It'll be a cold day in Hell before...

"The million-to-one shot came in. Hell froze over. A month of Sundays hit the calendar. Don Larsen today pitched a no-hit, no-run, no-man-reach-first game in a World Series."
-Shirley Povich in The Washington Post, 1956

That unforgettable lead penned by the best sportswriter the world has ever known described the first and only time a man pitched a perfect game in the Fall Classic, but I couldn't help but play it over and over in my head Monday as I gleefully anticipated Game 5 in Philadelphia, when incandescently hot Cole Hamels was set to take the hill and end a 25-year Depression in the City of Brotherly Love. I wondered if I would cry when that last out was recorded, as the Red Stripers poured out of the dugout to gang pile their perfect closer, Brad Lidge, as he posed for immortality in a city that never forgets.

But it wouldn't be on that night, or even this night, as rain pelted Willy Penn and snow floated throughout the region, and so we wait, with the aforementioned lonely Cole Hamels stuck on 75 pitches and stranded in the home team's batter's box holding his breath for the conclusion of the 6th inning of Game 5 of the 103rd World Series.

As the Phillies teeter on a precipice I often wondered whether they'd ever achieve, I tried to comprehend the moment, soak in every last detail, because at 21 years of age, this is a long time to wait for one stinkin' championship.

But it's more than that; as I poured over the comments page on philly.com following their NLCS clinching win a few weeks back, I saw a litany of references to deceased family members smiling from above, optimistic outlooks despite dreary financial and professional news and too many happy father-son stories to count.

And so, I can wait another day, spend it wondering in facisination how the last out will be recorded, where I will be sitting, how I will react, and what it will finally feel like, all while imploring the Phillies not to break my heart like so many of their predecessors.