Where have all the little boys gone?

Anthony Gargano, 41, SportsRadio Mouth-breather in Philly.
 

Would-be Tony Soprano had a marathon session last night asking listeners where they were when they first found their favorite Philly team on teevee. He was right to ask. I listened to it, fascinated. Every personal account was touching, from the Super Bowl Eagles of 1981 and 2005 to 2018. Lots of heartbreak and finally joy.

The most articulate and passionate caller said it for a lot of us. Philly sports was the way the little boy in all of us was preserved. Gargano loved this idea absolutely. Made me think of the best-ever Tom Waits song. No, not Jersey Girl. Called On the Nickel.


                Little boys do get lost.

Here are the lyrics:

Sticks and stones will break my bones

But I always will be true

And when your mama is dead and gone

I'll sing this lullaby just for you

So what becomes of all the little boys

Who never comb their hair?

They're lined up all around the block

On The Nickel over there.

So you better bring a bucket

There is a hole in the pail

If you don't get my letter

Then you'll know that I'm in jail

So what becomes of all the little boys

Who never say their prayers?

They're sleepin' like a baby

On The Nickel over there.


If you chew tobacco, and wish upon a star

You'll find out where the scarecrows sit

Just like punchlines between the cars

I know a place where a royal flush

Can never beat a pair

And even Thomas Jefferson

Is On The Nickel over there

So ring around the rosie, you're sleepin' in the rain

And you're always late for supper

And man you let me down, let me down again

I thought I heard a mockingbird, Roosevelt knows where

You can skip the light with grady tuck

On the Nickel over there.


So what becomes of all the little boys

Who run away from home?

The world just keeps gettin' bigger

Once you get out on your own

So what becomes of all the little boys

The sandman takes you where

You'll be sleepin' with a pillowman

On the Nickel over there

So let's climb up through that button hole

And fall right up the stairs

I'll show you where the short dogs grow

On the Nickel over there.


Thought I heard a mockingbird, Roosevelt knows where

You can skip the light with grady tuck

And fall right up the stairs

I'll show you where the short dogs grow

On the Nickel over there.

_______

Gargano’s callers thought women don’t get it, but team affiliations are the Safe Haven all men need to keep the little boy in their souls alive, proof against the nasties of life. The only one not getting it was me, the one older than everyone on the radio. First time I saw the Eagles was 1960, the last time Philly won the NFL championship till 2018. But that’s all locked away, along with my “little boy.” Locked as close and tight as the 1980 Phillies; I suffered enough in 1964 and every year after, until final victory made us free at last. Talking Mike Schmidt. The greatest baseball player who ever lived. From Dayton, Ohio, where I lived for seven years. Not a coincidence. Don’t argue. I don’t care how you look at it.


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