Dannyscar

I am riding in Danny’s Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. It is 1993, the season the Phillies made the World Series. We are driving through the Jersey Pinelands on our way to Veterans Stadium in South Philly. Who’d have thought that the Phillies would have having such an amazing season and be in first place in the eastern division. Tonight they’re battling the mighty Atlanta Braves, first place in NL West, and arguably the best and most talented team in baseball. (note that they’d later meet in the playoffs and the Phillies would surprise everyone and upset them). We’d made a relatively last minute decision to head out to the game, figuring why not see the best teams in baseball. The weather report claimed that rain was on its way, but all we saw was clear sky as the sun began to set. We’d already miscalculated a bit - the heavy traffic around Six Flags Great Adventure had forced us to take an alternative route – but were smug that the weather prognosicators were wrong. The sunset was occasionally blinding as it shone through the windshield – we were heading west, after all – and we had the sunvisors firmly deployed. Danny, sitting like Napoleon in the driver’s seat, even was sporting sunglasses, which was odd since he had not been wearing them before the sun began its descent. Danny was his usual self - overcompensating for his short stature in his regular ways – trying too hard to be fun, bragging about his car. He was so proud that he’d just finished paying off the car and even popped the glovebox to show me his latest toy – a radar detector. Of course, why he wasn’t using it on the drive was anyone’s guess. Matt was in the back seat occasionally cackling like a hyena at Danny’s poor attempts at humor or barking out asinine comments. Sadly, it seemed like I was the only one really excited for the game, Matt and Danny being just along for the ride. By the time we made the turn onto the highway leading to the bridge, dusk had fallen along an eerie desolate urban landscape of viaducts streaming through precisely lit industrial zones. Twinkling lights limned the edges of the road on industrial towers and light standards as far as the eye could see. It was oddly dry … until we hit the bridge spanning the Delaware to Philly. Not only did the sky open up as we traversed the beginning of the bridge’s arc – pouring rain down in sheets - but it was an eerie light gray. You’d have thought that it’d be ominously pitch black, with this terrible thunderstorm swirling above. But no, it was an oddly bright silver sky crowded with enormous fluffy clouds (perhaps accounting for the color) bursting full of moisture. Audible groans were heard in the car as we wondered if the game would be cancelled or delayed. As we neared the peak at the top of suspension bridge’s arch, little did we know this would be the last time the car would ever see Jersey.