Phillies Nation

(PHOTO: SI.com)

When I think back to my childhood, I recall Bubble Tape, ugly clothes, and bad haircuts. Being nine was fun until  you look back at pictures years later and ask yourself what the hell you (or really your parents) were thinking.

Wonder if John Kruk asks himself the same. In 1993 – the greatest baseball year of my life – Kruk and friends took the city – and National League – by storm en route to a World Series appearance. Not only was Phillies baseball front and center for many kids my age, but I was having my best season on the diamond. I peaked early, slugging 10 homers in 10 little league games. Unfortunately, that’s where the on-field stardom ended.

It’s also was a sour ending for Kruk and his boys. We all know how it ended, we still have nightmares about it and can’t look directly at a screen replaying Joe Carter’s dance around the bases. It took me a long time to forgive Mitch Williams for that. As a kid I was such a turd that I ripped up all the Mitchy-poo cards I could find. Probably flushed them down the toilet for good measure. Symmetry at the time, I presumed.

There were some other guys on that team that you could instantly fall in love with. At nine years old, I don’t think you really grasp the cheek full of tobacco or the discharge that comes from it. But it was cool. The early 90′s were filled with mullets (I think I had a tail, but my dad definitely rocked that style with the business in the back) and we never asked why. They were just cool.

John Kruk helped make them cool. John Kruk was cool, is still cool.

As a kid, I wanted to be a first baseman because I respected the hell out of him. As an adult, I want to have a beer with him (or five). On Friday, The Krukker takes his rightful spot on the Phillies Wall of Fame to be with the Phillies faithful forever.

Some of my fondest early baseball memories involved Kruk. Sitting in Ocean City, as my family did every July for a week or two, I would watch and keep score of the All-Star games watching on a beat-up, old 19-inch Magnavox TV that you had to smack a few times to warm up. When Randy Johnson fired a ball over Kruk’s head and he flipped sides, I laughed and thought it was great. Didn’t realize it would become a rather famous highlight reel.

Maybe I lied; maybe they weren’t filled with memories of Kruk. Probably because he never did any one thing great, he blended in. He wasn’t The Wild Thing. He wasn’t Dutch. He wasn’t The Dude. He blended in as well as a 5’11″, 2?? pound man could. But you always love Krukker. He was funny, he was engaging, and still is. And that’s why he deserves to be on the Wall out in Ashburn Alley.

He epitomized what it was to be Philly. A little rough around the edges. Some dirt under the fingernails. A battler, a survivor. We related to him and still do because he didn’t go off the deep end and say the world would end, he didn’t act like a he was too big for the game once he got to Boston, and he didn’t fly off the handle after failing to conquer Wall St.

This isn’t meant to kiss Kruk’s ass, by any stretch. But, sometimes we lose sight of the good people in the game and focus on the bad (Dykstra). Kruk was one of the good ones.

Kruk parlayed his behavior into a seat in Bristol where he fits perfectly. Maybe he isn’t easy on the eyes, but John Kruk will always be easy on the ears. And he’ll always have a spot in the hearts of Phillies fans.