Phillies

Best to Stay Away From the Old Castellanos House – Some Say It’s Cursed

By Coggin Toboggan

Published: Feb 17th, 2026 · 9:02 AM EST

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Oh that old house? The old Castellanos house? Let me offer you a piece of advice about that house, young fella… best to leave it alone and just keep on going down the road, because nothing good can come from that house.

Oh sure, you see that house and think to yourself, “well, how bad can a $4.5 million, six bedroom, six-and-a-half-bathroom home located in a semi-private cul-de-sac in Moorestown really be?” Well let me tell you something, city slicker, nobody should step foot the old Castellanos place if they fancy any preconceived notions about being a beloved, successful athlete. No sir, that’s where the best of them go to ultimately disappoint and bewilder the good fans of Philadelphia sports.

Ayyuh, some say it’s just silly superstition. But most people round here know, even the ones who will look you straight in the eye and tell you there ain’t no such thing to believe in for hexes or bad mojo, that the house is cursed up and down.

Don’t fair know how it came to be cursed. Some say it was built on an Indian burial ground. Others say that’s the house in which Howie Roseman once agreed to sign Bryce Huff for $51 million. Some even believe Markelle Fultz first imbalanced his scapular muscle in those very halls. On moonless, pitch black nights the people of this fine, god-fearing town have sworn they can hear the bricks of a hundred janky jumpshots floating softly across the air, doomed to rework his form for the rest of time.

Can’t suppose why it’s cursed, but I can tell you that some mighty funny things have happened there, things that make you question everything about the way you live your own life, things that make you question the very strings that hold this world together.

Nothing good has come from that accursed house in all its years of existence. Don’t believe me do ya, city boy? Come from Wall Street and think you know every damn thing there is to know about living? A shame.

How does this make sense? Tell me this much. Young Australian bought it brand new few years back… round 2019 I do believe. Said he was a basketball player of some kind. Hell of a thing… he started living there and just flat out refused to shoot, like he was plum scared of it. The damndest thing you ever see. I’m no expert, just a simple Senior Vice President of Acquisitions man round these parts, but if you don’t shoot it makes life pretty miserable on a basketballer, even the most cement-headed knows that much.

Sure, he tried to hang on a bit, got a lot of people’s hopes up around here with some flash and highlights, but in the most important point of his life he just…well…that young gentleman passed up on what could have been the best moment of his career and ran himself outta town. Heard his Hollywood lady left him shortly after as well. Don’t ever really know what happened to him… could be dead, could be a professional fisherman, don’t rightly know. Frankly, don’t care to know.

What I do know is he sold that house to a fine family who came in from the midwest looking to make a go of it in Philadelphia back in 22′. Hotshot outfielder, did pretty well for himself in Cincinnati. Loved his skyline chili. Feared the lord. Had high hopes for his time in Philadelphia.

We all told him that house wasn’t a good idea, tried to warn im’ bout that Ben Simmons feller, but our pleas fell on deaf ears. He fell in love with the 10,000+ square feet, the elite school district, the candy room. What more could a man want fer?

Sure, he had his moments, just like the other’un. Couple big hits here and there, a few catchy interviews to get folks excited, but that home, it has its ways of changing a man. Like it got it hooks in him. Soon there wasn’t a slider in the dirt he didn’t fall in love with. Months would go by in the summer without nary a hit, like he had never picked up a baseball bat in all his days. It was like he was another person, just changed for the worse. Was the damndest thing to witness.

And then it just, well it just ended. I’m sure you read all about it in the paper. Ayuh, the beer in the dugout, the argument with his skipper. Here one day and then gone like a leaf down the Schuylkill River after a storm the next. Hell, nobody will even say his name anymore round these parts. Too many bad memories.

But I’m not your papa, young man. Just trying to let you know the history of the place you’re considering, giving you all the facts before you sign on the dotted line. I know I may seem like an old fool, someone that may just be running down his finals days on this big world, but I know this. That house is no good. No sir, it’s not for you, for me, for anyone in the tri-state area.

I won’t go so far to say it’s evil, but, but sometimes you’ll just be passing by and get a funny feeling. Like… like if you step foot on that property your ACL will fray just from being in its presence for too long. You may just plum forget how to shoot a layup, or catch a disease that hasn’t been round these parts since 1902. Just a bad, creeping feeling that settles deep into your bones. A sour feeling.

It’s not a good place, son.

But I suppose I can’t convince a man to do something he’s got his mind set to no more than I can convince a cow to come in from the field on a hot summer day. You got to do what feels right to you.

Hoo wee, listen to me rambling on, I best be moving on. The missus is expecting me soon for supper.

I am sorry, I never did get your name. What did you say it was?

Well, Mr. Edgecombe was it? I do hope you make a better go of it than those others.

Welcome to the neighborhood.