Am I a traitor or a hero? I will let you decide.
I know what people in Philadelphia are thinking—that I am a complete traitor. That denouncing the Phillies as my team is a mortal sin and a violation of the highest order; telling the world I am no longer a fan of the Philadelphia Phillies is an unforgivable act and that if I ever return to Philly, a band of tobacco-chewing derelicts with full-body tatoos would be waiting for me at the gate as I get off the plane in my red Angel jersey. Furthermore, my name is mud in that town; I am Brotherly Love Enemy Number One. Ben Franklin, who is the only Philadelphian that I truly admire, is probably rolling around in his grave and would electrocute me if he could–worse yet, he would force me to gobble down one those Philly cheese steaks floating in Cheez Wiz . I am, no doubt, a scoundrel, a heathen, a traitor.
But am I really? Or am I just an enlightened individual who is a progressive thinker and who is not confined by restrictive loyalties? I was not born a Phillies fan. I just found myself stuck in it like a poor bird in the Gulf stuck to a viscous liquid from an oil spill. It is my belief that by becoming an Angel, I would be assured a spot in heaven as well as a front row seat at the World Series. I would be able to see the greatest player in the world, Mike Trout, play out his career in Anaheim and break all of baseball’s records. So sorry Phillies fans. I don’t mean to hurt you personally. I have to go with my instincts here.
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