The Phillies crawled into Iowa for MLB’s mystical Field of Dreams game and haven’t lost since. The Fightins peeled off six in a row since emerging from the cornfield in what’s become baseball’s most spine-tingling summer happening (Sorry, All-Star Game, but Mike Schmidt coming out of the corn was one for the ages.)

Powered by a suddenly divine offense — in the name of the Harper, Bohm, and Bryson Stott, mmen — and a resurgent Aaron Nola, the Phillies’ season-best streak put the team 12 games over .500 for the first time all season. By Aug. 20, they enjoyed a two-game cushion for the second NL Wild Card spot. Whether the Phillies celestial good fortune has a Hollywood ending remains to be seen — and will depend largely on the trinity of Zach Wheeler, Cristopher Sánchez, and Jesús Luzardo, and saintly wisdom of Donny Baseball. Is it Heaven? Maybe not. But it’s August in Philadelphia, and the Baseball Gods are smiling.

I’m a sucker for the city’s past. Especially its boozy, foodie past. My sepia-toned Philly time-machine daydreams include strolling bygone Jazz Age South Street speakeasies, clinking a Diet Coke to the swoosh of the gilded curtain at Palumbo’s nightclub, and touring the handsome booths of the 19th-century Reading Terminal Market. All to say, it’s a bummer to mark the passing of iconic Philly-area eateries like Kelly’s Seafood and Steve Stein’s Famous Deli, both in Northeast Philadelphia, and both closing by the end of the month.

Other landmarks — including the Medieval-inspired Pennsauken steakhouse, The Pub, and legendary Center City spots like Cherry Street Tavern and McGlinchey’s — are on the market. Some in the Philly restaurant scene have coined a phrase for what they say is a broader generational transition among small businesses as longtime owners reach retirement without children interested in taking over: “The Gray Wave.” Raise a Diet Coke — or something stronger, if you wish — to all the old great ones saying goodbye. But, alas, since a grand metropolis such as our own is nothing if not an ever-regenerating engine, offer too a hearty huzzah to the future greats that will surely follow in their boozy wake. Sláinte.

Philadelphians pride themselves on providing local news reporters with profoundly entertaining and refined recountings of crimes and catastrophes. It’s in our blood — and unique vowel shifts. But for sheer charm and grace, few surpass everyone’s new favorite Philadelphian, Jamika W., who this week exuberantly reenacted kicking a masked menace near City Hall during a now-viral ABC7 Eyewitness News report.

On Aug. 17, Jamika W. saw something (a masked marauder chasing a woman into a coffee shop) and did something about it (calmly delivered a debilitating and flawless front kick to said marauder’s chest). Even more winsome than the kick itself — which Jamika W. displayed with wide-eyed enthusiasm and cool confidence — is the ironclad and incontrovertible reasoning behind her Roundhouse of Reckoning. “He just seemed disorientated about what his goals actually were,” she said, with a smile. “I had bags, he wasn’t reaching for those. He didn’t seem like he had a clear goal to actually get into La Colombe to do anything, so I was like, ‘OK, well, let’s see if you can fight, and he couldn’t.’”

For the first summer in years, Willie Nelson will not be bringing his Outlaw Music Festival to Philadelphia. At 93, and fueled by love, music, and his own THC-infused drink, Willie’s Remedy, the Outlaw Oracle needs a break. But all is not lost in Willieville. Turns out Nelson isn’t skipping Philly after all. On Sept. 24, Willie Nelson & Family and Neil Young and the Chrome Hearts will play a coheadlining date at the Highmark Mann. (Teenage songwriter phenom Ty Myers is also on the bill.)

Personally, I bawl like a baby every time I hear Willie Nelson sing “Blue Eyes Crying in The Rain.” See you soon, Willie.

Few can fault the limited-edition Phanatic Caramel Curveball Cream recipe, though vanilla ice cream, caramel sauce, whipped cream, salted caramel syrup, and sea salt pretzel pieces doesn’t exactly scream Galápagos Islands. Also, can you really call it a smoothie if it’s … 950 calories?

But what disappoints most is a Philly fan taste-tester who cheerfully testified that the drink contained a salty-sweet savor similar to a “sprinkling of Mets tears.” Mets?! They stink. An embarrassment, last in the division. Why is anybody concerned with them? Haven’t you read the news baby, we’re two games behind the Diamondbacks for the second Wild Card! Do rattlesnakes cry?