Too heartbroken to blog: that's how I've been feeling since Friday night. It's taken days just to start thinking about it. Who would've thought it could end this way? Who would've thought that a team like this—once favorites to win the 2011 World Series—would be knocked out in the first round of the playoffs? I'll tell you who: any Philadelphia sports fan. Given Philadelphians' congenital penchant for pessimism in regard to all things (but especially sports), the Phils' steady regression since their magical 2008 championship season (lost the 2009 World Series, 2010 NLCS, and now 2011 NLDS), and the true meaning of "homefield advantage" in division series that go five games (here's a hint: the home teams usually lose), I doubt most of Philly was all that surprised. But that doesn't mean our hearts didn't break.
So what the Ph happened?!! Cliff Lee and Roy Oswalt couldn't get it done. Our bullpen (with the exception of Ryan Madson and maybe Brad Lidge) was revealed for the farce it was. After getting our hopes up that his postseason power had returned, Ryan Howard assured us we were mistaken, then ended the season in, quite literally, a crumbled heap. The squirrels of St. Louis put a curse on our bats. Someone really needs to tell the Phillies that there's no honor in playing hurt when "playing hurt" means grounding out to shortstop four times (cough cough, Placido Polanco).
Most of all, Tony La Russa and his hair solidly out-managed Charlie Manuel and his gut. Charlie played game five like he had plenty of time to spare; the Cardinals played every inning like it was their last. Charlie continued to let aging, aching players make fools of themselves at the plate while John Mayberry Jr. stood in the dugout, looking like he was about to burst into tears. As much as we love Charlie, I have to admit it would've been satisfying to wake up Saturday morning and hear he'd been fired.
The four aces may have carried this team to the best record in franchise history, but they couldn't win us a best-of-five series against the hot-hitting, Phillie-killing Cardinals. (Especially when our own pathetic offense couldn't manage to score any runs.) I can't help but think: what if we could just go back in time and lose the last game of the season to Atlanta? Did we do this to ourselves? Did we break our own hearts? And why are we going to do it again next year?
Maybe the postseason—at least in its current structure—is just a bad gauge of the actual abilities of a baseball team. Our 102 wins should be able to speak for themselves. Not that telling ourselves that is going to make our hearts any less broken.
