Daniel McQuade: Time to bid a fond farewell to the Vet

The greatest football game I ever saw, I had the pleasure of watching in person.

Sure, I'll always remember the 58-37 thrashing the Philadelphia Eagles delivered to the Detroit Lions in 1995, but what I really look back at are the fans' reactions.

After journeyman defensive back Barry Wilburn returned an interception for a touchdown, a few fans several rows behind me in the 700 Level celebrated by, well, tossing another guy down a few rows. He hit the concrete, got up and continued to celebrate the big play.

Alcohol may have been involved, but let's not jump to any conclusions.

I spent countless cold Sunday afternoons or hot July nights at the Vet, watching one of the local teams stink up the joint. I can't count the number of Phillies and Eagles games I've seen at the Vet, but I've been going since I was 2. I've seen it all.

I've played tag in the concourses. I've seen fistfights between two 400-pound men. I've seen the Phillies give up nine home runs in one game. I've hugged people I don't even know after a big touchdown.

On Sunday morning at 7 a.m., the Vet will be no more. Due to the city's worries about the stadium's demolition damaging local South Philly homes, it'll take 58 seconds to blow up the Vet.

Fittingly, the stadium will die a slow death.

The Eagles have already played a season in their posh new digs, while the Phillies begin playing in their new stadium next month.

The Philadelphia sports fan is among the toughest in the country. We're also among the best. The Vet embodied the blue-collar feeling of these fans. Sure, we booed and jeered at the stadium, but it's because we cared. And we booed at the new Eagles stadium, and we'll boo at the new Phillies stadium for that same reason.

It's weird to get attached to a place like the Vet. Sure, it's a giant concrete bowl, and it's not a good place to watch a game, and it smells, and, yes, Philadelphia sports teams aren't the most successful.

But, as a fan told me at the opening of the Eagles' new stadium, "The Vet was our shithole."

Indeed. And while out-of-city sports columnists routinely enjoy bashing the Vet and Philadelphia fans, we fans will continue not to care what other people think.

Sure, there have been incidents that have been crass, rude, mean. Whatever you want to call it. The main story frequently told is that Eagles fans threw snowballs at Santa Claus, which is true.

But that's not even a Vet memory, as it's usually (incorrectly) labeled. It happened at Franklin Field on 33rd Street, and the Santa was a 19-year-old fan who was pulled out of the stands as a replacement. He thought the snowball tossing was funny.

I'm not in a position here to defend every incident that's happened at the Vet. ("The fans only threw two batteries at J.D. Drew! Do you know how many people were there?") I also don't want to. But just because there have been sour incidents at the Vet doesn't mean it can't be a place to remember.

And the Vet is the place of a thousand memories and a thousand great stories. And, sure, I have my favorite plays and players, but the heart of the Vet was always its fans.

I'll always remember the Vet as a place I went with my parents, my uncle and my friends. I'll remember the stupid things, the great plays, the unlikely heroes. It's like a childhood relic that in a few days will be no more.

Is the loss of the Vet some sort of reckoning day for myself and thousands of others? No. I'm not really sad, nor will I miss the uncomfortable seats and the pathetic viewing angles. But that doesn't mean that I won't miss it.

I've got another story. My uncle was at a game with his friend and his friend's kids, and they were hanging out above the outfield bullpen pestering some of the Phillies pitchers to throw up a ball.

"Ricky, Ricky!" -- Ricky Botallico, former Phillies reliever -- "Come on, give the kid a ball!"

I don't know if Botallico wasn't listening or didn't want to be bothered, but he didn't give a response.

"Naah, it's OK. We'll get one when you go out to pitch."

Well, I guess there's only one more thing left to say about the implosion of the Vet:

Boo.

Daniel McQuade is a senior English major from Philadelphia, Pa., and former 34th Street managing editor. Lone Wolf McQuade appears on Thursdays.

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