Madson induced Yankees superstar Derek Jeter to ground into a double play to re-store order right after the Yanks had tallied their final run. Finally, I stopped grumbling and cursing under my breath. My heart rate returned to normal and the perspiration on the palms of my hands dried. The family dog, Chase (yes, named after Phils’ second baseman Chase Utley) began wagging his tail because he sensed something good had happened (maybe Chase knew because of that yell I let out when I raised both arms in the air). The Phils were still down three games to two to the Yankees, but they weren’t dead.

My wife Lori shook her head as she headed off to bed, like she has so many times before during our 25 years of marriage. Early on in our relationship, she didn’t understand how a grown man could get so emotionally wrapped up in a game. To her, sports was a hobby – a diversion from the job and the responsibilities of everyday life. To me, sports and Phillies’ baseball in particular were an essential part of my life.

I can clearly recall the night when Lori began to realize that I wasn’t just a casual fan and that the Phillies in a championship game was something I took it very, very seriously. It was October, 1980 and the Phils had just defeated the Houston Astros in the fifth and deciding game of an up-and-down, edge-of-the-seat National League Championship Series. Baseball historians still call that series one of the most thrilling in the history of the sport. As Phillies centerfielder Garry Maddox squeezed the last out of that series in his glove, I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. In the seven months since we had met, Lori had never seen me so emotional. In fact, I was asking myself why I had broken down.

It could be that that out meant the Phils were going to the World Series for the first time in my lifetime, after so many years of losing (the franchise with the most losses in professional sports history). They had lost league championships on three occasions a few years before, so going to the Series was a huge hurdle that had finally been crossed.

Those thoughts all came to mind, but then I realized it was something more meaningful that caused the tears to flow – memories of my grandfather.

My mother’s father -- Sam Patton -- was the person most responsible for my love affair with the Philadelphia Phillies. Pappy or Pap as my many cousins and I called him had grown up on farms in southern Chester County and retired from Lukens Steel in Coatesville, where he worked for more than 40 years. He was a gentle man who was closer than most parents or grandparents to his children and grandchildren. The worst criticism I ever heard of Pap was he was too kind to his family – that he spoiled his kids and grandkids.

In 1968, my parents separated and would later divorce. My mother, sister, and I went to live with Pap. He was alone because his beloved wife, my grandmother, had died two years before.

At the time, I played baseball like other boys my age and I watched the local team – the Phillies – on occasion, but I didn’t follow the team like Pap did. He was a rabid fan who opened the Philadelphia Inquirer to the sports page every morning to see the box score. Very few games were on TV, so the warm summer nights would be spent on the front porch listening to the Phils on a small transistor radio.

It didn’t take me long to get hooked. In fact, I became obsessed.

My mom and dad were having their troubles and money was tight. My sister and I sensed the insecurity of our lives, but for me baseball and the Phillies were my escape. Pap and I built our days around the Phillies’ schedule. Near game time, we’d head to the front porch and turn on the pre-game show.

Pap was superstitious, so when the game started, he would knock on wood to get a Phils rally started. I can’t tell you how many times a comeback would follow. To this day, I start knocking on a table or the arms of a chair when the Phillies need a run. I passed this trick on to my own son when he was about eight years old. I think he still uses it.

The Phils in those days were really bad so every little positive like a hit or an occasional win, was a big deal.

One of the highlights of my life came on May 19, 1968 when Pap and his son, my Uncle Carol, took me to see my first game. The Phillies played the St. Louis Cardinals at Connie Mack Stadium in north Philadelphia. It was a glorious spring day. I can remember the bright green grass of the outfield and the sweet stench of cigar smoke in the air. Pitcher Steve Carlton, who became a Hall-of Famer for the Phils a few years later, started for the Cardinals. Roger Maris was in right field for the Cards and Tim McCarver was their catcher. The Phils countered with my favorites Richie Allen, Cookie Rojas and Johnny Callison.

That day had a perfect ending as the Phils scored two runs with two outs in the bottom of the ninth to beat St. Louis 4-3.

Pap and I bonded over the Phillies. Even with a sixty year age difference, we became best friends. This may sound like a clichéd sports movie, but whenever times got tough, we always could talk about the Phillies.

Even though they were one of the worst teams in baseball, following the Phillies was what brought me joy over the next three summers.

Pap passed away at the age of 70 in November, 1971. I was the only person in the room with him when he had the stroke that killed him. I’m not sure, but my last words to him before the stroke may have been about Willie Montanez, the Phils’ rookie centerfield and how I was trying to bat like him.

Two weeks ago when the Phillies won the National league Championship over the Los Angeles Dodgers to earn a spot in the World Series, I once again thought of my grandfather. It hit me that in his 70 years, Pap had only seen the Phils go to two World Series – one in 1915 and another in 1950. They lost both. In my lifetime, the Phillies have played in five World Series and won two. They are in a World Series for the second consecutive year. I’m living through the Golden Age of Phillies baseball right now.

But is it truly the Golden Age of Phillies baseball for me? I just wish I had Pap, gently knocking on wood, sitting beside me. Then, it would be complete.