Stand in the back of Section 105 in right field when Citizens Bank Park is packed — really packed — and there is no place like it. You cannot see the scoreboard. You cannot hear the music or the public address system. You cannot see the animatronic Liberty Bell sway nor hear it ring. All you hear is the din of Scott Franzke’s muffled radio voice, projected through some speakers in the ballpark, and the screams. You can hear the screams.

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This only happens when it’s full. People have filled this ballpark on occasion since the nightmarish end of the 2011 season. It was full on Thursday afternoon.

A few minutes after Andrew McCutchen launched a season-opening home run, Bryce Harper stepped toward home plate. The fans stood before Harper reached the dirt around home plate. A man in a Chase Utley jersey held a homemade sign. “HARPER-ville,” it read. They exalted the man who committed 13 years of his life to this city and the team that spent $330 million to secure this marriage.

And, then, it was quiet. Everyone still stood. It was eerie. Surreal.

No, Harper said after the Phillies’ 10-4 win, he did not notice. The fans cheered him when he grounded out to first. They cheered him in the top half of the next inning when he sprinted to his place in right field. He did not bow like he did before the game began. Everyone in the stands loved it.

This was a three-hour party to commence the 137th season of Phillies baseball. The Phillies have more losses than any franchise in professional sports history. They have started seasons before with much less fanfare. Without hope. Without expectations.

This was not one of them.

“I mean, today, I felt weird,” third baseman Maikel Franco said. “I looked around. Everything was loud. I saw a lot of people. It was a huge difference for me. I’ve been here, this is going to be my fifth year, and I never saw the crowd going crazy like that today. You know what I’m saying? It’s crazy. But it’s a beautiful thing.”

David Montgomery is dying, but he sat in his seat Thursday and he kept score with a blue pen. This was his 49th Opening Day with the Phillies, his childhood team. Cancer has stolen Montgomery’s jaw and his cherub cheeks and his strength. But it has not reached his mind. It has not stopped his resolve. Montgomery, the team’s former president, is the patriarch and his illness is so difficult for those around the Phillies to reconcile. Montgomery is frail. He is hard to understand. He looks nothing like he once did.

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“And here I am, still scoring games,” Montgomery said. “Look at the size of the book they gave me.”

His doctors want him to stay active. But, active in Montgomery’s mind is a trip to Disney World with his grandchildren between the end of spring training and the start of the regular season, capped by a pre-dawn alarm to catch a flight home to Philadelphia. He sat in his preferred seat Thursday inside the owners’ box. Right where he wanted to be.

“When you know your life is near the end, there are moments you think about,” Montgomery said. “This is right where I sat when Lidge threw the final pitch in ’08. I sat in this seat.”

He paused. It was hard for him to articulate this. He kept going.

“The word passion is the biggest word for me when you talk about Philadelphia fans,” Montgomery said. “I will always defend them. They’re passionate. And because they’re passionate, they try to learn the sport. As a result, they’re knowledgeable.

“Every once in a while you have moments, the absolute peaks of what you’ve done. In 1980, we won a World Series and I wasn’t sure about being in the parade. But when I saw the joy on peoples’ faces because of what we did … right now we have some of that same joy because of our offseason moves. God knows where the year ends up. But to start with the fans expressing their passion for this team on Day 1 is really special.”

He scanned the crowd and he thought about 2004, the year the ballpark opened. He could not remember an opener that felt like this since then. Montgomery is not actively involved in the team’s baseball operations like he was before. He is 72. He does not know how much time he has left.

The Phillies rallied in the fourth inning. Montgomery marked Harper’s second at-bat with a carefully written “K” on his scoresheet. “You’re buying a Harper shirt knowing you’re going to have it for a while,” he said. There is something to that.

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J.T. Realmuto walked. Odúbel Herrera slashed a single up the middle to score the go-ahead run. “It sure is a different lineup, isn’t it?” Montgomery said. “I don’t know how many runs we’ll score, but boy.” César Hernández cracked a single to left field that scored another run.

“I have been so blessed,” Montgomery said. “If my days end tomorrow, I have lived it great.”

The scoreboard prompted Phillies fans to chant.

“There is no other way to describe my life,” Montgomery said. “I am blessed. It was a dream.”

A wild pitch advanced two Phillies runners into scoring position. Montgomery marked it.

“I have been very lucky,” he said. “It was very important for me to be here.”

Butch Bleam watched Thursday’s game from where he always watches: the service hallway in the Citizens Bank Park basement. Harper stepped to the plate for his third at-bat in the bottom of the fifth. “I haven’t seen him yet,” Butch said. Harper struck out. Butch’s birthday is Saturday. He’ll be 63. He retired in January after 32 years with the Philadelphia school district. He worked in maintenance there. But he’s still a guard at the ballpark.

“You have to have something to do,” Butch said. “I’ve been doing this so long. Doing two jobs from 5 o’clock in the morning to 12 o’clock at night, you know, your body gets used to it. So all winter, you’re in the house doing nothing. But I enjoy the game. That’s the main thing. You have to enjoy the game. There’s nothing like watching the game and seeing who’s who.”

Earlier this month, Butch was at a baseball card show at a casino in Fort Washington when his phone buzzed. It buzzed again. And again. He didn’t have his glasses. Bleam thought something bad had happened. Then … his battery died.

He went to his car but couldn’t find the charger. He flipped on the radio to WIP. “Yo,” he heard, “give a shoutout to Butch for this.”

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“I’m like, ‘What? What happened?’ Everybody kept calling in.”

He went back to the casino. Someone directed him to a pay phone. He needed to talk to his wife, Maryann.

“I called home,” Butch said. “I said, ‘What happened? Did somebody die? What’s going on?’ She said, ‘Yo. Bryce Harper just mentioned your name.’ I said, ‘Get out.'”

Butch Bleam, the $15-an-hour security guard with an appreciation for baseball history, who grew up in Bridesburg only to move all the way to Mayfair, was name-dropped by one of the biggest acquisitions the Phillies had ever made. Harper, at his introductory news conference, discussed why he felt like the Phillies could be a second family to him.

“Every time I came to Citizens Bank Park, I felt that,” Harper said March 2. “If it was me getting into the elevator and talking to those guys, or when we walked into the visitors’ side and talking to Butch, who stands right there — one of the security guys. They were always saying, ‘Come to Philly! Play here! Be a part of our team!’ And that goes a long way.”

Maryann recorded it so Butch could watch later. This made him smile. He views his job as more than a security guard. The guys inside the clubhouse always tell the players, “Go ask Butch.” Need a cab? Need a restaurant? Need the quickest way out of the ballpark without being seen? Butch is your guy.

Harper was one of those who asked.

“We would talk,” Butch said. “He knew what kind of city it was. I would say, ‘You’d look good here. You’re already in red and white. You know what you’d look like.’ He’d laugh. We would just B.S. a lot. That’s how he was. Just a good guy.”

Everyone called Butch when he became famous. Cousins. His brother. People he hadn’t heard from in years. “They said, ‘Yo, you’re popular with him,'” Butch said. “Yeah, I know him, but I don’t know him.” His boss needled him. Everyone did.

Butch has worked for the Phillies for 23 years. When he was with the school district, he’d go to the roof at Dobbins Technical High School and take pictures of the surrounding neighborhood. It’s where Connie Mack Stadium used to sit. He collects old baseball things and has an appreciation for the Philadelphia A’s.

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“Just to keep it going,” Butch said. “Yearbooks. Programs. Just to keep it alive.”

He’d love to thank Harper, but he is on the other side now. There are people to greet and questions to answer. It was a great crowd on Thursday, wasn’t it, Butch?

“Let’s see what happens in a month,” Butch said. “One player doesn’t make the team.”

No one knows how the Phillies will react to higher expectations. For 3 hours and 4 minutes on Thursday, they looked the part. They have 161 more games.

“People have told me in the past what this place is like when we’re winning,” Gabe Kapler said, “and it felt like we had already won several ballgames when we got out on that field.”

“It felt different,” César Hernández said.

“It’s going to be fun to have that target on our back,” Rhys Hoskins said. “I think we’re going to cherish that.”

At 2:50 p.m., Dan Baker stood behind home plate and mouthed the words Phillies fans had longed to hear. Batting third, No. 3, right fielder Bryce Harper! Those words meant something to everyone inside the ballpark.

They meant a little more to certain people.

(Top photo: Drew Hallowell / Getty Images)