King of the Hall of Fame

by Brian Howard

Last weekend was a good one to be out of town and unplugged from the Interwebs. Rather than deal with what counts for snow accumulation here, I headed up to Cooperstown, N.Y., for a beer and baseball weekend at Ommegang Brewery (where their erstwhile Obamagang brew is, sadly, all but tapped) and the Baseball Hall of Fame.

While getting soused on American-made Belgian beer, remembering what a real snowstorm looks like and forcing my girlfriend to look at more baseball memorabilia than is really considered safe, I had the pleasure of completely missing the Wing Bowl — aka the shame of the city (though I did return to read the PhillyDeal$ report that Wing Bowl had 4.1 million Web viewers and has somehow usurped the Mummers parade as Philadelphia's signature event. Shudder).

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But more than that, I got to miss what I'm sure was a wonderful cable news weekend of Blagojevich tap-dancing, bank-bonus hand-wringing, stimulus package head-butting and proselytizing over whether Citigroup should be allowed to use their bailout funds on the naming rights of the new Mets stadium (they shouldn't).

Instead, I spent four hours inside the Baseball Hall of Fame during the Phillies reign as World F. Champions. It was more than a little odd. The common exchange, "Where you from?" "Philadelphia," "Oh," had a different rhythm to it. There's reverence, dulcet hushed tones, in the response. Right now, being a Philadelphian in Cooperstown — the place where someone once convinced a panel that baseball was invented — is like being a visiting dignitary.

I sought out every Phillie in the Hall of Fame, from Schmidt and Carlton to Delahanty and Alexander. (It is, however, a bit depressing how many Hall of Famers played for the Phillies either well before or well after they were great, as my "Phillies in the Hall of Fame" souvenir mug makes abundantly clear.) There's a saying about winning the World Series: Flags fly forever. And it's true that nobody can take away the 2008 World Championship pennant that'll fly over Philly till the day it sinks into the ocean. But there's something about being at the center of the baseball universe while that flag is fresh that's a special kind of exhilarating.

I recommend tuning out, unplugging and getting up to the Coop — especially if it's something you've been putting off — while the iron's hot — and before Ruben Amaro has a chance to muck it up.

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I've been a bit remiss in introducing the new face and byline over here. Listings editor Holly Otterbein's been with us for a month now, and has been rocking our events coverage in the Agenda section and online with our new Night Moves feature.

Holly — who prefers telling people she's from Baltimore but is actually from "bastion of child beauty pageants and Christianity" Shrewsbury, Pa. — is a Temple News vet who's finishing up her senior year while holding down the fort here. Which is impressive.

"I'm a journalism major, and I'm just finishing up some loose ends," says Holly. "My major's capstone, a design course and a very liberal arts-y class called 'Feminist Epistemology and the Philosophy of Science.'"

A CP intern under former listings editor/Metro entertainment editor Monica Weymouth, Holly's name should be familiar — she became one of our reliable freelancers once her internship ended. When the opportunity to bring her on board presented itself, we jumped, even though it meant waiting for her to get back from semester break.

"More than anything, I enjoy reporting and editing stories about Philly," she says, "because it makes my day-to-day life here increasingly richer and more layered."

Which is exactly the kind of attitude we like around here.

Anything else to add, Holly?

"Joey Sweeney sux!"

We like that around here, too.

(bhoward@citypaper.net)