Chamomiles Davis, my thoughts exactly

I kept the celebration restrained so as not to wake up my eight-month-old son. And in considering that I realized something: This championship is for him. And for every Philly son and daughter 25 and under who have spent their entire lives watching other cities have parade after parade, wondering "When will it be our turn?"

I'm 35, which makes me old enough to remember (vaguely) the excitement of the Phillies winning the 1980 World Series. What I remember with greater clarity, however, are the more recent spate of disappointments: the slider to Joe Carter; the Flyers' being swept at the hands of the Red Wing juggernaut; the elevation of hope when the Sixers took Game 1 in L.A. but then dropped the next four; the last five minutes in Jacksonville. A kick to the balls every four years, giving us just enough time to recuperate from the last one.

My sister was born in November 1983, five months after the Sixers swept the Lakers for the O'Brien Trophy. Last night marked the first time since she was born that a Philly team had won anything significant. At least I was alive when the city got two Stanley Cups, a World Series championship and an NBA title. Yes, I was a teenybopper when most of that happened, but still I was there.

As I read through the increasing number of half-drunk, half-ecstatic comments written here and elsewhere over the last 14 hours, I couldn't help but notice how many 23-, 24- and 25-year-olds are represented among them. For those men and women, this championship bears a significance that us older fans can appreciate but not truly understand. This one is their first -- ever -- in a lifetime.

For my son's sake, I hope he'll have plenty more to celebrate by the time he's old enough to really enjoy them. In the meantime: Sleep tight, little man. You're among winners.

-- Chamomiles Davis, on The 700 Level

EXACTLY.