A day in the life of a Phillies parking lot shirt bootlegger

T-Shirt Phil roams the parking lots at the South Philly sports complex like some Delco Santa Claus, a heavy satchel of Phillies-themed shirts slung over his shoulder.

It was about an hour before the first pitch of Game 3 of the divisional series against the Atlanta Braves and he was busy “grinding the go-in.” A self-professed “loudmouth,” T-Shirt Phil is the type of guy you hear before you see. He greeted most potential buyers — fans about to “go in” to the stadium — with a booming “Yo cuz, you need anything?”

“Yo bro, I know you need a shirt,” he said to a shirtless man.

T-Shirt Phil, 54, agreed to let The Inquirer tag along on the condition of anonymity and a degree of fuzziness on the details of the trade.

At one point, he found himself waiting behind an SUV while some women mulled over his merchandise. They dug through his bag and looked at tags, putting the shirts against themselves to eyeball the fits. T-Shirt Phil’s head was on a swivel the whole time, scanning the parking lot for other sellers, someone from the Phillies organization, or an officer who might bust his chops.

“Remember, ladies, this isn’t a Macy’s dressing room,” he joked. “We’re in a parking lot in South Philly. You take what you get, know what I mean?”

For decades, counterfeit shirt hawkers have been as commonplace as Miller Lite cans at the stadiums before and after games and concerts. T-Shirt Phil, who was born in Philadelphia and lives in Delaware County, believes the practice began in the 1970s and hasn’t changed too much — even if the times have.

“I don’t do Venmo, girls,” he told a group of young women. (The digital payment app requires too much personal information.)

Parking lot shirt hawkers don’t pay for any trademark rights to use official team logos and rarely get vending licenses. T-Shirt Phil said you’re not allowed to sell shirts anywhere near the stadiums and sellers move quickly to avoid getting their merchandise confiscated by Philadelphia’s Department of Licenses and Inspections or U.S. Marshals. Confiscated merchandise being sold on the street, according to L&I, is “disposed of.” T-Shirt Phil’s been busted many times.

“At the Eagles preseason game, they took like $500 worth of shirts off me,” he said. “Preseason, cuz.”

T-Shirt Phil tries to find out if L&I is going to be at the complex ahead of time.

Shemeka Moore, an L&I spokesperson, told The Inquirer that the department’s vending team would be at the sports complex for Game 1 of the National League Championship Series on Monday night to confiscate merchandise being sold in unpermitted locations. Philadelphia Police determine whether an item is actually counterfeit, Moore said, not L&I.

Sellers get to know one another and look out for each other, for the most part, T-Shirt Phil said, but out-of-town sellers will come in from New York for playoff games and concerts.

“Yo, they’re here today,” he warned another shirt seller. “It’s a grind out here.”

T-Shirt Phil likens the sports teams to community property and said no one can trademark the color red, the number 3, or the word “Harper.”

“That’s just some Irish dude’s name,” he said.

Bars are making their own shirts. Gas stations, too. T-Shirt Phil thinks there’s room for the little guys like himself, a retired Marine, to make a few bucks, alongside Major League Baseball, the National Football League, and Taylor Swift. He sees himself, and other sellers, as modern-day Robin Hoods.

“Everybody and their brother and their brother is doing it,” he said.

A former city employee, T-Shirt Phil said he sold shirts when he was younger, on the side, and got back into shirt sales in 2012. He goes to every Eagles home game, where kelly green merchandise is king, but only the bigger Phillies and Sixers games. Playoff victories put people in the mood to buy, he said, and the recent success of those three franchises have been a big bonus for sellers.

So what about the Flyers?

“They stink, bro,” he said.

On his best days, he can make up to $1,000 in profit.

Swiftenomics, he said, also trickles down to everyone. He made big money at the “Eras Tour” shows at Lincoln Financial Field.

“Yo, Taylor Swift is like manna from heaven,” he said. “I sold out of pink hats.”

The bulk of the merchandise comes from someone higher up the food chain, T-Shirt Phil said, and while he doesn’t design them, he offers advice. Anything with old images of Veterans Stadium on it, red, or kelly green, sells well. Slogans like “brotherly shove” and “dancing on my own” do well, too.

T-Shirt Phil is not averse to trading shirts for soft pretzels or a stogie and even hands out gifts, occasionally, like Bruce Springsteen shirts from his canceled summer concerts.

By 5 p.m., he was in the game, claiming he’d traded shirts for a ticket.

A new shirt was born out of Bryce Harper’s epic home runs and stare downs of Atlanta shortstop Orlando Arcia that night and T-Shirt Phil’s got them.

“They’re $15 apiece,” he said of his “Atta Boy Harper” shirts Monday afternoon. “But I’ll do two for $25.”