It’s the screams outside my hotel room that tell me this will not be a restful night.
I’m in Philadelphia, staying at the lovely Rittenhouse Hotel. Which happens to be booked to the rafters, as is every other hotel in Philly, because of a certain baseball game. If you’d asked me yesterday who was playing tonight, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.
But after all the honking horns and screaming people streaming through Rittenhouse Square, I certainly know now. Philly won. And the city has gone insane.
I followed the crowds down to Broad Street, where a roaring throng of thousands pack the road. The screams and blaring horns are deafening. Young men are swinging on traffic lights. An empty champagne bottle sits on an ATM. I was hugged by and slapped hands with countless strangers. I confess I’m not a follower of sports, and it’s a strange experience, standing in the midst of a crowd that’s hysterically happy simply because their team won. I confess, I’m watching it the way an anthropologist might watch some puzzling native ritual, without really understanding it, but enjoying the experience anyway. It’s a great night to be in Philly.
Thank you, book tour!