By Chris Reber

creber@tnonline.com

A lot of people laughed when the Philadelphia Police Department greased the light poles in Center City before last week’s NFC championship, but I saw firsthand the reason they do it.

It was an unseasonably warm night in early November 2008 when I observed the mass of humanity assemble around City Hall after the Phillies defeated the Rays.

Fans flipped cars and turned unsuspecting box trucks into makeshift floats.

In a town where pedestrians normally try to avoid eye contact, we were hugging strangers. It was euphoric.

I watched most of it sitting atop the pedestal of a horse statue on the south side of city hall.

But of course, drunk fans were enamored by the light poles like a naive child and a hot stove.

I remember watching one fan, probably emboldened by nine innings of city wide specials (the classy pairing of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Jim Beam) as he decided to climb the traffic light at Broad and Chestnut. When he got to the top, he fell 20-plus feet into the crowd. If anybody tried to catch him they were probably hurt as badly as he was.

The Phillies celebration is one of the craziest, happiest memories of my life.

But if I really think back on the games themselves, they were more of a source of anxiety than it was fun. I couldn’t tell you who will win Sunday’s game, but I guarantee I will be a nervous wreck until it’s over.

And maybe that’s why Philly fans go so crazy when their teams win. I mean, it’s not like they made an Oscar-winning movie about Eagles fans expressing bizarre behavior.

Who can forget the last time we went to the big game, in 2005, when Donovan McNabb got sick on the field.

Anyway, it’s the way it is with any team that I watch with regularity. I know it’s sad. It’s not like I’m playing in the game. But after spending any extended amount of time watching a team, a reasonable sports fan’s mind can become clouded and warped, paranoid about every incompletion or missed tackle.

I love watching sports when I have no skin in the game — football especially. As a kid I would spend sunny afternoons after school inside watching NFL Films.

Give me a Bills-Bengals game, and I’ll watch every second, and drink more than enough beer.

But if it’s an Eagles, Penn State or Temple game, I’m watching through my fingers.

For last week’s NFC Championship Game, I wasn’t even in the mood to drink a beer.

Super Bowl Sunday is always a fun time for me. Like most people I enjoy watching the commercials, which my family and co-workers will tell you is a shock. I detest the cocky Chevy focus group guy, the awkward Verizon guy, and Bud Light doesn’t even deserve to be called a beer. Dilly Dilly to that.

I love seeing how they pick a halftime act that has to appeal to kids but be acceptable by parents’ standards. Of course Tom Petty was the last good Super Bowl halftime show. RIP.

And surprisingly, I actually like the game!

But this year, I’ll have the worst knot in my stomach I’ve had since 2005 — or that time I made buffalo chicken dip for the game and ate two-thirds of it myself.

Unless of course, we win. In that case, break out the grease!