An Open Letter to
Ryan Howard, Kyle Kendrick, Carlos Ruiz, Jimmy Rollins,
Chase Utley, and Cole Hamels.
“The time has
come, the walrus said, to talk of many things...”
Maybe this is a foolish task. Maybe this letter is an
overwrought, and unnecessary gesture in this day and age. But I’m old school,
and I believe in telling people that you care about, how much you care about
them while you still can.
It’s sad for me
to say, but I realize that by the time I get home to Philly again, and make a
trip to Citizens Bank Park, some, or even most of you guys will be gone. Traded
away to other teams, wearing someone else’s uniform, carrying the hopes of some
new city on your shoulders. So I wanted to say this now, while you’re all still
Phillies. Because in my heart you will always be Phillies, and the
Phillies...particularly this version we’ve had for the last 12 years or so...mean
more to me than just another baseball team. 2008 wasn’t merely a World Series
win. Not to me.
I’m sure that by
this stage of your careers, you have come to realize how much people love you and
what you represent. You embody the dreams of little boys and the memories of
their dads and grandfathers. They dream of being like you one day, or remember
when they were a little like you in their past. They love you. The Phillies
have had hundreds and hundreds of men come and go through their history, but
few will ever be as beloved as you guys, or as endearing. You’ve brought
smiles, ignited passion, rejuvenated the city and given us all reasons to walk
with our chest out, and with a little more pride in our step.
And, in my case, maybe
you saved a life.
I know none of
you guys will ever forget October 29, 2008. You can probably close your eyes
and feel the cold of that night, the roar of the crowd, the dazzling brilliance
of the fireworks and the flashbulbs popping and the unbelievable feeling of
being a champion. No matter where you go, from that night until eternity,
you’ll never forget it.
Neither will I.
I wasn’t in
Philadelphia that night. I wasn’t in a warm house watching the game on TV. I
wasn’t huddled around a radio in a garage, like I used to do when I was a
little boy, growing up about 15 miles from
Veterans Stadium. I was zipped into a couple of sleeping bags, laying
down in the front seat of my beat-up Volvo 850, hidden in some brush and overgrowth
behind a church in Nashville, TN. I was
homeless.
Earlier that year
I had lost my job. I was a ten year veteran of the mortgage industry and I had
done well for myself, and my daughter. I am a single dad and her mom and I
split custody. In 2007 I lost my home when the business started to falter. I
rented for a year and in May 2008, when the company I worked for folded, I
couldn’t renew my lease and I was homeless. Just like that.
By that October I
was a broken man. I was ashamed, embarrassed, defeated, and, worst of all, I was
hopeless. I had no idea how I would rebuild my life, and I had nothing to look
to and say “This is going well. This will get me back on my feet.” That’s where I was when you were beating the
Rays that cold, nasty Wednesday night in late October, 6 years ago.
More than
anything...I was lonely. I was homesick. No matter where I have gone or will go
in this world, Philly is my home, and the Phillies are my team. In the months
leading up to that October night, I was as lonely as I’ve ever been. Everyone I
loved, and who loved me, with the exception of my daughter, was back there in
my hometown, and with each day of defeat, I felt like I was taking another step
further from them.
That’s how it
felt for me, that night you became World Champions. I was listening to the game
on my car radio. Listening to the roar. Listening to the play by play. Wishing
I was there. I was remembering when I was little and dreamed of playing
baseball one day. Playing for the Phillies. Playing for my hometown, like you
do now.
When the game was
over, I cried like a baby. For a few minutes, maybe a few hours, I wasn’t
hopeless. I wasn’t broken or defeated. I wasn’t a homeless loser, sleeping in
my car and trying to find work. I was a Philadelphian.
And we were winners.
These past six
years as I’ve rebuilt my life, you guys have given me so much to be proud of.
So much to hope in. So many reasons to believe. When things were hard, and days
were long, I could always find the occasional Sunday night game on the radio when
you were playing, and just for a while I’d be home. At Citizen’s Bank Park.
Watching my Phillies. I could feel the seats, taste the hot dogs, hear the
crack of the bat. I walked with pride.
These past six
years, as you men have written the greatest chapter in Phillies Baseball
history, I was working on new chapters of my own life. I went back to school
and completed the final two years of my bachelors degree online. In May, 2012 I
graduated from Liberty University. I’ve written five books. I started a
carpentry business. It was a tough road. Three times over those six years, I
found jobs, and then the companies that hired me shut their doors and I was out
of work again. But I endured. I stayed with my daughter instead of relocating
to a place where I could find work. In the past six years, I have been homeless
four and a half of them.
A month ago, my
daughter and I moved to Lynchburg, Virginia, where I have a job opportunity with
my alma mater. I am excited. I am hopeful. I have a nice townhouse here, and I
have been busy and working and it’s great to feel like a success again. A
chapter of my life is closed now. A chapter that brought pain, and sadness, but
with those hardships also came amazing lessons, and the thrill of discovering
something I love and am good at.
It’s no mistake,
I believe, that my long path was book-ended by this team you play on, and by
the best years of your careers. You were there for me –without even knowing me-
when I was at my worst. And now, as my life has taken flight again, your time
to fly is upon us too.
I don’t know
which of you guys will be staying or which will be gone. Maybe some, maybe
none, maybe all. But I wanted to tell you my story while you were all still
there together. Still wearing that uniform. Still Phillies. I wanted you to
know about that dreary night, and the dreariness of my life back then, and how
you punched a hole in the darkness I was trapped in and gave me hope and pride
from 800 miles away. I wanted you to know that what you do is so much more than
play baseball. So much more than a game. I know you’ll never forget that
season, or winning that championship, or the way this city has loved you. But I
hope that now, in addition to those memories, you’ll also remember that on one
magnificent night, you were winning more than a World Series. You were keeping
a lonely, broken dad, alive, and giving him the hope to fight another day. And
he did.
And finally...he won.
Ryan, Chase, Jimmy, Chooch, Cole, Kyle...thank you. Thank
you for giving us all your very best. Believe me when I tell you, no matter
where you go in this world...
...you’ll always be Phillies.
Sincerely yours,
Craig Daliessio
Lynchburg, Virginia
June 8, 2014
