| In June of 2001, I rode in a bus that carried the coaching staff and players of the Philadelphia 76ers to the Staples Center in Los Angeles, where we would play the defending champion Lakers in the Game One of the NBA Finals. A feeling of raw energy, excitement, and anticipation filled the air….
Almost three months and three thousand miles later, I sat in a bus carrying a group of homeless men to a baseball game at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia, where the pennant-chasing Phillies were to battle the New York Mets. A feeling of raw energy, excitement, and anticipation filled the air….
It’s true! I could sense the exact same forces flowing through each bus as they neared their destinations, even though the participants couldn’t have occupied more diverse worlds.
The bus departing from the Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills carried men draped in expensive clothing, accessorized to the max with cell phones, headphones, and a gold mine’s worth of jewelry. The two-dozen homeless men leaving Project H.O.M.E.’s recovery residence in North Philadelphia were dressed in the last of their worldly possessions, with nary a silver coin to make a local call.
Though I sat in the same front seat, I was in a different bus, and in a different world. One bus had a police escort; the other bus wanted no parts of the police. One bus’s occupants had the hopes and dreams of a million fans depending on their actions; the other bus’s occupants simply hoped to live out their dreams of being fans for a night. One bus was en route to the best seats in the house; the other bus was pleased to be heading to any seats in the house.
When the Sixers arrived at the arena that June night, they were all business. But when the busload of homeless guys entered the gates at the Vet, it was as if someone shouted “Let the games begin!” They were there to have fun, and tons of it.
As we were walking briskly around the Vet concourse toward our seats in the 200-level, I noticed that I was missing several of my new friends. Suddenly, I panicked. I retraced my steps pass the concession stands to find about eight men surrounding a table, enthusiastically filling out applications for Visa credit cards. Turns out they were enticed by the free Phillies t-shirts that all applicants receive on the spot. The white shirt with the red Phillies logo blazoned across the chest probably looked like designer suits to these guys.
I had to laugh aloud when I considered the creative license they were taking while filling out their applications. (And then, unfortunately, I had to inform the two college interns working the Visa booth that their present customers were bad risk candidates.)
Before departing to our seats, I tried to sweet-talk the interns into selling me those prized t-shirts. No sale. Then an Aramark concessions manager approached, recognized my company’s intentions, and surprised us with a handful of food vouchers. (I imagine my presence may have had something to do with this generosity; but why look a gift horse in the mouth?) Sharks could not have attacked bloody bait any quicker than these men stripped me of these slivers of paper!
Once seated along the first base line in their new shirts and hats (another Aramark gift), these Philadelphia fans, recovering from addiction and homelessness, demonstrated the pride and passion for their home team that Phillies’ manager, Larry Bowa, would have been proud to see. In fact, Bowa would probably pay to have such spirited spectators in the stands on a nightly basis at the time!
These men stood and cheered every Phillies hit and defensive play, while giving the Mets a hecklers’ salute for every one of their misfortunes.
The night ended with the Mets winning the game. But those two-dozen homeless men gave me the same great feeling that the 76ers did with their surprise Game One win over the LA Lakers. That feeling of raw energy, excitement, and anticipation. -- PC
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