In case you missed it, the Hickory Huskers have arrived in the big city to stun the team at the end of “Hoosiers.” (AP Photo)
Lost among the features you shouldn’t bother viewing is a photo gallery documenting the Phillies not-so-red-carpet arrival. It’s more of a cold, gray corridor, presumably inside the click-and-clack of a train station, somewhere below the impenetrable hustle-and-bustle. They're greeted by a throng of desperate journalists, Post writers emerging from gotham's deep recesses. The Phils are unfortunately dressed. They carry the disarming look of a group ready for sightseeing rather than a World Series. Charlie Manuel wears a herringbone tweed cap. He's headed for the post office, not Yankee Stadium. There isn’t much those eyes haven’t seen; he knows the city and knows the type. The players follow wide-eyed behind him. Their suits aren’t exactly tailored, except for Cole Hamels, as if to say “Keep this photo on file for when the Big Apple comes calling.” Jayson Werth may nearly be 30-30, but his duds are off the rack. Ryan Madson smiles a tourist’s smile, holding hands with his lady friend. Even Pedro Martinez, the greatest pitcher of our lifetime, leads a leopard-print companion by the hand. No self-respecting Yankee would surrender to public displays of affection, or wear pleated khakis.
Let ‘em bite, Phillies. Let 'em bite.