English Composition 1
On our way to the World Series
As I drive slowly, heading west over the Walt Whitman bridge, I smell the stench of the what used to be an old brewery, but now I am not sure what factory is belching that awful smell that causes my throat to tighten and my memory to race. The smell takes me back to all the games and concerts I have attended in Philly through the years. Today, the one I remember is the car accident we had coming home from a Queen rock concert in 1978, when I was in the back of my brother Rich’s blue Pinto, back in the seventies. I recall waiting for it to explode when he missed the car in front of him, escaping tragedy for sure, only to be rear-ended. It never did explode. Rich is my brother that invited me to go to this game, one of seven brothers. I was psyched when he asked me to go. It was just Rich and I going to game six of the 1993 National League Conference Series.
The exuberance I felt when thinking about my Phillies in the sixth game of the NLCS, was nearly uncontrollable. The Phillies were geared up to finish off the Braves this time leading the best of seven series, three games to two. For ten years, the Braves have had the best pitching in the majors and have choked every wonderful year. I hate the Braves, the ridiculous chant and that annoying chop thing they do when they are winning or need a rally. It would be one of the greatest moments in the nineties if the Phils’, who have struggled for years to win the division because of these same Braves, could clinch a birth to the World Series tonight by beating this menacing team.
As we drive down Patterson Avenue toward Veteran’s Stadium, you could feel the emotion of sixty five thousand fans, who have been waiting for this moment for thirteen long years, desperately wanting to see the “Fightin’ Phils” crush the Atlanta Braves.
We park close to an exit and start our journey toward the stadium. We walk along Broad Street into a...