THE REV. Martin Luther King preached that grace merited without suffering is unredemptive.
Didn't know he was a closet Phillies fan.
So, was the jolt of unbridled joy that electrified just about everybody within reach of Harry Kalas' "High Hopes'' rendition worth 14 years of suffering?
Is this foreshadowing of heaven everything you expected?
Some ball fans prefer their pennants with a little less coronary risk. They'd like to roll over with about a week to go in the season, light up a cigarette and say, "Was it good for you?'' And then take a nap until the playoffs begin.
Even though the Phillies clinched the East relatively early in 1993 - they eliminated the Expos with five games to play - a lot of fans were still muttering, "Holy bleep, I still don't believe it.'' That's because Jim Fregosi's Band of Brigands never really drew a troubled breath after their amazing 45-17 blastoff. The ease was why the bonus pennant of that bolt from the blue season was so hard to believe.
This could have been an easy one, as well. The Money Pit clubhouse could have featured a restrained group of athletes looking ahead to a postseason they had clinched at the beginning of the week or earlier. The smell of stale champagne would have just about faded into the carpeting. Charlie Manuel would have rested his regulars Sunday, playing an outfield of Greg Dobbs, Chris Roberson and Michael Bourn. Jimmy Rollins and Ryan Howard would have been the only regulars, the shortstop gunning for his 20th triple, the first baseman for the RBI title. The customers would have been more interested in their ticket-stub numbers on Fan Appreciation Day than the numbers on the out-of-town scoreboard.
If general manager Pat Gillick had cashed just a few of his off-season chips, his ballclub would have threatened 95 or more victories. Even if the Mets hadn't dug a latrine and crawled into it the final 3 weeks, the Phils would have won the East and led the National League in victories.
What were the odds on Opening Day that of Gillick's most important offseason moves, only Wes Helms, Greg Dobbs, Jason Werth and Rod Barajas would be on Manuel's postseason roster?
Helms, signed for 2 years at $5.45 million to be the lead third baseman, would be basically a pinch-hitter in October. Barajas was signed to be a veteran presence in front of rookie catcher Carlos Ruiz, but rarely played after the All-Star break. Dobbs and Werth, signed to be role players, would both emerge as major cogs in Manuel's platoons at third and right.
Freddy Garcia and his $10 million contract were acquired from the White Sox for two pitching prospects. The veteran would be no lower than a No. 2 starter.
Adam Eaton, a former Phils No. 1 pick with a long history of physical calamity, was inexplicably signed for 3 years at $24.5 million to be a solid No. 4. And when Gillick was unable to unload veteran starter Jon Lieber and his heavy contract for anything of value, Manuel was left with the almost embarrassing luxury of six starting pitchers. What a stack of chips to have on the table in such a pitcher-poor era.
I'm sure more than one of you has determined that the biggest victory of the season for a team that needed all 89 of them to win the division in Game 162 was one that happened way back on April 22. If you believe in the premise that all wins are created equal, Freddy Garcia's only win of a Phillies career ended by a torn labrum was more equal than some of the others. Let history record that Freddy-Gee went five innings against the Reds before being pitch-counted out and was the winning pitcher.
During the seven seasons when he pitched at last 200 innings, Garcia averaged 15 victories. It's not stem-cell medicine to conclude that if Freddy had hit his average instead of the club record for costliest victory, the bubbly could have been uncorked before the final homestand, possibly in the dingy RFK mausoleum.
If you can assume that, it's hardly a reach to assume Kyle Kendrick would have been called up to replace the kaput Lieber, chipped in his 10 victories, or that, seeking bullpen help with Flash Gordon worn down and Brett Myers injured, Gillick still would have picked up tungsten- bulb-shorting lefty J.C. Romero.
Are you yawning yet over a division title so easily won? Would you have showed up at Eagles training camp chanting, "P-H-I-L-L-I-E-S''?
And the destruction of the East would have been exacerbated had Helms been the league's hottest hitter the first half of this season, just as he had the highest average last season for the Marlins after the All-Star break. And hit closer to the 23 homers he managed for the Brewers in 2003 than the piddling five he hit here during his puzzling offensive meltdown.
Which gives us Barajas, as they used to say in Jerusalem . . .
Thanks to a perfectly wretched performance on both sides of the ball by the free agent brought in by Gillick to add a little more cement to his veteran rotation, Manuel was forced to hand the bulk of the catching to Ruiz. The stubby Panamanian responded with aplomb, not to mention an aggressive catching style where he bounced back from spring-training arm miseries to keep his staff honest.
My take? I've always been a fan of the desperation baseball that must be played in tight pennant races by teams that are not as good as a typical Yankees dynasty team or a Big Red Machine. I mean, how much urgency was there in 1976 when Sparky Anderson's Red Berets took out the Phillies and Yankees in a seven-game table run - they outscored them 41-19 - so total you swore the team of Morgan, Rose, Bench, Perez, Foster, Concepcion and Griffey was wearing jackboots instead of baseball shoes.
This season was a test from on high to see whether you could handle a summer of exquisite tension, nightly near-nervous breakdowns and many more bellowed four-letter words than the children should be hearing. And that was just you, Mom.
Next season, you will have permission to walk with a swagger, talk New York-style smack and act as if baseball championships are part of your birthright. *
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