Let the Grapefruit games begin!

Wondering what those Phillies have been up to? This morning I paid a visit to some old friends that I hadn't seen in a while, the parts of the internet that still care about the well-being of this city's baseball team - you know, because they're paid to. Between headlines that were all like "Chase is totally fine! Don't even worry about it!" was one that read "Amaro's nephew helps University of Tampa beat Phillies". That's right. A team of fresh-faced college boys led by a young Amaro from Bensalem beat the 2015 Phillies. 

My thoughts raced as I clicked from sad news story to sad news story. How is the Amaro bloodline responsible for exhibition losses that even today's Phillies, predicted to be the worst in baseball, are supposed to win? Hold up, Baseball Prospectus. Even worse than the stinkin' Astros? I read that some dude that calls himself Mattress Mack lost 4-million furniture store bucks in a bet last year when the Astros won a rare "more than 63 games".

Is this what we've become? I bet if J-Roll was still here with his crystal ball and cool ego, he'd be all like, "We'll win 80 games. Well, maybe 75." Wait, what's that, ESPN? After spending years, antagonizing New York Mets fans with his swagger, Jimmy was recently caught saying that a future with the Muts would be "pretty bright". Well, he always did look good in shades.

Back to the Phillies. Things start in the Grapefruit League today against the Yankees. In reality, spring training doesn't matter too much. The Phillies are probably delaying what baseball statisticians and fans alike see as the inevitable. I'm just happy that baseball is being played, and as people say, anything can happen. A chain-smoking Tony Danza once brought the Anaheim Angels a pennant title, and the University of Tampa beat a major-league ball club just two days ago.

The future of the Phillies may not be as bright as J-Roll's, but I'm doing my best to get through my baseball seasonal affective disorder through some good old-fashioned writing about my feelings. I implore you all to do the same to get through this winter of bleak predictions. Until then, I apologize for not having posted since Cliff Lee's arm thawed out last year and leave you with an Instagram photo I took at the ballpark this summer, appropriately hashtagged #philliesneorealism:

Now, let's root, root, root for the Phillies and that Mattress Mack makes a bet against our future sometime soon. 

Death to Winter! Long Live Baseball!

What a long, strange break it's been. Polar vortex after polar vortex after polar vortex. Even when you looked to baseball for refuge from your winter malaise, the Phillies were plagued by infectious diseases and bad vibes. Luckily, Freddy Galvis is recovering from that MRSA infection and the Phillies haven't traded the untradable J-Roll just yet. But seriously, folks, it's been terrible. Some "I Love the Phillies" page on Facebook has been trying to sell me a "This Team Makes Me Drink" tee for weeks because, "it's easier to get through some innings with a cold beverage or 2... or 12!"

Let's take a step back from the past few months, ignore that Cliff Lee couldn't fire a hot dog gun last week, and crank up the Ted Nugent. Seriously, do it. It helps.

What's that? The clouds have parted. The sun is shining. The Phanatic's pelvic thrusting on top of the Rangers' dugout. Clifton Phifer Lee is running in slow motion toward the mound. Franzke and LA are providing background to your daily life again.

Baseball's back. There's even a lineup to prove it.

That Old Time Philadelphia Feeling

While the debate rages on as to whether today is "the most depressing day of the year", it certainly feels like it. I'm probably as bummed and irritable as those old dudes that pregamed Saturday's Eagles loss in a hot tub with a bottle of Wild Turkey - you know, the season finale that made Nick Foles and an entire city yelp, "I'm hurting inside right now in my heart".

That Philadelphia feeling. It's so familiar.

If I'm lucky, I won't have to drain a hot tub full of tears and broken dreams later tonight. Hell, on the other hand, is set to freeze over as tomorrow's low temperatures may break some records. This is Philadelphia though, so why not root, root, root for the cold and bank on the opposite happening?

Bill Veeck once said that, "There are only two seasons - winter and baseball." Maybe that's a good thing in light of 2013 for the Phillies. Everyone needs time to recover and get back on track, next season's team of grumpy old men included. As for me, I've been looking to baseball past and trying not to take things too seriously in the new year.

Enter Curt Schilling of the 1989 Orioles/the Christmas gift that keeps on giving:

Let's look at the line: 9.82 ERA, 15 IP, 16 ER, 10 BB, 4 K, 1 CS (Curt Stache)

Things didn't turn out so bad for Schill. He eventually traded in the stache for a mullet and a place in Philadelphia's hearts. He led the Phillies to upset the Braves in the '93 NLCS, earned himself Most Valuable Player honors, and prevented heartbreak for one more day by tossing a five-hit shutout in Game 5 of the World Series against Toronto. He even won three World Series on some other teams as an old man years later.

A lot of us may be hurting inside right now in our hearts because we'll be forced to contemplate the future of the Phillies soon. Perhaps the best way to pregame the 2014 season is drunk in a hot tub. I'm sure that's how the '93 Phillies would do it. Plus, it's not actually sad until the game's over.

Dog Days of Baseball

Typical Muts fan

The Phillies hosted their first ever Bark in the Park last night. While I'm not opposed to combining great things like baseball and pooches, the fact that the 66-78 Phillies, 15.5 games back in the Wild Card, now host the promotional bring your dog to the ballpark event seems suggestive of something greater - you know, that we're officially a bad team that fewer fans want to watch implode. How long until they're giving out tickets on packets of hot dogs?

You could have come to the groundbreaking realization that the 2013 Phillies are terrible by tuning in to the 8-2 loss to the Padres, most games played in the past two years, or angry WIP callers, but some of us prefer to live in a cloud of hope. I'm just thankful that there are K-9 specific areas at CBP.  Really terrible teams like the Marlins let 'em roam around the entire place, which I imagine is fun to watch given the dancing marlins on that neon fountain in the outfield. High hopes! Phillies fans should also find solace in things not being as bad as the minors. Camden Riversharks games are often reduced to people chanting "Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!" at opposing batters since strikeouts equal free slices at select locations of some pizza shop in Jersey. Be happy that we're not there yet. High hopes!

Even with the new awesome opportunity to be covered in dogs at Phillies games this year, the boys in red pinstripes have been Ruf to watch (to make the same joke that Gregg Murphy has been waiting his entire life to make). Still, bigger questions for the future remain. Where do the Phillies go from here? Is it nowhere but up? Are there more promotional events in our future? Is this the beginning or end of the dog days of Phillies baseball?

Looking up "dog days", the phrase dates back to the ancient Romans and according to some old book, was believed to be an evil time in which "the Sea boiled, the Wine turned sour, Dogs grew mad, and all other creatures became languid; causing to man, among other diseases, burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies."

I hear that.

The Church of Baseball

Like any good lapsed Catholic that now practices in the Church of baseball, the topic of morality in professional sports has been on my brain since they didn't let those beefcakes party at Cooperstown last month.

Juiced up monsters blasting homers aren't what Abner Doubleday intended when he might have been sitting in a cow pasture inventing baseball in 1839. Hoop-and-stick can only be so fun. Running down baseballs after every over-muscled man hits 'em into no man's land would have been less fun.

Every era is embedded in a specific cultural time that plays by and makes its own rules. Spitballs were legal until "the owners greedily sold out to home runs." That's according to Ty Cobb, anyway - you know, that guy with the highest career batting average of all time that should be in the Hall of Fame for violent, racist sociopaths. Instead, he lives on in Cooperstown alongside some of the greatest assholes to pick up a bat. But, man, could they hit!

Is integrity to the game more important than integrity itself? Mind you, that's a game that banned black athletes from playing until 1947. (Here's to you, Mr. Robinson. Happy Belated!) Still, potentially changing the game via gambling or betting seems to rank highest among baseball's mortal sins. Throwing illegal pitches fall into the venial because while a tossing a gooball's still a no-no, it doesn't kill the buzz of a good home run derby or Roger Clemens's comeback (No, I'm not talking the Sugar Land Skeeters). Doesn't it make you wonder how the Ten Commandments of baseball would read?


That brings me to Chooch whose penance is the first 25 games of the season after testing positive for Adderall. I know! Not our Chooch! I don't want to think about it either. I want to think about Game 3 of the 2008 World Series and Roy Halladay falling asleep next to his Chooch pillow in the off-season and Chooch catching R.A. Dickey in a mitt half his size in last year's All-Star game. Let's tune out the fact that he tested positive for an amphetamine the same year that he led the MLB in hitting. Is the only redeeming thing about the 2012 Phillies a sham?

Relax. Put on a Phil Collins record and reread that SI article "Brotherly Glove". It'll make you feel better.

While Adderall's no Andro and Chooch's no juicer, the incident raises a number of interesting questions for baseball's future. What's worse, bulking up or improving focus, if the improvement in performance is the result of a drug? Will cognitive stimulants be the next generation of drugs that keep players out of the Hall of Fame? Is performance enhancement a part of modern day baseball culture that society just needs to accept? The fact that close to 10% of MLB players have ADHD diagnoses must be hinting at something. They can't all be chasing their shadows in the outfield.

Still, the bigger question remains. Why do crimes against sports seem like they're worse than crimes against society?

My brain hurts. Maybe I'm still hungover from eating a stadium made out of deli meats and Cheetos on Super Bowl Sunday. I've heard that Ray Lewis may have murdered some people, but the Ravens won the Super Bowl, so I guess we should let him pass. I mean, tackle. But what do I know? I'm a woman! We're underrepresented when it comes to Hall of Fame votes, and until Betty Spaghetti has a place in the Hall, I'm boycotting!

This February Nadine and I will be paying homage to good dudes from the Phillies past that never made it to Cooperstown. Wait, what's that? The city already has its own Hall of Fame and they even voted in Mike Piazza? Eh, fuck it. We're doing it anyway. Consistent with the standards put forth by the Baseball Hall of Fame, voting will be based on going with one's gut.

Leave all real talk about baseball's past, present, and future as well as which Phillies deserve a Billy Ray Valentine's Day card this February in the comments.

The Old Main Drag

What do you call it when your heart gets broken three times in one night? In this town, usually May or October.

Philadelphia sports radio sounds like a crisis hotline right now with hints of Delilah After Dark. It's heartbroken caller after caller trying to piece together what went wrong. If only WIP could play Mr. Mister's "Broken Wings" for Gerry from Mount Laurel who's still not over Bryz scoring on himself or for poor Joe Blanton. :(=

Who's on your heart today? The Flyers? The Phillies? The 10 points in a quarter-9-8-76ers?

I still can't believe how ugly and well staggered the upsets were. There was no way out of not getting kicked repeatedly mob-style after the Flyers came up short. Change the channel. The Phillies are up 4-1 against the Mets and blow the lead after throwing the ball around the entire field like a bunch of Little Leaguers. Change the channel. The Sixers don't seal the deal in a game that's best summed up by some dude over at the 700 level as one in which "it seems like it's actually both teams that are losing but your team's losing the most."

While the Flyers have been asleep for weeks and hopes weren't high for the Sixers to begin with, the Phillies have been taking a toll on my heart since the beginning of April. Outside of their general lack of consistent offense and defense, the Phillies even managed to taint some of this season's best moments. They couldn't come through for Cliff Lee after he tossed ten shutout innings or for Chooch after he heard Doc calling in the air tonight and responded with seven RBIs.

I know I'm not the only one sad enough to dial Delilah on account of bad baseball. Nadine's been too bummed to blog since Ryan Howard fell over. Still, the same thoughts are relevant now: Did we do this to ourselves? Did we break our own hearts? And why are we going to do it again next year?

I don't know, but listening to songs about love, especially love lost, helps.

Everybody plays the fool sometimes, and more often than not in Philadelphia. I guess it just comes with the territory.

Lights Out Lidge

Wednesday, October 29th, 2008. Was it all a dream? Now that Brad Lidge has officially signed a one-year deal with the Washington Nationals, that final knees-to-the-ground, hands-to-the-sky World Series win against the Rays seems like a distant memory.

In his four seasons with the Phillies, Lidge racked up 100 saves, mostly thanks to that perfect 48-for-48 2008. While Lidge is "disappointed" that the Phillies are not keeping him around for another season, it's almost fitting that out of all of Game 5's strange heroes, he's the last to fade from the sandlot, Citizen's Bank Park, after giving Eric Hinske the slider.

Lidge's fate with Jayson Werth on the Phillies South doesn't seem so bad when you look at who else was partially responsible for that Game 5 win. When the game resumed that Wednesday, tied in the bottom of the sixth, Geoff Jenkins set the tone for paradin' with a lead off double, his only hit of the post-season, and was later scored by Werth. The Rays then quickly retied the game in the top of the seventh only to have Pat Burrell lead off the bottom of the seventh with another double. Eric Bruntlett, pinch-running for Pat the Bat, was then scored on a game-winning single by Pedro Feliz.

Where are they now? Pat Burrell went on to play the role of "The Machine" for Brian Wilson. Eric Bruntlett, whose batting average was often announced on a local radio show whenever it was, give or take 10 minutes, around 2:15 P.M. BST (Bruntlett Standard Time), is now kickin' it as a stay-at-home dad. And Pedro Feliz spent last summer across the bridge playing ball for the Camden Riversharks, a team not affiliated with the MLB, but affiliated with a mascot known as Mr. Trash.

As for Lidge, he's earned himself a certain level of respect/free-drinks-until-you-die in Philadelphia because of 2008 - he and the anxiety that so easily forced another round of drinks on an entire city whenever he put runners on base in the ninth only to strike out the last batter with his slider. Even in Game 5, he quickly gave up a single and a stolen base only to "lights out" Hinske. It makes you wonder if Philly losing Lidge will offset the revenue that's expected to be generated from the proposed plan of keeping bars open one hour later to fund the city's schools. No one gave the city agita like Brad Lidge. He kept us nervous, and it made everything more exciting. On that note, I'd like to end with something I jotted down in an old notebook on "October 16, 2009":

I had my first “Lights Out” Lidge shot last night. A glass of Jim Beam slid down the bar and unexpectedly slowed to a stop in front of me. The guy to my right, covered in Phillies red from head to toe, looked deep into my eyes and shouted, “Lights Out Lidge! C’mon, lady!” We hit our glasses on the bar, cheersed, and Brad Lidge successfully closed out Game 1 of the NLCS against the Dodgers.

Brad Lidge, I will think of you every time that nervous knot forms in the pit of my stomach, the one that's only quieted by one more beer or an end of the night shot with some random stranger who works at the airport.

Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.

I Leave My Heart To Ben Francisco

It's bound to go by the end of this series if you keep this up, Fightins. Thank you, Ben, for coming through with RISP and for not being Ross Gload in the top of the seventh. Thank you, Cole, for bringing your game face. Thank you, Mad Dog, for finally getting Ryan Theriot to ground out to end the ninth. I'm halfway to a heart condition and it's only round one. This tune probably best describes the strange trip the Phillies took me on in the last three innings of their nail biting 3-2 victory over the Cards:

What a game! What a birthday present for Tony LaRussa. Let's just hope that it won't be Charlie's turn to cry anytime soon. Some dude in a bar probably said it best when he said, "October? That's when the whole city will start inhaling and exhaling together."

It's time to exhale. Have a beer. Put on some Hall and Oates. Whatever works. We've got an important game to win tomorrow.

Is That All There Is?

What a long, uncomfortable trip September's been. The Astros. The Cardinals. The Nationals. Outside of clinching the NL East, sealing the deal with Raul's nice-a grand salami, it's been a rough couple of weeks. The Phils dropped their sixth straight and final home game of the season last night to the Nats. They were only able to put a couple of Choochers on the board as the Natty bros broke out the brooms. I know that the Phillies are the best and all, but to quote Charlie Manual quoting Ric Flair, "to be the best you gotta beat the best," which has the built in assumption that you've already beaten the worst. To win against either, you need things like offense, hitting the ball with runners on base, as well as defense, which is the opposite of letting balls roll through your legs, overthrowing third base when's it's a close game, and colliding with fellow teammates and Polish sausages. The Phils even made LA channel his inner Harry Doyle this week as he muttered, "Is this season ever going to end?" on air during Tuesday's day game against the Nationals.


I know, I know. Don't freak out. Charlie hasn't jumped off the Walt Whitman just yet. These games don't mean anything. Better now than later. If we had our regular lineup in, everything would be different. Wait, what? It's not just Bowker and Kratz? The A-Team's not really doing much? Well, who cares? They'll get it back. Wait until the postseason. Yeah, we'll get 'em then. It's only gonna get funner. It has to get funner. I can't wait to go paradin'.

Well, I'm still freaking out. It's just too close to the postseason not to think about what happened to the Phillies last year. I think about it every time runners are on the corners and nothing happens, every time there are two hits on the board, and every time that third strike is called. It's just all too familiar. If we lose to the Muts tonight, I don't even know what!

I just hope we'll be hungry enough to go eat again once this terrible hangover's over. Hey, the Indians won at the end of Major League. They didn't start off their season as the best team in the baseball, but you have to admit that there are a lot of striking similarities to the Phillies of the past two weeks. That is, if you have been listening or watching at all.

Feel free to get it all out in the comments.

The Phillies are Givin' Me Agita!

I don't know about the rest of you jabronis, but the Phillies have been givin' me agita! Apologies for the Italian-American slang, but I'm friggin' angry! (Fun fact: I actually grew up in the same place as the guy who made "agita" a thing. Here he is singing about it in the trailer for Woody Allen's Broadway Danny Rose.) After mercying some team called "Battitude Adjustment" last night, I rushed home from my softball game in Fairmount expecting to turn on the radio and hear my boys doing the same. Instead, the Padres had scored, the Phillies had not, and Polanco had two of the Phillies three hits. One beer later, the Phillies lost 4-0 with only three hits on the board.

I'm trying really hard right now not to make a joke about how the Phillies need a "battitude adjustment", but maybe that's exactly what they need. As good as our record is- 15-7, friggin' best in baseball, the "Fightins" haven't scored more than four runs in the last 14 games. Stone throwers like to blame Raul "Werewolves of London" Ibanez for not putting any English on it, but let's be honest. It's pretty much everyone. Even that lovable Chooch! I say bring back the "woo hoo" guy. We need somebody to hit, and everybody hitting? That would be awesome.

Or maybe Uncle Cholly should give John Mayberry Jr. another start in right field (see cleverly chosen photo) or at least some more at-bats. Pete Orr too! Both have batting averages higher than the starting lineup outside of Polanco. But, hey, what do I know? The only time I spend on a field is on Monday nights playing teams like "Battitude Adjustment" and some other team of old dudes that ate pizza on the sidelines and also fell victim to the mercy rule. That might not be much, but we're in first place too, and that's a first place based on bats. Go Flyers!