‘What the hell are you wearing?’: I wore an Astros jersey to a World Series game in Philly

I slipped on the navy jersey, hoping it was imbued somehow with courage. I was wearing Astros clothes to a World Series game at Citizens Bank Park: I was going to need courage.

My Phillies fervor is well-documented. But after I wore Phils gear to Minute Maid Park in Houston and was astonished at how kind people were to me, an editor had a bright idea: Send Kristen to a home game in an Astros jersey.

The very act of buying a Houston hat and jersey felt wrong, and when I put them on, I’m sure it was psychosomatic, but I felt a little itchy.

» READ MORE: I wore every item of Phillies gear I packed to Minute Maid Park. Here’s how long it took me to get booed.

I was once arrested for doing my job, but the act of donning the clothes of the Phillies’ opponents felt personally ickier, because I didn’t choose to get arrested or even break any laws when the police picked me up back in 2020, vs. deliberately purchasing and wearing enemy gear.

I do relish a challenge, however, and I was curious: Just how loud were the boos going to get?

I went in with some ground rules: Ditch the jersey and hat if I felt unsafe at any point. No lies — when Bryce Harper smashed a homer in the first inning, I wasn’t going to feign disdain. I jumped up and down, shouting with joy and pumping my fist into the air, thoroughly confusing the people standing near me. My colleague, photographer Steve Falk, was worried for my safety and vowed not to leave my side.

It took a full 90 minutes from the time I slipped on the blue jersey and Astros cap to get my first boo, and it was a pretty weaksauce one, honestly. Maybe it was Steve’s presence that kept people mostly well-behaved. Maybe it was the lopsided game — it was pretty clear early on that this was going to be an everybody-hits rout; what did we have to fear from the Astros, or an Astros fan, on such a night?

Honestly, the most heat I took was from my family.

“What the hell are you wearing?” cousin Eileen Grimmer shouted when she saw me near her seats on the third-base line. (Eventually, she asked to take a picture with me, I think to prove that I actually did it, possibly the most audacious thing ever accomplished by a Graham.)

» READ MORE: Why I tweet ‘beloved heroes’ after each Phillies win and what it means — to me and my kids

“I think Uncle Billy and Aunt Jean are going to disown you,” Eileen’s son, cousin Conor Grimmer, said of my parents. (No one has renounced me yet, but my dad was alarmed: “What’s the matter with you?” he said via text when he saw a photo of me.)

My 9-year-old, Kieran, who gives me a run for my money in the Phillies fan department, didn’t love the idea. He was worried that I was going to be seen as a traitor. But eventually, he came around to the wisdom of my plan, given it meant I could attend the game.

Let me be clear: There was no love for the Astros in the park. There were tons of “cheater, cheater” chants at various points. Two Phils fans who led the charge in screaming an unprintable word at every Astros fan who passed by them had been tossed out of the stadium, a security guard told me. On my walk back to my car after the game ended, I witnessed fans shouting and extending their middle fingers to an Astros employee charter bus. (Not a great look, Philly.)

But most of what I experienced was either good-natured ribbing, like the man who cheerfully told me he was obligated to boo me, then patted my shoulder in sympathy, or slightly edgier but still pretty harmless guff.

“You have something on your shirt,” one fan said, pointing to the orange letters that spelled out “Astros.”

“The Astros stink. They stink!” his friend said, getting a little closer to me than I wanted — the sellout crowd made for close quarters in standing room. No worries; I kept moving.

One guy ran his finger down his cheek, mimicking a tear.

“Sorry for your team,” he said. (Not my team, pal.)

People who learned about my mission were generally appalled.

“If your boss made you do that, I’m glad I’m retired,” said Rick Feliciano of Bethlehem.

“That’s almost abuse,” Phillies employee John Clark said.

Chase and Ashley Beebe, brother and sister from Media — though Chase lives in St. Louis now, and flew in for the game — were worried.

“You might get killed,” said Chase.

Shortly thereafter, my Astros jersey did cause one fan to shout “f — you” at me, the worst I heard all night. I think I would have fared a lot worse outside the stadium, with fewer lights and security, but chose to keep my experiment to the confines of Citizens Bank Park.

Really, the reaction I received was a lot tamer than I was expecting. No one at the ballpark offered me food or wished my team luck, the way fans did in Houston when I was wearing my Phillies jersey, but generally, the Southern-hospitality thing came through at Minute Maid and the Philly toughness with a heaping dose of heart and humor came though at Citizens Bank Park.

But I’m not going to lie — after Phils reliever Andrew Bellatti struck out West Chester native Chas McCormick to end the game, nailing down the shutout, I threw on my Phillies sweatshirt and traded my blue Astros cap for my white knit Phils hat and felt instant relief.

That is, until friends raised the idea that my plans to burn or donate the jersey might need to go on hold. If I wore a stinking Astros shirt to a game where the Phillies took a 2-1 lead in the World Series, does that mean I have to keep wearing it until the Fightins win a fourth game?

Ugh.