Eerie in its Absence

Alas, WFC now requires an '08 tacked on the end, at least till next November.

by Brian Howard

If you listened last week, you heard something you almost never hear in Philadelphia.

Nothing. Dead calm. Silence.

The double whammy of a sobering World Series loss and the Transport Workers Union strike turned Philly into some sort of weird soundproof bubble.

The World Series loss was something of a psychic silence. Visions of last November's parade down Broad Street trickled out of the collective consciousness as Shane Victorino, after a heroic ninth-inning at-bat against Skeletor Mariano Rivera, finally succumbed, grounding out to second and sealing a Game 6 loss that had been all but academic since the fourth.

Pedro Martinez started the game on empty and with a well-rested J.A. Happ in the bullpen, Charlie Manuel stuck with the veteran, hoping his 219 career wins would mean something in the final ledger. But the more important stat was 90, as in miles per hour, the number Pedro couldn't crack with his "fast"ball.

It was an excruciating series that started with a tease — Cliff Lee's masterful Game 1 gave the impression that the Phils could indeed roll through this series with the ease they'd become accustomed to over two Octobers — and ended with a stringof question marks about the bullpen, last year's World Series MVP, the slugging first baseman's ability to hit left-handers, the durability of the charismatic middle infielders andamanager's unwavering sense of loyalty that seemed to devolve from asset to liability.

And, alas, World Fuckin' Champions now requires an '08 tacked onto the end until next November at the earliest. A city mourned, although the pain wasn't as acute as on Oct. 24, 1993, the last time this franchise lost a World Series. The outlook for another go at it, at least, seems positive. On p. 12, Sports Complex columnist E. James Beale runs down the team's to-do list for the offseason, which includes planning for the problems they know about and amassingenough depth to navigate the ones they don't.

Noise pollution

The transit strike, however, inspired a much more palpable silence. Without the hum of buses, the rumble of subways, trolleys and the El, you could imagine Metros blowing like tumbleweeds down the street. I'm sure the thrall of taxis and the caterwauling angst of those stranded by the work stoppage caused quite a racket elsewhere, but Old City was dead. The serenity was, at first blush, pleasant. No screeching brakes, no bursts of hydraulics, no serenade of horns behind a too-long stop, and, most lovely for me as a cyclist, no angry rev of the engine bearing down from behind.

But it's an object lesson in how vital — regardless of your stance on the strike or SEPTA's overall usefulness — a thriving public transit system is to a first-class city. Yes, public transit's a noisy business, but it's all part of, to borrow a line from Sun Ra, the joyful noise that makes living here — at least for those of us with a choice — easy to choose. It's like that old trope about parking: Everyone bitches about it, but places that are easy to park in are places no one wants to visit.

Like it or not, the TWU hit Pa. and Philly bigwigs where it hurt — the pocketbook, yes, but more importantly, on the verge of a showdown with big sophisticated sister New York, they put Philly at risk of appearing on the national stage like a gap-toothed bumpkin. Which is why you had your Rendells, your Nutters, your Bradys charging in like some glad-handing Light Brigade.

Now the strike is over, and one would hope that with the union's gains, the workers and management can take some steps toward actually making this transit system world-class. What would I like to see? Smart cards (as Isaiah Thompson grumbles about in his Man Overboard! column, p. 9). Real-time bus arrivals at bus stops (as Bruce Schimmel suggests in Loose Canon, p. 14). Friendlier bike policies. Or maybe they could at least start making change.

(bhoward@citypaper.net)