Forget That Brotherly Stuff, It’s City of 76er Love

He was born here and he was raised here. He got married here and he got wealthy here. Pat Croce is about here, about Philadelphia--which explains most of this.

Or, as Croce would say on the final night of the ride, “It’s just a special thing. The fans have been so special. They’ve been great all year. They were great tonight--such class tonight, such character.”

The 76ers’ season had been over for 15 minutes or so. Croce, the team president, was basking in both the sadness and the glow. He knows in his head what he feels in his heart--and he knows that this team, even in its ultimate defeat, has connected with the people of Philadelphia in a way that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore, especially after 18 years of suffering without a major sports championship.

As the Lakers were wrapping up the NBA championship Friday night, the fans brought the kind of signs you see at a college game at the end of the year: “Thank You For A Great Season.” They poured out the same kind of emotion, too. In the last month, they turned a big city into a small town, a big arena into an old-time gym. Before it was over, they did everything but thank the seniors.

They are a team that didn’t win it all.

They are a team for the ages.

Why? How?

“This is what I think,” Croce said. “For five years, we invested in the community. For five years, even when we were no good, we invested in the people.

“We tried to show them that we cared. We tried to tell them that this was their team. We planted the seeds of interest. We planted the seeds of love.

“And this is the result. It’s all been paid back.”

There is that--and it all started with Croce, and there is no denying that. But there is even more. There is a reason that this team will be remembered in the same way Philadelphians of a certain age remember the 1950 Phillies, the Whiz Kids who won the National League pennant. There is a reason that this team will be remembered as the unkempt, unyielding ’93 Phillies are cherished around here.

It is a style, an underdog style, a Philadelphia style. It shows up in so many ways.

When was the last time any team in any sport had three players on the floor at the same time with broken bones in their feet or ankles? When was the last time a team had a Hall of Fame-caliber coach who hadn’t won the big one? Most important, when was the last time a team around here was led by a league MVP who is shorter than 6 feet, lighter than 165 pounds and constantly navigating among the redwoods?

That’s what the 76ers are. That’s why Philadelphia loves them. And when you look back, it is that quality--that exceeding-all-expectations quality--that separates the memorable teams around here from the merely good.

Think back. The ’60 Eagles won an NFL championship, but they really weren’t a great team. They are loved because of two take-no-prisoners personalities: Chuck Bednarik and Norm Van Brocklin. Compare them to the ’83 Phillies, who won the National League pennant but never really connected. When was the last time you even thought about them?

The ’80 Eagles got to a Super Bowl with a roster full of workmanlike players. You celebrate them because of that very workmanlike-ness--and because of the man who whipped them and then hugged them, Dick Vermeil. Compare them to the ’83 76ers, who were supposed to win it all and did win it all but who, frankly, played to a lot more empty seats than they should have.

There are more examples and no need to repeat them. Anybody who lives here gets it, almost instinctively.

When he first became the team president, Croce went to New York to visit with NBA Commissioner David Stern. He has described himself as a “pig” that day, lapping up every freebie he could find--hats, shirts, videotapes, whatever. And off Stern’s desk, Croce swiped a clock in the shape of a basketball. He told the commissioner he would give it back after Stern handed him the NBA championship trophy.

And, well, there he was Friday night. Croce was in the hallway beneath the stands at the First Union Center, heading from the 76er dressing room to the Lakers’ dressing room. He was going to offer congratulations to the victors and, in that hallway, he bumped into the Lakers’ Rick Fox--who just happened to be carrying the gleaming trophy. Fox put down the hardware. He and Croce hugged, sharing a few words. Then Fox picked up the trophy again. As the thing got close to him, Croce recoiled as if it were radioactive, recoiled and laughed.

“I don’t want to touch it,” he said, smiling. And he didn’t touch it. For Pat Croce, that part of it remains unfulfilled. But 10 years from now, 20 years from now, 30 years from now, you know what? A city will remember a lot more than the emptiness of a single night.