Olympic swimming champion Michael Phelps, an Arizona local, throws out the first pitch before Game 5 at Chase Field. David Maialetti / Staff Photographer

Phelps, 38, lives nearby. He threw out the first pitch Saturday. He once was in the swimming pool what Harper is becoming on the diamond:

Mythical.

Does he feel mythical?

“I just want to win,” Harper said, as always.

Harper wasn’t the only reason they won Game 5 against the Diamondbacks, 6-1, and moved to a 3-2 lead in the NLCS, but he was the biggest, and the most powerful.

He not only stole home in the first inning, he clobbered catcher Gabriel Moreno on the play. Then, he clobbered Zac Gallen’s sinking changeup 444 feet, at 112 mph, for a home run in the sixth.

The moments weren’t as momentous as some of his others, nor as dramatic, nor as necessary, but they were iconic, because they were him.

The Phillies led 1-0 in the first when, with two out, Bryson Stott broke for second base. Moreno threw down to second. Ketel Marte cut off the throw and fired home. The throw, sloppy, short, and up the line, led Moreno in Harper’s path. Harper’s left elbow collided with Moreno’s head. Moreno spun, flattened. Harper scurried back to the plate, slapped it, then knelt to see if Moreno was badly hurt.

“Big collision at the plate,” Harper said. “I was just making sure he was OK, the way he went down. ... It was a baseball play.”

It was a football play.

A Philly play. One that will grow in fearsomeness as the years pass. One that, in Philadelphia sports lore, make the 1970 All-Star cataclysm between Pete Rose and Ray Fosse sound like a love tap.

Later, the Phillies led 3-0 when, with one out in the sixth, Harper deposited his 11th career postseason homer in the right-field seats at Chase Field. It was a blast, and it was thrilling, but it wasn’t even the deepest or hardest-hit ball of the inning. Kyle Schwarber led off the inning with a 461-foot, 114-mph shot, and Schwarber’s a star.

We will forget that the steal was the second run of the game, not the first. We will embellish the homer, misremember its timing and its magnitude, and maybe even make Harper’s glance at Phelps more sinister than it really was.

That’s how myths work. They grow.