Post - A Tale of Two Phillys

Philadelphia is a town of great pride and grand hyperbole.

My "Poppop", for one, refuses to believe that artful investment has taken place in his native South Philly. To him, "Ain't no way people you know are living there. The streets are so narrow I could stand at my front door and touch my neighbor's across the street!" He rushed to tell me this in his not-quite-authentic Italian cadence before shuffling off to go "dancing" as he does four nights a week.

Of course, we have our narrow alleys in Philadelphia but I have yet to see one that could not accommodate a human with their arms stretched out.

As a city we have secured a scoundrel'esque reputation. While in the limelight over the past few weeks, we have embraced it. In front of live cameras, we've exaggerated the raucous behavior now associated with our city. Like an overweight classmate who earns laughs poking fun at themselves, this "Philly-fan" routine has been the chosen method to cover what we may have felt to be lacking, which prior to Sunday, was a Superbowl win.

The confetti had not yet settled when Nathan and I poured onto Market Street with thousands of others and collectively set out on a pilgrimage. Where we were going, we were not quite sure until a stranger shouted out "to City Hall!" and then we knew. At City Hall we joined with tens of thousands of others on Broad street to celebrate. Yes, there were illegal fireworks, fans waving flags out of the sunroofs of cars and the passing of liquor bottles between strangers. When mere iPhone cameras rather than television cameras were displayed, it was a simple constant flurry of high fives from neighbors who we've never met. Age, gender, race and economic status went completely unnoticed.

The best Superbowl pic we managed to get.

Still, the Twitter moment was what it was by Monday morning. "Chaos in Philadelphia Following Superbowl Win". "Philadelphia, you won. Why do you want to ruin your city?" social media users from elsewhere added.

Any instances of destruction or looting is highly disgraceful. Two cases of it were captured on film. I did not notice any more. It was expected, as it likely is to a certain extent in any city and our proud police department handled it well.

What was less noticeable were the tears, pouring down from generations who thought they might spend their lives void of such a victorious moment.

Philadelphia embraces its quirks. Exhibit A will always be our annual New Years Day Mummers Parade. A glittery, feathery, dance-driven pageant still comprised mainly of hundreds of hardworking men, it is near impossible to describe. What it started as though, in my understanding, was a jovial way for blue collar residents and recent immigrants to strip away the anguish of everyday life by posing as satirical versions of the public figures that reigned. Then and now, the event has been one grand inside joke where if you witness it and still can not understand the charm then - the jokes on you.

I feel the same goes for our reputation as sports fans. In my younger years, I refused to root for the Eagles because of behavior that I thought was embarrassing. Obviously, I have come around and much of that has to do with understanding that the "snowball throwing anti-santa" character is merely what we as fans collectively seem to play on TV. Now that we hold the title of World Champions, I hope that the stereotype that has been given to us, and embraced will melt away.

The jokes about out city burning? Well, like the rest of our reputation, there is a bit of truth and underlying pain to where it comes from. We've been there before.

In 1985, following years of conflict between a communal group called "MOVE", their desperate neighbors and the Philadelphia Police department, a violent standoff between the group and law enforcement resulted in the death of eleven MOVE members including five children. An "entry device", as law enforcement called it, was dropped onto the South West Philadelphia compound and led to a fiery explosion. The block burned. Over 250 people, the vast majority of them victims of proximity were left homeless.

Our city struggled from about 1970s to early 1990s, as crime and dilapidation made much of the city wholly uninviting. Empty warehouses and semi-functional slaughterhouses dotted the picturesque neighborhood where Nathan and I now live and love.

Those grease polls? A yearly tradition in South Philadelphia is the Grease Poll climbing challenge so it is something we have comically embraced for some time. This stems from what was once a stereotype involving Italians, who were accused of being too "greasy to climb a poll". Spoiler: they are best climbed by utilizing a human pyramid. Clearly we don't take ourselves very seriously.

Our true beginnings were that of true rebels, who were tired and fearful of outside authority. We were underdogs to the world superpower by which we were controlled and with that threat came the courage of our earliest residents to sign a document which for many, signed away their own earthly comfort.

We will not hold the prestige of Silicon Valley, or the polite charm of Charleston or the glitzy imported showmanship of New York City, but what we do have is gusto, passed from from generations of Philadelphia's who are damn sure to never let the past be the past.

Many of us are blue collar union workers who show resiliency with blow-up rats and weeks without pay. We are entrepreneurs, capitalizing on an relatively affordable housing market. We are immigrants who have built and continue to build our own communities. We are second generation italian's who once ran through cramped alley ways. We all have someone in our family who, like my Poppop, suffered a loss typical of the times. (His father was unable to care for both my grandfather and his twin brother following their birth. His twin brother was temporarily housed in a city orphanage where he fell ill and soon died).

So what does my Poppop do? He cheers for a team that never before brought home a Superbowl. He exaggerates his stories sometimes for a laugh. He dances four times a week.

When you see the footage of fans acting wildly, remember. We are not selfish brutes, we are a city with a strange history and sometimes strange present. We are snobbish foodies with the restaurants to back it up. We have an art and music scene that prides itself to not make an Austin-like gimmick out of it. We are loud because the cultures that formed us are loud. Yeah, we sport the most sweatpants of any major city but we also know how to get dolled up. We have exaggerated this brutal Philly-fan character and now I get the sense that we wont need to anymore.

Following the Superbowl I gave a rare late-night call to 84-year-old Poppop. He had watched the game at a neighbors house in Florida. The win gave me a reason to call him from the city where he grew up. I could hear him smiling through the phone.

"I'm so happy. Thanks for calling, Hun. Love you."