I know…technically its Clifton, not Clifford. I beg your forgiveness – if you’ll pardon the pun – for taking this small grammatical liberty. After all, for three glorious months and one breathtaking World Series hunt, Clifton Phifer Lee WAS the big dog in red Phillies pinstripes.
His adoption into the pack was the catalyst that fueled one blissful autumn drive, and we hung our happy heads out the window right along with him, tongues flapping in the breeze, sucking in the wonderful air, wanting the ride to never end.
He captured our fluttering hearts with his larger than life performance over the final months of an otherwise uneven regular season. Larger still in a rapturous postseason run that would never have happened were it not for the no bark, just bite style that baffled hitters, energized teammates and enthralled a city.
He gave us his best. We gave him our hope.
He gave us his heart. We gave him ours.
And then…he was gone; his joyous romp around Citizens Bank Park…over. Kicked to the curb. A new dog on the porch.
.
The headline said, Phils deal Lee for Halladay…, or words to that effect. It might as well have read, Faithful dog sent to pound. Child mourns. As Lee was the faithful dog, I am the mournful child – or grown man acting as a child.
They say a dog is a man’s best friend. That dog was certainly this fan’s best friend.
They say all dogs go to heaven.
I wonder if that dog feels the same way about Seattle.
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