4:37 p.m.

It is one of those annoying habits I have. At very big moments I have a tendency to glance at my watch.

It was exactly 4:37 p.m. when Brett Myers unfurled a wicked curbe ball, freezing Wily Mo Pena of the Washington Nationals.

Just like that, we were winners.

It’s been a while.

The last time was 14 years ago. Before that, a magic moment in 1980.
It has struck me that a generation of people never knew the feeling of being a winner. At least where the Phillies are involved.

My son is one of them. He is a sports zealot, but has never really developed the love of baseball that his father has.

Until this summer. Until this team. He now "gets" it. He’s now a newly minted Phanatic. That’s what this Phillies team accomplished over the past few months.

Yesterday, my son celebrated his 18th birthday by watching the Phillies capture the National League East crown.

For those of us who have traversed this old ground a little longer, it goes a bit deeper than that.

Maybe now, once and for all, we can brush away the shroud of 1964. That’s in part because not only did the Phillies win, someone else lost.

In simply historic dimensions, the New York Mets completed an almost unparalleled collapse yesterday.

The two teams were playing at the same time, with the Mets having about a half-hour lead time.

We watched deliriously, not only as the Mets went el foldo, but as the Phils recovered from a depressing effort on Saturday to blow away the Nationals Sunday.

Winners. The ghost of 1964 is gone.

Let’s get this party started.

Bring on the Rockies or Padres.