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PHILADELPHIA (AP) ― Mitch Williams sits behind a broadcast table on the main concourse of Citizens Bank Park, eagerly talking baseball with fans who once egged his house.

Wearing a pinstriped suit, tie and designer eyeglasses, Williams looks more professorial than "The Wild Thing" of his former life.  As he takes phone calls and explains why the Philadelphia Phillies will beat Tampa Bay in the World Series, about 20 people gather around and wait for a commercial break.

Then, it's a free-for-all.

 

"Hey, Mitch, sign this please," a guy wearing a throwback Mike Schmidt jersey yells, handing Williams a ball.

 

"Can we take a picture with you?" a woman asks as she brings her two children around for a pose.

"You rock, dude," a somewhat-intoxicated fan screams while juggling two cups of beer.

Williams signs all the autographs, smiles for all the pictures and shakes all the hands, mixing in a few hugs. You'd never know this was the same guy who made an entire region weep the last time the Phillies played in the World Series.

The closer surrendered Joe Carter's bottom-of-the-ninth home run that ended Game 6 in 1993 and gave the Blue Jays the championship.  Williams received death threats, and eggs were tossed at his house after that defeat.

He never threw another pitch for the Phillies, exiled to Houston because then-general manager Lee Thomas didn't think Williams could handle coming back to a potentially hostile environment.

But fans quickly forgave the hard-throwing lefty with the out-of-control fastball. When Williams returned to Philadelphia for the first time with the Astros in May 1994, he got a standing ovation.

"They were always great to me," Williams said. "They knew I never made excuses. If I screwed something up, I tried to go out the next night and fix it. It's the same thing with them. They don't have a great day at work every day, so they understand that."

Williams never asked to be traded after blowing the save in the Series. He wanted to stay with the Phillies no matter the pressure.  Teammates appreciated his willingness to accept blame whenever he messed up.

"The one thing I remember after Mitchy gave up that home run was he was accountable," said Pete Incaviglia, who played left field for the '93 Phils. "He didn't hide. He went right into the locker room and sat on that stool and waited for the media to come in.

"I think the city of Philadelphia, being the great city that it is, if guys are accountable, they'll forgive him. He said, 'You know what, I thought I made a good pitch to a good hitter and the guy hit it out of the ballpark and we lost the game.' It was that simple."

During his playing career, Williams always was candid and honest. He never hesitated to say he stunk when he didn't get the job done. Now, he's the same way behind the microphone.

Williams is outspoken and opinionated. He's not afraid to be critical and he does his homework. He's not just another talking head living off his reputation as a player.

Williams has three separate broadcasting jobs in the city. He's a part-time contributor on sports radio station WIP-AM, hosts a pre-game show called "The Wild Pitch" on the Phillies' radio network and is an analyst for the postgame show on Comcast SportsNet.

Despite what happened in his final appearance in a Philadelphia uniform, Williams has been embraced by fans known more for their boorish behavior than their compassion.

"If you give everything you got every time you walk out there, these people in Philadelphia will never have a problem with you," Williams said. "I was able to come back here because they knew that. They knew I gave everything I had every time I went out there."

It took Red Sox fans two decades and two World Series titles to forgive Bill Buckner after his error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series allowed the New York Mets to force another game that they won.

Buckner finally returned to Boston this year to throw out the first pitch at the Red Sox home opener. Williams, by the way, threw out the first pitch before the Phillies played Milwaukee in Game 1 of the division series.

"Mitch is accepted because he never hid from it. And, despite what the national media will try to tell you, these fans are good people," said Rhea Hughes, one of the co-hosts on the WIP morning show. "Mitch lives here, doesn't hide and people respect that.  He's like family; sometimes you get upset with them, but in the end they're still invited to Thanksgiving dinner."

See, this really is the City of Brotherly Love.

Wherever he goes now, Phillies fans flock to him—even on the road. Williams was walking around in a suit outside the main entrance at Tropicana Field before Game 2 of the World Series when a few people noticed him.

Pat Robinson-Peyton, a fan from Haddonfield, N.J., approached Williams, hesitant to interrupt him while on his cell phone. He got off the call for a minute, talked to her and shook her hand.

"I loved him," she said. "He was the original Wild Thing." 

Then, she patted her chest and sang, "Wild Thing ... you make my heart sing." 

A few minutes later, a teenager came up with his grandfather and posed with Williams for a picture.

Not everyone, however, has completely welcomed Williams with open arms.

Lisa Loielo of Cherry Hill, N.J., still cringes every time she hears his name.

"The mere mention of his name brings back awful memories that can only be eradicated by a World Series championship," she said.

(© 2009 The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.)

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