This fall, my 39th, holds another bit of magic this year, a magic that I have experienced 8 times in my life.

The playoffs are underway and the Phillies are in them.

One year ago I wrote about the magic of watching my team return to post season for the first time in 14 years.  Yesterday they took it a step further, by winning their first playoff game in 15 years.

I have tickets at my disposal for any of the post-season games that I can attend, but so far, work has interfered with the fun.  But, my job being somewhat unusual, allows us all to watch the games at our desks, and I’ve tuned in one of the big screens across the room.

And that’s where the playoff magic really comes alive.  I have long written and talked about the ability of sports to bring people, strangers together.  Here in the newsroom, we aren’t strangers, but it is still something special to watch everyone huddle around a television to cheer and groan in unison.

On a normal evening, the newsroom clears out quickly between 6:30 and 6:45.  Tonight, however, the Phillies were making some ground in the bottom of the second inning.  One person after another pulled on their jacket, glanced at the situation, and decided to stick around a little bit.  They made it more social too, pulling up chairs to desks to share TVs, rather than sitting alone.

First pitcher Brett Myers, not always a fan favorite, had a most impressive at bat, not just for a pitcher, but for anyone facing one of the league’s top pitchers.  When he made it to base, there you could hear “Yes” cautiously declared across the room.

Then Shane Victorino came to the plate.  He didn’t stay long as he hit his first career grand slam.  The newsroom erupted, high fives for everyone, even the people who don’t normally care as much.  And that’s ok, because the spirit of the playoffs can be shared with everyone.

In our case, we can’t be at the ballpark tonight, but we’re screaming and yelling and hooting and booing as if we were.

That’s the magic of it all.

In my drawer, there is a big hurricane folder, there is a “Stadium Implosion” folder, a “Mayoral Inauguration” folder, a “Playoffs Preview Special” folder.

Next week I am going to going into another folder, a folder that will be used for the 4th time in less than a year.

It is the one with the red Sharpie title “Cop Funeral.”

On Tuesday, I will sit in the control room and produce our live coverage of yet another funeral for a Philadelphia Police Officer, killed in the line of duty.

This time it was Officer Patrick McDonald.

Two weeks ago (yes, two weeks ago) the folder came out for the funeral of Officer Isabel Nazario (I was off that week, another producer used the folder).  In May, I produced the coverage of the funeral for Sergeant Steven Liczbinski.  Back in November it was the funeral of Officer Charles Cassidy.

Enough, already.

Officer McDonald was shot 7 times on Tuesday by a guy who was already wanted for assaulting police, a guy who had been in prison, a guy who by all accounts was a bad guy in prison.  Officer McDonald was shot 7 times by a guy who got out of prison LAST MONTH.  The guy made it one month living in our civilized society before opening fire on a police officer who apparently asked to see his ID.

Earlier this month Officer Nazario was involved in the pursuit of a suspect when that suspect t-boned her cruiser.  She was killed.

In May, Sergeant Liczbinski was trying to arrest suspects in the robbery of a bank in a supermarket.  As he exited his cruiser, one of those men opened fire with a rifle.  He was killed.

In October, Officer Cassidy was making his daily rounds, checking up on a business that had been robbed in the past.  He didn’t know that it was being robbed at that very moment.  He walked in, the robber shot him.  He was killed.

Since I have been on the job at my station, 15 years, there have been 18 line of duty deaths in the Philadelphia Police Department.  Each of those stories is worthy of detail, but I only go into these recent four because they all happened within the past year.

I don’t understand.

I can’t imagine what is going on in the mind of a person who, choosing a life of crime, knowing they’re doing something illegal, knowing that they are breaking the rules of a society, decides that killing anyone, let alone a man or woman who has dedicated a life to helping others, is an option.

I don’t understand.

I do know, though, that I want to put that folder in the drawer, in the back of the drawer, and never have to open it again.

Sentiment is not my first feeling.  Sarcasm, cynicism, smart-assedness, those are my personality traits.

But tonight I have to express my sentiment to the men and women who are trying to keep my city safe and free and livable.  I don’t know how they do it every day, how they keep from going, “Fuck this shit, these people, this job,” but they do.

And I thank them.

And if it happens again, I will be in that control room, making sure this city sees the heartbreak and the pain and at the same time, the honor, the tradition and the respect.

But I don’t want to.

MONDAY

5:15am – After sleeping with the sound of strong winds and rain outside, I hear the air conditioner in my room shutoff, meaning power is out.

8:00 – Meet crew in dark hotel lobby, get a cup of coffee and hit the road. Word is that the nearby town of Houma is being targeted so we decide to head in that direction, after first making stop along the Morgan City seawall.

9:00 – On road to to Houma, winds and rain begin to rage. Trees are down, and we’re in the only vehicle on the road.

9:45 – In Houma, we watch wind blow roofs off of buildings, down trees and send debris flying. Reporter records on camera piece in safe location when a gust of wind lifts her off of her feet. I dive and grab her legs for a clip of video that goes on air.

11:30 – After driving through Houma, we find closed shopping mall and pull car into its walk-in entrance which gives us shelter on three sides and over our heads. We are able to stand outside and watch northwest eye of hurricane blow through town.

Noon – Reporter gives live phone report to Noon newscast, while we stand in shelter of shopping mall.

12:10 – Decide to get the hell out of Houma.

12:30 – Drive out of Houma ranks up there as one of the scariest endeavors of my life. Roads that were bad coming in are impassible going out. We drive over downed wires, go the wrong way on one way roads and at times don’t take roads at all. The highway back to Morgan City is covered with branches and trees. There are no other cars.

1:15 – Get to Morgan City and take a nap in hot, muggy air conditioner-less room.

2:15 – Get back in car to find satellite truck now parked at Morgan City City Hall.

2:30 – Find truck and begin to write and edit piece for 5pm newscast.

4:00 – During editing process, editing machine stops working because of moisture. We feed unfinished piece to station for them to finish. Begin writing piece for 6pm newscast.

4:55 – With reporter in front of camera, video feed to station fails because of storm. Instead of live shot, reporter calls newscast on the phone.

5:05 – Re-establish video feed and begin feeding raw audio and video back to station for editors there to put together.

5:15 – Machine used to feed videotape fails and chews up videotape in process.

6:00 – Video feed fails again, reporter phones in live report.

6:05 – I curse and stomp my feet and curse some more, have a cigarette, and curse.

8:00 – Attempt to call station, but cellphone reception is gone.

We spend the evening writing a taped piece for our 11:00 newscast, feed it, and return to Morgan City Holiday Inn. Photographer decides to shower, reporter and I are too tired and wait until the morning.

TUESDAY

8:00 – Wake up to shower, only to find there is no water, because of tornado that hit sewage plant. To figure out what the plan is for the day, I reach for cell phone, but reception is still gone. I jump in car, and drive up the main street in Morgan City and find a working pay phone. Make call to the station, make plan for the day, and decide to enjoy not being able to call or receive calls for foreseeable future.

8:45 – Gas up car with one of the gas cans that we have been carrying on the roof. Four gallons go into tank, One gallon goes down the front of my pants.

8:50 – Change clothes.

9:30 – Go to City Hall to talk to Morgan City officials. Begin interview when camera fails because of moisture. While photographer tries to fix camera, I drive around looking for more damage. Find one gas station that is still open, get gas, curse previous effort to gas up using gas cans.

9:50 – Camera comes back to life.

We spend morning in Morgan City, talking to people who are cleaning up and find a mobile home that looks like it exploded. One family’s belongings are lying out in the open, next to other mobile homes that were unscathed.

1:00 – Head to location of satellite truck.

1:02 – Discover satellite truck is not there any more.

1:02:30 – Say “Hmm.”

1:03 – Start heading to other side of town to find Morgan City’s one working pay phone, along the way, see satellite truck. Truck operator tells us he’s headed to Houma, and we can meet him there.

1:04 – Hit the road to Houma. There’s no place like Houma.

2:00 – Arrive in Houma, shoot video of damage there, and then search for bathrooms.

2:30 – Fine members of Louisiana State Police Troop C allow us to use their bathrooms. I wash my hands and face with running water.

2:40 – We park near satellite trucks for other network, figuring we’ll at least see our sat truck when it arrives in town. I see phone booth nearby, get excited, until I realize it’s a booth, but no phone.

3:20 – We think it’s odd that we haven’t seen our satellite truck. I knock on door of other network’s truck and ask if I can use its satellite phone. After the requisite “how much is it worth” jokes, I call station, ask them to call other station which owns live truck to find out where said truck is.

3:30 – Call back station, find out that sat truck might be near the intersection of Rt. 24 and Rt. 312.

3:31 – Ask local for directions, he doesn’t know.

3:32 – Type intersection into rental car GPS and follow blue arrow.

3:38 – GPS, named Marla by reporter, declares we have reached destination. Holy crap, there’s the truck.

4:00 – Feed every bit of videotape to station.

5:00 – Do first live shot without any sort of equipment failure.

5:05 – Find loaf of bread in back of car, wedged under cooler, make sandwich with a new form of flatbread.

6:00 – Accomplish live shot, with only minor equipment failure, system that allows reporter to hear anchor in her ear stop working. Instead I make contact with station and relay information to reporter with handsignals.

6:04 – Leave Houma.

6:20 – All cellphones in car beep at the same time as reception is restored.

7:00 – Return to Morgan City, and hear exciting new that water works, not to drink, but to bathe and operate “facilities.”

7:15 – Reporter and I go to gas station and attempt to bribe owner for beer. Attempt fails.

8:00 – Power comes back on.

8:00:10 – Reporter texts from her room “Yay!”

8:00:11 – Set my room air conditioner to “Meat Locker.”

8:30 – Confirm flight home originating in New Orleans. Travel office says we’re good to go.

8:35 – Hear on television that New Orleans airport will be closed until Thursday.

9:00 – After two operators and 25 minutes on the phone, I reschedule our trip home through Houston.

9:01 – Attempt to wind down for night.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I was supposed to go on vacation, but got diverted instead to the Mother Of All Hurricanes.

Gustav didn’t quite live up to its expectations, but for me it was still a fun trip. I’ve been to 5 hurricanes now, and this was the first one in which I got to go through the eye-wall.

Covering a hurricane is a make-it-up-as-you-go experience. And I kept a journal. It’s rather long, so I’m going to break this up over a couple of posts.

Enjoy.

SATURDAY

Early afternoon – Station decides to go to New Orleans to cover the expected arrival of Hurricane Gustav, and asks me to go as the onsite producer.

3:00pm – Reporter and photographer are also selected, I make travel arrangements to fly from Philadelphia to New Orleans via Atlanta on American Airlines.

4:00pm – Start packing, shop for last minute supplies, cancel planned vacation to Canada.

8:00pm – Get call from travel division, flight changed to Continental Airlines, through Houston.

SUNDAY

7:00am – Wake Up and head to station.

9:00am – Shuttle takes photographer and me to airport where we meet reporter.

11:00am – Flight leaves for Houston.

Noonish – Flight attendants serve hot cheeseburgers and sodas, don’t charge for them like every other airline in the world, making Continental my favorite airline of all time.

1:15pm – Arrive in Houston, and decide we cannot get into New Orleans and get needed supplies. We tell Continental, my favorite airline of all time, and they somehow get our luggage off of the New Orleans flight and into our hands. They do it smiling and they refuse generous tips for pulling off the impossible.  Continental is now, simply, the greatest American air carrier. (They don’t serve airline sushi though, so they aren’t quite number one worldwide)

2:15pm – Get on road from Houston to… well, we aren’t sure just yet. We head east with a destination to be determined. During the drive we find a Walmart, there are many of them in Texas, and buy loads of food, a cooler, cases of water, towels and toilet paper. Never forget toilet paper on trips like this. You just never know.

5:00 – On road in passenger seat, I make calls to our sister stations with satellite trucks in the region, figure out where those trucks are stationed, and based on those locations, and predictions made, not by meteorologists but photographers who have covered many hurricanes, we choose the town of Morgan City, Louisiana as our destination. It is about 4 hours away.

6:00 – Station calls, asks us to do a live shot for 11pm newscast. We expect to arrive in Morgan City at 10:30.

8:00 – After trying several locations, we finally find a store that has not run out of gasoline cans. We buy 4 5 gallon cans, fill them up, and strap them to the roof of our minivan using a very complex system of bungie cords. I remember that I never have really figured out how to strap them down and feel confident about them.

9:00 – Approaching Lafayette, La. we drive through the first band of storms associated with Gustav. The rain and wind are shockingly strong and a tornado watch is posted.

10:00 – Speak to photographer from sister station in Morgan City, ask him to find rooms for us.

10:15 – Rooms confirmed at Morgan City Holiday Inn.

10:30 – Find Morgan City Holiday Inn where satellite truck is stationed.

10:50 – Reporter prepares story.  I check in to the Morgan City Holiday Inn.  If you are ever in Morgan City, stay there, tell them John sent you.  They are wonderful people.

11:00pm – Reporter does liveshot after having been on location for 30 minutes.

11:30 – Batten down the hatches and go to bed.

I’m heading south instead to New Orleans and will spend my Labor Day with Gustav.

I am sure I will have plenty to write about from there.

I’m heading up north… for a couple of weeks.

A while back I wrote about the rides I would take up to Canada with my grandparents. We would tune the easy listening station onto the car radio… every easy listening station between here and Kingston, Ontario… and make the 8 hour trek though Pennsylvania, New York, and across the border.

The ride took forever, especially for a 13 year old, sitting with two 70-somethings.

Once there, my grandfather and I would work on the place together. He always had a project underway. Something as simple as sanding the wooden railing from the main cabin to the bedrooms, or as complicated as rebuilding the outboard engine for the little boat.

At night, after he would go to bed, my grandmother and I would stay up late. We didn’t have a television back then, so she and I would tune in something interesting, often a far away AM station on the radio, and then talk, play games, look at pictures, or just read.

She died in 1998.

That next summer, he went up alone. I went up to visit him with my wife. As soon as we got there, I walked down to the edge of the lake and sobbed.

There was so much of Mema up there, her books, her clothes, her little scribbles she would make while chatting on the telephone. Then at night, after Bill went to bed, and my wife called it a night, I sat in the den and took it all in.

I am not terribly spiritual. In fact this same grandfather is the one who often said God is what is in your heart. And that night, God and my grandmother were in my heart.

Bill continued to go up to the cabin for a few more years, but conceded after 2000 that it was very lonely.

My wife and I visited when we could, but we worked, he was retired. He had a lot of solo time.

The one thing he always liked to talk about was the great time he and my grandmother had up there. “She loved it up here,” he would say. And he was right. She did. They loved being there with each other.

After Bill stopped going up, the rest of the family would go up without him. When we all talked, the first thing we would mention was how different it was without him. He was more a part of the place than anyone. Visitors would stop by, ask for Bill, and say that same thing. He had been going up since the 1950s. A summer on Bobs Lake without Bill Hobson just didn’t feel right.

We would call him a lot, give him the local gossip, talk about how great the house looked, let him hear the loons in the background. Once we got home, we?d show him loads of photos, each pretty much the same as the photos from the year before and the year before that. He would gaze at them, and remember.

Bill died this past winter.

This will be my first trip up since then. And while I have gotten used to the place without him, he was always a phone call away and I always knew that some of the fun was telling him about his wonderful legacy.

I know the first night that I am there, I will pour myself a bloody mary, using his perfect recipe, turn on the radio and sit on the deck to watch the boats go by.

And I will feel Bill in my heart, next to Mema.

What we believe God to be will be there too.

Now I know. When something really pisses you off, you make the time.

Tonight, I am the complainer. And I am fired up.

For much of the summer I have been watching the CBS program “Greatest American Dog.” It’s your basic reality program, but each contestant is there with a dog. As a dog lover, I had found it adorable. The bond between dog and owner was wonderful to watch.

Each week the contestants run through two challenges, and at the end they are judged by three dog experts. At the end of each episode, a person and their dog gets sent home.

After this week I question whether Victoria Stilwell, Allan Reznik and Wendy Diamond really are experts and whether they actually care about the dogs or animals in general. As far as the program’s producers, well, there is no question about their love and caring for animals. They have none.

In the first contest this week, each dog had to sit down in a marked area, and stay still while… ok, I’m not kidding here… an ELEPHANT walked towards it in a menacing way. The dog that let the elephant get the closest was the winner.

You could see the terror on the faces of several of the dogs. All they wanted to do was run, but their owners, to win the challenge, had to yell “Stay, Stay” the entire time. The dogs were faced with the horrible choice of watching an ELEPHANT stomp towards them or disappointing their beloved owners.

And then there’s the issue of how you control an elephant to keep it from charging or stomping or doing any of the other things an elephant can do. There was an elephant trainer who had a big rod, that looked like it was made for poking or whacking.

That was the night’s first challenge.

Challenge number two was a giant jungle gym/obstacle course thing. The dogs had to run up a steep ramp, traverse a balance beam and then, using a body harness and at the urging of their owners, jump from a 10 foot ledge and slide down a zip line.

Again, you could see the terror in each dog’s eyes.

Question: How do you tell a dog it’s ok to jump off of a wall because the harness around its body will let it glide to safety.

Answer: YOU CAN’T!

And tonight, the owner who throughout the season has shown the greatest bond with his dog was sent home. Because his sweet dog was too scared to jump off of the wall.

His dog couldn’t be convinced to do something that a dog should never be trained to do.

The judges said he failed at the task. It is worth noting that these are the same judges who, just the week before, chastised him for pushing his dog too hard while trying to win a race through a maze.

This week he failed because he didn’t push his dog enough to get it to jump off a wall.

Shame on the judges and shame on CBS.

She needed to tell her supporters, not just to vote for Barack, but that voting for McCain was just dumb for them.

I wasn’t sure that she would do it.

She did.

Just a few excerpts:

My friends, it is time to take back the country we love.

Whether you voted for me, or voted for Barack, the time is now to unite as a single party with a single purpose.

***

…you haven’t worked so hard over the last 18 months, or endured the last eight years, to suffer through more failed leadership.

No way. No how. No McCain.

Barack Obama is my candidate. And he must be our President.

***

I ran to stand up for all those who have been invisible to their government for eight long years.

Those are the reasons I ran for President. Those are the reasons I support Barack Obama. And those are the reasons you should too.

***

But remember, before we can keep going, we have to get going by electing Barack Obama president.

We don’t have a moment to lose or a vote to spare.

Nothing less than the fate of our nation and the future of our children hang in the balance.

Good for you, Senator Clinton. You did the right thing tonight for your party, for your beliefs and for all of the things you have spent a lifetime trying to achieve.

There is a great American post that I have been formulating, after watching and reading some of the non-sporting events to come out of China for the last two weeks.

There is also my story of cruising around town all weekend on my brand new scooter (it’s super cool).

But there is a late breaking post in my head this evening, prompted by John McCain’s latest television commercial. In it he is trying to stir the pot, rile up the Hillary supporters who are angry that she didn’t win. There was also a poll today that said 30% of Clinton’s supporters aren’t sure whether they will vote for Obama or McCain.

How can that be?

How can anyone who wanted Hillary to be president, who wants a change from the administration and policies of the current White House be so selfish and so “I’m taking my ball home and you can’t play with it” to let a similar administration and policies move in for another 4 years.

The primary process worked the way it was supposed to. Really, it did. She won in Florida, he DIDN’T RUN in Florida, because Florida was not in play. You can debate whether Florida should have been disqualified all you want, but it was, and everyone knew it was. Her victory there was hollow and not a true portrait of what the state’s democrats might have voted for, had everyone actually been on the ballot.

There are differences between Barack and Hillary, of course. But those difference are minor compared to Barack and John. To vote for John, or not vote for Barack means that Clinton’s supporters’ own hurt feelings are more important than the positions that the democrats stand for, that they are so focused on themselves and their disappointment that they would rather see the policies that they despise, that Clinton herself fought against, stay in Washington for another 4 years.

That is selfish.

Get over it, and join together.

By the way, this rant about the selfish and bitter is in no way an endorsement of Barack Obama or of John McCain. It is about thinking people who take themselves too seriously suck.