

basketball stadium named after a bank, not the old Spectrum.

Been a while, a long time since we've been back.

In the game, the Sixers and Wizards dueled it out on the court.

It was April, both teams had no chance of seeing the playoffs.

We sat in the cheaper seats, marveling at the three pointers of

Arenas, gasping at Iverson’s crossover dribble magic, high fiving

strangers and the old black guy next to us who shouted loudly-

C’mon now AI don’t let Gilbert show you up, not in your house.

Been a while, a long time since we've been back.

WATCH OUR EAGLES FLY

He wore his Eagles ties, played the fight song

on the computer, sang loudly, danced around

wearing a plastic bald eagle Halloween mask.

His students laughed, clapped, jumped out of

their seats, strange to see a teacher being just

as foolish as a kid about his favorite football team.

Out of breath, a promise was made to the class-

if they win on Sunday, no homework on Monday.

Instantly the Eagles gained 23 diehard fans, even

the little Giants and Cowboys kids rooted for Philly.

Watching every game, cheering on the outcome.

They bought green folders, notebooks and t-shirts.

A season to remember as they kept winning and

made it to the playoffs, then onto the Super Bowl.

If they win the whole thing, he promised to bring in

a Carvel ice cream cake to celebrate. On Monday,

the children did not look him in the eye as they knew

he must be hurting because of their team’s defeat.

Silently they ate the cake, brought in by the boy,

from the back, who wore his Patriots jersey on Monday.

Like a wake for an old uncle, they remembered the fun

of winning and took away the pain with each spoonful.

SOME PEOPLE

are eating lasagna today or black eyed peas,
roast pork with kraut and mashed potatoes.
Others eat last night’s party leftovers while
watching the Rose Bowl parade or Mummers.
Little snack trays, TV tables we used to call them
are erected in living rooms, dens across America.
A day devoted to resting, eating, and watching
College football, a Honeymooners marathon, or
movies still in plastic wrap in a stack under the tree.
Soon they’ll think of Monday, going back to work
or school and once again he’ll laugh as he says-
“You know, somebody has to pay for all this stuff.”

I NEVER SAW DR. J

We wore mesh basketball shorts,
tank tops with our numbers on them,
Barkley jerseys, Moses Malone t-shirts,
black high top sneakers and we always
had basketballs stuffed behind the seats,
as we rode around Middlesex county
making deliveries in our Hino box trucks.

We’d pull over, take a few jump shots or
play one on one between stops. Sometimes
we’d play pick-up games against other
guys who’d be hanging out on the courts.
Anthony was a Sixers fan too and he’d like
to tell the story of how he met Doc, after
a game, even shook his massive hand and
how he was a classy guy, a true gentleman.

I’d tell him how I felt lucky to have gone to
the Spectrum with my teacher and the rest
of the sixth grade from Irving Avenue School
to watch the 76ers take on the L.A. Lakers.
But the truth of the story is that I only
watched Dr. J on TV, I never saw him play
in person that night, because my mother
wouldn’t give me the money for the ticket.
And I didn’t dare ask my stepfather for a ride.

THE GIANT FLAT SCREEN

television across the room is
placed above the hotel lobby’s bar.
Some guy in a white Blackhawks jersey
hoisting the Stanley Cup above his head
and he’s smiling so hard, it looks like
all the stubble from his playoff beard
will burst from his face. At this moment,
as I wait to check in for the night that
I have a sick feeling in my heart.
Like a man who’s been betrayed
by his good friend or what I imagine it feels
like to see your wife with another man seated
at the corner table in some dimly lit restaurant.
Again I feel the pain of losing you.