The Spectrum’s “You Carry It, You Keep It” Pre-Demo Sale

James from Bridesburg was determined to get his money’s worth at the Spectrum’s “You Carry It, You Keep It” sale, the final chapter in what’s become the longest goodbye in Philadelphia sports history. In about a half hour of struggling with his loot this past Saturday morning, James managed to move approximately 50 feet. The only problem was his ambitious load: a heavy door that was approximately the height of Manute Bol; a Super Pretzel machine stuffed to the brim with orange and purple knit hockey socks; three padded folding chairs that may have once been courtside seats for the Sixers, or floor seats for the Grateful Dead; and a basketball shot clock, which was both the centerpiece of his new collection and a bulky, royal pain in the ass to balance, along with all the rest, on a rolling office chair.

It seemed unwise when James then grabbed a Boardwalk Fries sign that was at least 15 feet long. But along with about 1,000 people who stood in line as early as 11 p.m. the night before and paid $25 a head to grab as much memorabilia-slash-junk from the Spectrum as they could carry, drag, or shove out of the building, James wouldn’t give up easily. He draped the flexible plastic sign on top of his pile. In seconds, the whole thing came crashing down.

I asked James what he was planning to do with it all. “Don’t know,” he said shortly, as he started to rebuild his Jenga tower of Spectrum memories. As young as he looked — about 20 or so — nostalgia seemed like less of a priority for James than eBay.

“Wing Bowl meets Black Friday” is how Comcast-Spectacor PR guru Ike Richman accurately described the scene once the doors to the western loading tunnel opened at 9 a.m. and the hordes began to rush in. The floor where Dr. J once soared and a Stanley Cup was lifted was now the city’s biggest rummage sale, with an inventory ranging from the coveted to the absurd: hundreds of folding chairs, about 30 televisions of various sizes, trash cans, couches, goalie sticks, a vase, wooden hockey benches, lamps, nacho machines, refrigerators, pink Disney on Ice kiddie dresses, a framed concert photo of Ricky Martin, and Dei Lynam’s nameplate.

It took 45 minutes for the first altercation to erupt, which was a surprise, considering the number of attendees who wouldn’t have passed a breathalyzer test by the time they entered. Two guys got into a shouting match over who had dibs on a towering blue letter “R” that probably hung on the outside of the building. They calmed down when Richman warned them to chill or leave with nothing. Richman’s bosses wisely nixed an idea to make this a BYOT (bring your own tools) event. The last thing Philly sports fans need added to their checkered legacy is a tale that starts like this: “Remember the guy who got shanked at the Spectrum when a fight broke out over a toilet seat?” (Note to the national sportswriters who make a hobby of trashing this town’s fans: not a single fight broke out. Though one guy did get caught using a crowbar to pry a sign from the wall, he relinquished the tool without incident.)

By mid-morning, as the pickings got slimmer, the Spectrum’s demo crew got creative. Down came the dasher boards that lined the old hockey rink, and as word spread, fans moved to claim any section that was still standing. Mike and Kyle, two friends in Afro wigs who drove down from Toronto, scored one of the day’s prized finds: a pair of seats autographed by Bob Clarke, Bill Barber and other Flyers alums. The good news is that despite their Canadian roots, the pair have been die-hard fans of the Bullies since the ’70s and were thrilled with their score. The bad news, said Kyle: “I’m worried about getting this into our Dodge Avenger.”

The doors were scheduled to close by noon, but with 1 p.m. approaching, about 100 fans were still in line, waiting for Spectrum staffers to bring the last remaining folding chairs down from the upper levels. Save for piles of seat cushions and a few TVs, the floor was nearly empty. Even James from Bridesburg was gone, after abandoning the Boardwalk Fries sign and making his way up the long, concrete ramp that led out to the parking lot.

Like James, plenty of the attendees were too young to have seen Ron Hextall swing his Koho like a sickle here, or watch Charles Barkley lay down a thunderous dunk, and much of the day’s collectibles seem destined for Craigslist or a dump. But a few folks seemed unconcerned with the size of their haul. They were easy to spot, the ones taking their time to enjoy one last look at the old barn before demolition begins in earnest today. Northeast Philly native Diane Gerace wore a commemorative Spectrum cap and blew goodbye kisses as her nephew Joseph snapped photos. They had a couple folding chairs to take home, and that was enough. “I spent a lot of my life in this building,” she said of her years spent watching the Flyers from the old section Z. “It’s like a death in the family. This is a sad day in Philadelphia. I’m really going to miss it.”