As far as sports years go, the year 2004 is worthy of being inducted in my personal Hall of Fame. From start to finish, this year has been more exciting and emotional than any other I can remember. You want proof? Ok, then.

It started off with playoff football and the Eagles defeating the Green Bay Packers on a miraculous 4th and 26 conversion. 4th and 26. No matter how many other football games I watch in my lifetime, I may never see anything as wonderfully surprising as Freddie Mitchell holding on to that ball at midfield. Fortunately, I had a full week to bask in the glory of that impressive victory. Unfortunately, I have learned to enjoy every second of it, because as an Eagles fan, it's probably all you'll get. And so, like clockwork, the next week I watched the heavily favored Eagles lose their third consecutive NFC Championship game - this time, to Carolina. Carolina! Yes, after three years, it shouldn't hurt anymore. The city shouldn't have expected much in an effort to keep expectations low. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. But then 4th and 26 came along and had everyone believing that 2004 would be the year. And once again, we were forced to put our Eagles jerseys and green face paint away for the long summer while repeating the Philadelphia mantra: maybe next year. (Can we go ahead and make that the official city motto? What paperwork do we need to fill out to make that happen?)

Meanwhile, across the street, the Flyers were quickly putting together one of their most impressive seasons in years. All Philly fans knew that this had to be the year the Flyers won the Stanley Cup, or else the wait could be much longer than anyone anticipated. A strike was looming and the Flyers' core group of veterans would never play together in orange and black again: this HAD to be the year. They got off to a great start, going undefeated in the month of November. Robert Esche won the starting job and was proving himself to be the most trustworthy Flyers goaltender since the 1986 version of Ron Hextall. Keith Primeau was proving he was deserving of the C on his chest, unlike so many others in recent memory. After a disappointingly streaky midseason, they got it together in time to make a run at a conference title. They came up short, though, finishing with a respectable 101 points, enough to win the Atlantic Division and finish third in the conference. Finally, it was time for the real season. And what better way to kick it off than a playoff series against the hated New Jersey Devils? Yes, the one year that the Flyers finish better than the Devils and look primed to make a serious playoff run, they are forced to open against the team that has repeatedly made them their bitch, Deliverance-style, since 1995. But hey - these were not your daddy's Flyers. No, these guys had Hitch behind the bench, Esche between the pipes, and Keith Primeau covering seemingly every other inch of the ice. In one of the most satisfying playoff series' of all time, the Flyers disposed of the Devils in 5 games and Philadelphians everywhere rejoiced. We threw our Scott Stevens voodoo dolls in the trash and were ready to get on with our lives. Or, more accurately, the semifinals. Next up for Philly were the Toronto Maple Leafs, who made up in grit and the occasional dirty hit what they lacked in talent. The Flyers took a quick 2 game lead and just as expected, the Leafs came through with their trademark sliminess and stole the next two games. There was Nick Antropov's cross-check on the back of Jeremy Roenick's neck. There was Darcy Tucker's obliterating hit on Sami Kapanen as he came off the bench. Steam was coming out of Philadelphia's collective ears, but none of that mattered. When May 4th rolled around, the Flyers disposed of the Leafs in 6 games and were on their way to Tampa Bay to fight for a chance to play for the most elusive trophy in all of sports. There were a lot of memorable moments in the semifinals, but none like those leading up to the series winning goal. It was Game 6 - overtime - and the Leafs had all of the momentum after a Mats Sundin goal forced the extra period. Coming off the bench, Sami Kapanen, a winger who was playing defense for the first time in his career because the Flyers' blue line was so depleted, got creamed along the boards by Darcy Tucker. He made 3 excruciating attempts at getting to his feet, each one a failure. As a fan, all of your greatest fears were being realized as you watched yet another Flyer struggle to get to his feet. All of a sudden, there was Keith Primeau, the Captain's C on his chest practically glowing at that point, leaning off the bench holding his stick out, attempting to guide Kapanen back to safety. Meanwhile, across the ice, Roenick was racing towards the goal. A few seconds and one wristshot later, the puck was in the net, the game was over, the series was won, and the Flyers were celebrating on the ice. And here's the kicker. Had Kapanen been unable to get back to the bench, play would have been whistled dead and the puck never finds the back of the net. As a sea of orange and black filled center ice, ESPN cut to a shot of Keith Primeau and Sami Kapanen on the Flyers bench, their heads rested against each others' as the Captain refused to leave his wounded teammate sitting alone on the bench while he celebrated their victory. As long as I remember that moment, I will remember that the 2003-2004 Philadelphia Flyers were the most amazing Flyers team I had the pleasure of watching in 25 years.

The Flyers ended up losing in the Conference Finals to the Tamp Bay Lightning in 7 games. The truth was that they were much too battered to continue. Their blue line was ravaged, their veterans were playing with broken fingers and sprained ankles, and the goalie and Captain that had carried them for so long just had nothing left to give. The hardest part of watching them skate off the ice for the final time was knowing that this was most likely the last chance at a serious Cup run for most of these guys. This time, they were good enough, but they weren't healthy enough, and so, the season came to an end. This is what I wrote the next day, and it still holds true:

Thank you. Thank you for one of the most entertaining hockey seasons I can remember. Thank you for overcoming injury, time and time again, and refusing to lay down. Thank you for extending an amazing season this far into spring..for giving an entire city something to believe in. Thank you for becoming the kind of captain this city has been waiting for. Thank you for leaving it all out there on the ice. Thank you for fighting through more debilitating injuries than one team should have to deal with in one season. Thank you for finally bringing in a coach who has rightfully earned the reputation of a genius. Thank you for reminding us what a beautiful, perfect sport hockey is. Thank you for finally sending the hated Devils home, finally realizing that you are good enough. Thank you for becoming the goalie we all knew you could be, and the kind we've been waiting a long time for. Thank you for your willingness to play positions that are not your own, for the good of the team. Thank you for being the most selfless Flyers team I've seen in 25 years.

I will not forget that Flyers team and the amazing fight they put up in the spring of 2004.

Sports have a funny way of giving immediately after they taketh away. By this time, baseball season was in full swing, giving me no time to mourn the recent loss of hockey. Of course, I can't not mention the intriguing offseason which included Manny being placed on waivers, the A-Rod to Boston rumors, his eventual trade to the Yankees, and the acquisition of Curt Schilling. By April, Sox fans were so hungry for baseball they were putting pine tar on their pancakes. A month into the season, the Red Sox were in town the weekend of my birthday, so I spent three full days at the Ballpark in Arlington enjoying what I'd been waiting for since the previous October. Unfortunately, the worst Red Sox losing streak of the season happened to coincide with their Texas trip, so I was forced to endure a sweep at the hands of the lowly Rangers. Despite the outcome, it was a blast. In July I made my annual trip to Boston, and this year my visit happened to coincide with the Yankees series at Fenway. Coincidence? Not so much. Claudia and I had shelled out $140 each for tickets to the July 24th Saturday afternoon game, and were hoping at least for a close game. Little did we know....

Flashback to a chilly afternoon in Boston in late July. It's a rather ordinary game thus far. The Yankees have taken an early lead, the fans are quiet, the sun has yet to peek out from behind the clouds over Fenway. And then it happens. Bronson Arroyo beans A-Rod on the elbow and all hell breaks loose. We all know the story: A-Rod gets in Tek's face, refuses to take 1st, and Tek attacks. The crowd erupts. The bullpen doors fly open and Mike Timlin leads the charge across the field. Kapler and the rest of the team charge out of the dugout. And then, 35,000 lucky fans were treated to a full-on bench-clearing melee. When the dust settled, Tanyon Sturtze was bloodied, A-Rod, Tek and Kapler had been ejected, and I was already sure that I had gotten $140 worth.

Fast forward to the 9th inning. Sox fans are nervous. We want to believe that our team can pull out a victory, but we've seen this a million times...we know how it usually ends. And then, a double for Nomar. No outs. Suddenly, we think, "maybe...just maybe." Trot flies out. More nail biting. Constant peeks at the scoreboard. Kevin Millar is up at the plate. Three homers the night before...can he possibly do it again? Then - a run scoring single. It suddenly feels like last October, when this team keeps finding new ways to win. One run down, one out, and last year's batting champ at the plate. Fingernails have been bitten to stubs, beers finished. Fans on their feet. A 3-1 count. And then, a solid shot that hangs for what seems like forever before dropping into the bullpen. A two run homerun...Sox win. Fenway erupts in what has to have been the most wild regular season celebration of all time. Dirty Water blasts over the soundsystem not once but twice, because the fans refuse to leave. Billy Mueller is interviewed on the jumbotron and the crowd goes crazy. The celebration lasts at least 20 minutes. Screaming, hugging, disbelief. The scene outside is no different. The streets are a sea of people looking just like they did when the Pats won the Super Bowl. Feeling like we are floating, we arrive at Boston Billiards, meet up with the rest of our friends, and continue the celebration. For the next three hours, every time the TVs airing ESPNEWS show the game highlights, the crowd erupts all over again. It was spectacular and 4 months later, still gives me chills.

The next few months were spent racing home from work every day so I could get logged on to MLB.TV in time for the first pitch. At this point, I was talking to other Sox bloggers more than my family. My social life revolved around watching Sox games and keeping track of the number of games between them and the Yankees. I spent so much time with those 25 guys that I feel like I should invite them to Thanksgiving dinner. And I was not alone. The passion of Red Sox Nation has always been intense and unwavering, but this year was different. Deep down, we all knew something special was happening.

As the adrenaline hangover from July 24th began to wear off, my friends and I booked a trip to Baltimore for the final regular season series of the year. We had all hoped that going into Baltimore, the Sox would be within a game of the Yankees, but after a rocky September the Yankees clinched the division title, rendering the Orioles series irrelevant. Still, there was nothing quite as cool as stepping off the plane into the BWI airport and seeing Sox fans everywhere. My Baltimore recap from a month ago...

Baltimore was a total love fest this weekend. Inside the dugout, Pedro was dancing and drawing caricatures of his teammates, Millar and Manny were cuddling for what seemed like hours, and the rest of the guys had smiles glued on their faces. In the stands, and in the bars surrounding Camden Yards, thirty-five thousand Red Sox fans hugged, high-fived, and drank their way through the last stress-free weekend of baseball that Red Sox Nation will enjoy for quite some time.

The next two/three days were a blur of baseball, Sox shirts, cheap beer, hangovers, tasteless pizza, baseball, greasy spoon diners, laughs, crab cakes, and…did I mention baseball? There were, however, more than a few moments that, alone, made the entire weekend well worth the price of admission.

Being a part of the standing ovation for Ellis Burks' final major league start, and seeing Ellis cross home plate for the final time in his career. Doug Mientkiewicz's 2 RBI game winning triple. Triple! Watching Pedro and Manny model their matching headbands and wristbands in the dugout. Spending nearly 8 hours on Saturday at one of the league's most beautiful ballparks with incredible friends. Seeing the signs that read BELIEVE all over Baltimore and convincing ourselves they were meant for us.

And of course, the shining moment of the weekend - the Sweet Caroline sing-a-long. Does the idea of sucking down a few beers, watching a doubleheader, and singing a Neil Diamond song at the top of your lungs with thousands of other people who are just as excited/nervous/hopeful as you bring tears to your eyes? It does if you're a Sox fan.

And then, this, from October 4th:

This is it. Starting tomorrow, an entire Nation will put work, relationships, love, and hobbies on the back burner. We will make late night runs to CVS to pick up Tums. We will try to be productive at work, and then convince ourselves that spending 10 minutes on SoSH for every 5 minutes of work that we finish is fair. I have had permachills since Saturday night - goosebumps that show no sign of disappearing until the playoffs are but a distant memory. I am excited. I am terrified. I am hopeful. I am doubtful. I truly believe this is the year, and I am scared to death to be wrong.

The month of October was nothing short of phenomenal. It began with Curt starting the Game 1 game thread on SoSH, which sent chills down the spines of every single member of the Nation. One million blog entries could not touch upon every amazing moment in the 14 playoff games we witnessed last month. Schilling's remarkable performance. Ortiz coming through when the team needed it most. And again. And again. Bellhorn's 3-run redemption. Johnny Damon's grand slam that silenced an entire city. Keith Foulke's balls of steel. Tim Wakefield giving up his game 4 start for the good of the team. Dave Roberts' stolen base that kept the season alive. Constant 2-out clutch hitting throughout the playoffs. Derek Lowe's dominating performances in all three clinching games. Trot's diving grab to the end the inning. Pedro knocking Matsui to the ground. The bloody sock. Every moment, every player, every pitch - I want these preserved in my mind for eternity and I fear the day when my memory has faded and I can't quite recall who recorded the last out in Game 6 of the ALCS.

And of course, the World Series parade. After 25 years of watching other cities celebrate their own championships on TV, I finally had the opportunity to experience one for myself. From my parade recap post:

Multicolored confetti filled the sky in front of us and the duckboats slowly made their way towards our spot on the street. Then it was a blur of screams, cheers, tears, hugs, and smiles from ear to ear. Johnny leaning out of the front of his duck boat, Bellhorn wearing the biggest smile I had ever seen, Pesky looking stunned by the enormity of the crowd, Manny holding up his "Jeter is golfing today - This is better" sign, Mientkiewicz in a backwards hat making my pants go crazy, Pedro and his Dominican flag cape, Trot pointing his video camera at us, Tek and Mirabelli sitting on the front of their duck boat, Theo talking into a microphone but being drowned out by the cheers, and the trophy. The beautiful gold trophy that inspired so many tears in grown men across the city. And just like that, it was over.

Instantly deciding we hadn't had enough, we made our way down to the Charles River, on the banks of which we stood, staring into the foggy distance waiting for one more taste of the parade. An hour later it was our chance to celebrate again. We watched as one of the boats swerved out of control, and it all made sense as it got closer and we saw that our very own ALDS MVP was in the drivers seat, too busy honking the horn like a madman to worry about steering it. There was Tek sitting on the side of the boat with his daughter on his lap. There was Schilling waving to the crowd, an intense look of satisfaction and appreciation in his eyes. There was awe in the eyes of every single player, amazed at the crowd that had gathered to thank them.

This brings us to November. Two months to go, halfway through the NFL season, and the Eagles are 7-1 after a brutal ass-kicking at the hands of the Pittsburgh Steelers. Still, our wounds have been licked, last year's bandages removed, and we are ready for whatever may come. Because despite the ongoing battle between heart and brain, heart always wins out, and when January arrives, we'll be vulnerable once again. We'll spend the next 8 Sundays (and the occasional Monday night) glued to the couch, watching as T.O. and Donovan attempt to bring to Philadelphia the satisfaction of being The Best.

I can't help but recall the following from a Philadelphia Inquirer article on the Eagles from last January:

We are gluttons for punishment. Frustration is our birthright. Our capacity for suffering is exceeded only by our capacity for loyalty.

And so here we are once again, at that familiar Philadelphia intersection, the corner of Perpetual Hope and Oh-Please-Not-Again.

And so, the cycle continues, as we move from one sport to another, heartbreak to championship and back again. And no matter what 2005 brings, I will never forget 2004. Because years like 2004 are why we watch sports in the first place. Years like 2004, with the ups and downs, highs and lows, are why life is worth living. And I feel incredibly lucky to have been here for this.