Phillies fans we wish were here

When the Phillies won the World Series in 2008, I was elated (of course), but also bereft, because my mom wasn’t there to see it. I felt her spirit everywhere that season, reminding me that — one year after her death — there was still joy to be had in this amazing, surprising world.

And it has been an amazing, surprising season for the 2022 Phillies. I asked five Phillies fans to reflect on the loved ones they are missing as the team heads back to the World Series, and what this run has meant to them.

» READ MORE: Phillies fans we miss: memorial slideshow

By Renato Lajara

My family immigrated to the U.S. from the Dominican Republic in 1984. English was not our first language, so my dad and I learned many English words from Harry Kalas — with his legendary voice — as we sat in our living room and watched the games together. I remember my dad teaching me what inning it was by tearing off little pieces of a paper bag and balling one up every time the Phillies were up to bat.

My dad, Ovidio Lajara, would take me to Sunday games, and would even splurge on peanuts for us to share. I remember the first game I went to at Veterans Stadium, seeing Juan Samuel do sprints as he warmed up. In 1993, my dad and I watched Joe Carter hit the walk-off home run that crushed our hopes of witnessing a World Series victory. In 2008, we finally got to celebrate. My dad was so excited to experience a championship.

He died in August 2011. For the last 11 years, my two sons and I have a tradition when we visit his grave. We park at the same spot, put down my truck’s windows, stand by his headstone, and play his favorite song: “Mi Viejo” (My old man), by Piero.

We change his flowers when they get discolored, and I tell the boys to pick out something special for him. A few weeks ago, on Sept. 2, they chose a baseball that was made of red and white flowers. We’d like to think that this gesture is what has our Phillies four games away from winning the World Series again. If it does happen, my boys and I already have a plan that might break tradition: Instead of playing my dad’s song, we will drive up to his grave and play “Dancing on My Own.”

Renato Lajara is an assistant superintendent at the School District of Philadelphia.

By Devan Masciulli

My dad, Bart Masciulli, was murdered on Oct. 7. The last few weeks have been excruciating for my family, but one temporary distraction from the pain has been watching the Phillies. It may sound trite, but in this situation, you will do anything for a little serotonin, and sports have always been an escape for my family.

Like many others from Philly, my family and close friends are elated that the Phillies are in the World Series. At the same time, we are sad that my dad isn’t here to see this incredible, unexpected, team. After the Phils secured their spot, my mother, sister, and I cried.

We wish so badly my dad was here to experience it. To experience Bryce Harper’s insanely clutch, game-winning home run in the eighth. Yes, my dad would also have been screaming at the TV for the wild pitches (sorry, Domínguez, I get it — I was a pitcher in the past and throwing a wet ball is hard). My dad was also an umpire for many years, so during last Sunday’s final National League Championship Series game, I know I would’ve been asking him: “What warrants a rain delay? Why haven’t they called a rain delay yet?”

I miss watching games with him so much.

One of my best memories with my dad is when the Phillies won the World Series in 2008. We took pots and pans, ran to a football field down the street with all of our neighborhood, and cheered loudly and proudly. My dad took my family to the parade downtown. Thinking of going this year (when the Phillies obviously win) makes me sad. It won’t ever be the same without him.

My dad sent the Phillies to the World Series, and he has plans for them to win it all. Dad, if you can read this, we’ll be watching at home with the pup. Believe it or not, we’ll miss you yelling at the screen. (But don’t worry, we’ll do that part for you.)

Devan Masciulli is a meteorologist in Illinois. She grew up in Modena Park in the Northeast.

By Moira Bohannon

Last Sunday night after the Phillies’ win, I high-fived my son and said “Phillies in 6″ for the World Series, without thinking much about it. On Monday morning, the game schedule was revealed, and I got chills when I saw that Game 6 is on Nov. 4, which would have been my grandfather’s 90th birthday.

John “Jack” Bohannon was the quintessential Phillies fan. He wasn’t the loudest, or the one who knew all the stats, or the most suffering. His love of the Phillies was just part of his every day.

I remember him listening to games on WIP as he grilled in Springfield, Delaware County. I knew from him that the Phillies won the World Series in 1980, the year I was born. (Thanks to his always linking the two, I think I believed for a while that they won because I was born.)

As a teenager, I watched the ’93 World Series at my grandparents’ house. After Joe Carter’s home run, he turned off the TV, looked over at me, crying, and said, “It’s hard being a Phillies fan.”

Everyone always came to my grandparents’ house to watch the Phillies’ games. Even after my dad left for college, his friends still watched games with Jack. In 1987, after 15 years of watching games together, my dad’s friends sent my grandfather to Phillies Dream Week, a baseball camp in Clearwater, Fla. He spent a week there with the Phillies, learning from the coaches and playing with the team.

Years later, when I was expecting, I told Jack I was decorating the baby’s room in a Phillies theme, with pinstripe walls and framed team posters I had saved since middle school. My grandfather went into his dresser and gave me the framed picture of himself in the Phillies uniform from Dream Week for the nursery. The picture is still prominently displayed in my home 17 years later, and looks down on me and my son as we watch Phillies games together. Phillies Phandom is genetic for us.

My grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer months before the team won the World Series in ’08; I’m glad he got to see that. He passed away less than a year later. I know he would have loved the guys on this impossible team.

I can’t untangle my love of the Phillies, and of baseball, from my grandfather. So I’m putting into the universe, for Jack Bohannon: Phils in 6.

Moira Bohannon is a senior content analyst for Elsevier. She lives in Philadelphia.

By Brooke Davis

I grew up in a huge Phillies family, and started going to games not long after I could walk. On my 30th birthday, my mom, Arlene, paraded me around Citizens Bank Park, telling everyone who worked there that her daughter had just turned 30. Just a day earlier, my father surprised her with a gift to thank her for bringing me into this world. And he knew what she would love most — a jersey of Shane Victorino (her favorite player, whom she called her “little guy”) with a Harry Kalas (HK) patch sewn on. She loved this jersey.

After my mom died in April 2017, I started wearing her Victorino jersey to all the games. This year, I got to attend four regular-season games, including opening day, in mom’s jersey. This is the Phillies’ first postseason run since she died, and it was so emotional, but I knew I had to keep showing up in mom’s jersey. I already had a ticket to Game 4 of the NLDS, but managed to get one for Game 3. When I saw that Shane Victorino was throwing out the first pitch, I burst into tears.

I have felt my mom with me through all of this. I know she is up there cheering hard, and she would love this team.

Brooke Davis is a paralegal. She lives in West Chester.

By Julie Wertheimer

Here’s how much the Phillies meant to my father, John Wertheimer: We skipped out of synagogue early on Rosh Hashanah in 2003 to catch the last Phillies game at the Vet. We left a dear friend’s wedding after cocktail hour in 2008 to attend a rain-delayed Game 3 of the World Series. I’ll always know that Jim Bunning’s perfect game was on Father’s Day — four days after my dad’s 13th birthday, and one day after his bar mitzvah. To him, it was the best gift.

In 2010, my father was diagnosed with a glioblastoma, right before the Phillies’ NLDS series. Hours after having a brain biopsy, he insisted on going to Game 1 — where he finally got to see a no-hitter.

I don’t know exactly where his love of the game came from. Maybe it was the purest form of Americana for the only (surviving) child of immigrant Holocaust-survivor parents.

When my father passed in late 2012, his friends wore Phillies ties and Phillies hats instead of kippot to the funeral. A red P adorns his headstone.

But I don’t go to the cemetery to visit him. That’s not where his spirit is — it’s at the ballpark. I kept my dad’s season tickets after he died, and I haven’t missed a home opener since.

Last Sunday, when we clinched our spot in this year’s series, I sat in the same seat I was in for the World Series in 2008 and 2009. This time, it wasn’t my dad next to me — it was my mom, who had returned to the ballpark for the first time in years, after her own bout with cancer. She was wrapped in his oversized ’80/’08 World Series jacket, and I was wearing my dad’s personalized jersey from 1987 Dream Week.

To me, as a long-suffering, die-hard Phillies fan who has had to persist through this decade of drought without my biggest fan, this team’s run means more than just being back on the big stage.

Ten years after my dad’s death, the Phillies have made me feel closer to him than I have in a long time. So whether or not we win it all, to the Phillies, I say: thank you, from the bottom of my heart. (And please win.)

Julie Wertheimer lives in Center City with her husband, and can often be found at Citizens Bank Park.