Before they were in the playoffs, I was batting 1.000.

But with the late games, my libido is in a slump, just like the Phillies. It's tough for the batter when he has to get up at 5 for work. (And even a fan-tasy about Jayson Werth couldn't get this fan in the mood.)

I was never into sports, but since we won the pennant, my son and boyfriend have converted me. I saw Matt Stairs in the Cheesecake Factory in Cherry Hill last week and gave him the high sign. Before, I would've thought he was just another customer. Before, I didn't know one player from another. Now I know their nicknames. It's not intimacy, but now I at least qualify as a fan.

I worry that JayRo might've jinxed us by being too cocky.

Then I hear about a player supporting his mother in a Third World country, and I have to add him to my list of loved ones to worry about.

I've become invested in this game and want to put it to those cocksure Yankees. They are cold and calculating. They think that because they spent a gazillion dollars on the best players they can take the series from our Fabulous Phils.

New Yorkers share their conceit. But our Phillies are the little train that could. David vs. Goliath. The underdogs to the arrogant Manhattan top dogs - but they have the most heart.

Even if I can't get to first base until it's over, I hope they go all the way again. The City of Brotherly Love has always borne the brunt of those W.C. Fields Philadelphia jokes.

It's worth sublimating for a little while longer if we get to see those Yankees hit the Jersey Turnpike with their smirks turned upside down.

As Mick Jagger so aptly put it, "I can't get no satisfaction."

But that's OK. It's worth a few no-hitters if we win the World Series again.

Then those damn Yankees can kiss this Philly filly's butt.

Ellen Zionts

Cherry Hill, N.J.