Today, October 6, is my Dad's birthday. He has been gone three years, but his presence seemed close this past weekend when his beloved Phillies won the NL East Division. A year ago, when the Phils made it to the post-season for the first time in 14 years, I wrote the following column for The Mercury.
Except for the few sentences about specific plays in last year's games, the message is relevant this year, too, in memory of my Dad and in honor of all aging ballplayers and enthusiastic fans.

Oct. 20, 1993: The Phillies were playing Toronto in the World Series in a night game, their first post-season appearance in 10 years.
Even the most cynical would not have thought it would take another 14 years to enjoy a home playoff again.
That night in Pottstown, a hundred or so sports fans missed the start of the televised game to attend a sports banquet at The Elks Club. The event was the 16th annual induction ceremony for the Pottstown area chapter of the Pennsylvania Sports Hall of Fame.
Among the inductees that evening was a ball player “who starred in just about every league in the Pottstown area, from Berks County to the Main Line.” My dad, Jim Egolf, was the last of the five inductees to step to the podium that night,
Our family was there in full force to celebrate Dad’s induction, but we were a little worried about his speech. Dad, who was 77 at the time, suffered from aphasia, a speech difficulty as the result of a stroke, and we did not know if he could successfully complete an acceptance speech.
The first four inductees were long-winded, some of them with more eloquence than others, and we silently fretted as it became time for Dad to approach the podium.
When he took his turn, his words were few, but captured the mood of the room better than anybody on that October night.
“I want to thank everybody who voted for me. Let’s go home now, and watch the Phillies,” he said to a room of rousing applause.
In the next day’s Mercury, then-sports editor Tom McNichol described Dad as the “cleanup hitter” who kept his speech short and sweet. “Egolf’s brief speech was the perfect punctuation” for an induction banquet of local sports fans, McNichol wrote.
My Dad’s baseball career lasted through the 1930s and into the ’40s in amateur and semi-pro teams throughout the region. He was introduced at that Hall of Fame banquet as “the best defensive catcher of his time.” When his playing days ended, he coached youth teams for another 15 years or so, including two years with the Boyertown American Legion team in the early 1960s.
He was a lifelong Phillies fan. He loved them, hated them, cursed them and cheered them, but never stopped watching them. Even in his moment of pride in 1993, he was anxious to get home and turn on the TV.
When they were hitting, Dad was happy. But you could hear the swearing start at those times when innings ended with two runners on base after blowing a chance to score.
He believed in lightning-speed throws and hits when it matters. That was how he played the game and how he exhorted the Phils with his armchair-coaching.
He would have had more to say about Ryan Howard baubling the ball at first base in Saturday’s game than his solo homer. He would have praised Jimmy Rollins triple with two men on during Sunday’s game more than Pat Burrell’s home run Saturday when they were already down by 3.
The newspaper clippings of Dad’s playing days describe him as a clutch hitter and a catcher who protected the plate and second base.
“If a runner started off first and Jim was behind the plate, all I had to do was hold up my glove, and that ball was there,” said the Rev. William Harner, a second baseman of Dad’s era who delivered the eulogy at his funeral two years ago.
Now, 14 years after that World Series that we hurried home to watch, the Phillies are back in the playoffs.
John Kruk, Darren Daulton and Lenny Dykstra are long gone. But so is Mitch Williams, and for that, we are all thankful.
Dad would have loved these 2007 Phillies. A 44-year-old pitcher from Souderton, a shortstop who hits, steals and throws ’em out at the plate, and a manager who grumps and grouses but holds the team together.
He would have grumbled approval at their high moments and cursed under his breath at their low ones. But like all Phillies fans, he would have never stopped watching them or wanting them to win.
Oct. 20, 1993, provided one of the proudest moments of my Dad’s life when he was inducted into the state Hall of Fame. He didn’t pause long to savor the moment.
He just went home to watch the Phillies.