Hey Mickey!

Up first to be honored in Scoring Position's Hall of Fame for Good Phillies Dudes is the dandiest little glove man to ever play the game. The scrappy midfielder with the heart of gold and the glove that never got the Midas touch. The little guy that led the 1993 Phillies World Series lineup with a regular season batting average of a whopping .247. THE GREAT MORANDINI!

Let's observe a moment of silence for Mickey Morandini. Feel free to meditate on the following:

That sweet unassisted triple play he turned against the Pittsburgh Pirates in '92. With Andy Van Slyke on second and a slimmer Barry Bonds on first, Mickey caught Jeff King's line drive, stepped on second, and then tagged out Bonds. Relive the glory of Mickey becoming the first second baseman in NL history to nail a defensive hat trick here. Of course the Phillies went on to lose in extra innings, but all's not fair in love and baseball. Cue Roxette's "It Must Have Been Love". But was it over then?

Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no!

Mickey Morandini earned the nickname "Dandy Little Glove Man" for a reason. Mickey Hands finished in the top two for his position in fielding percentage five times in his career and was even voted to the All-Star team in 1995. Despite this fact, Mickey never won a Gold Glove over other stand-up ballplayers like Jose Lind. Poor Mickey. Hey. Hey. Poor Mickey. Still, what a dude!

So the next time you slide on your mitt for your neighborhood's softball team, think about Mickey the Great Morandini. Think about unrequited love and your own shortcomings, and then think about Mickey turning a double play dressed as a member of All-4-One. Believe you me, Scoring Position's not the only one to want Mickey on their team. Check out this great audio interview on Jimmy Scott's High and Tight in which Mickey says, "At heart, I'm a Philly guy," while smooth saxophones play over crashing waves.

This might be the most love Morandini's gotten since '98. And he runs a stationary store with his wife, Peg!

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.

What The Ph?!!

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.