Philitically Incorrect

Roy Halladay’s figure might be far from perfect but Saturday he threw a 10. I watched Roy’s own personal Man Show fittingly on a girl's night out. From a seat at Barnaby’s we celebrated, and were soon joined by a group of guys in traditional Scottish attire. “Why kilts?” I asked. “Just exploring our ethnic tradition,” the scholar said. “Wanna peek?” “No thanks,” I said. “I have one of those at home.” I wasn’t talking about the skirt. And I don’t have to pull up Roy’s to tell you what’s underneath. Saturday’s performance tells the tale. Pardon me, I have to change my panties. Then Sunday I picked up the paper and read the front page headline: “Perfect.” What I didn’t know was the article that followed was written by immortal columnist Bill Lyon. If you don’t know Bill, I’ll explain. His Excellency resides in a levitated state above a swirl of melodic words and catchy phrases in a land far, far, away. And every now and then he descends through a scripted mist to transmit prose as onl

Finally… time for a blog about something other than the Phillies’ struggles. It's like a long awaited warm summer breeze. Okay, maybe it's not that refreshing, but it's better than hearing, "Mom, the cat puked again..." Trust me on this. There’s nothing like a 30 inning losing streak to make you feel a little gratitude. But we had to wait yet another rain delay and four innings before Raul Ibanez hit a blazing line drive that beat speed demon Cameron Maybin to deep center to drive home a flying Ryan Howard. Cheers sounded the world over and all the Phils had done was score a run. Then they tied it at two in the fifth and pulled ahead by one in the seventh. But like Charlie Manuel says, “We play 27 outs,” and there were six more that had to be snagged before the game was officially a long-awaited win. Since Chad Durbinator one-two-three’d ‘em in the seventh, Charlie took a risk on schizophrenic Danys Baez. With Danys we just never know who’s gonna show.

Wow. It’s not going well. I don’t need to recap how poorly the Phillies have been performing. It’s like the pharmacy is plumb out of Viagra. The stats say it all and I’m sure by now there’s not much left to say that hasn’t already been said. Except this: Aunt Dorothy died. Yup. She lived a life void of the Phillies, the Flyers, or even a genuine Philly cheese steak. The last month of her life she knew nothing of a third straight NLCS wish, a Stanley Cup quest, or the end of Jayson Werth’s sultry bearded body. And she was fine. We will be too. But can you believe it? Jayson shaved! I knew he went hairless hours before he unveiled his baby-soft cheeks on TV because I saw Todd Zolecki’s post on Twitter. I’m so cutting edge. And as suspected, Jayson got his energy from his hair. He struck out three times and hit into one of the double plays that ended three consecutive innings. That’s one way to shorten the torture that seemed unstoppable at Citi Field. Thank God it wasn’t a

“You can do a lot with two inches.” That’s what my son said while pondering his binder preferences at Staples. Maybe you can. You can also do a lot with two pitches. Cole Hamels tossed his curve into his limited repertoire but it was his fastball and change-up that ruled the game. As a result, Ricky Botallico said Cole Hamels has “turned the corner.” Are you kidding me? That’s like saying my child is safe because he hides a cheap Swiss Army knife under his pillow to fight off perspective burglars. I said, “What you gonna do… file his nails to death?” No doubt Cole had a hot night against a tough interleague rival. He threw 116 pitches—76 for strikes, sent eight batters back to the bench bitching, walked one, and allowed one earned run on three hits. But the question remains: has he turned the corner? Let’s just say he put on the blinker. Except for excessive home runs and walks allowed this year, it looks like he’s recovered from his 2009 hangover. But Cole is more comfortable pitching

My husband had to work on Mother’s Day, so when he rushed in the door about three o'clock, he was breathless. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he panted. “How’s your day going?” “Great,” I said. Then I rattled off my conquests. “I cleaned the house, caught up on laundry, made your favorite dinner, and started taping the Phillies game.” He paid me his highest compliment. “Take your pants off.” Chad Durbin, Jose Contreras, and Brad Lidge—take your pants off. After Cole Hamels went cold in the fifth, Charlie Manuel chomped on his gum through three bases loaded situations, two walks, four hits, and three runs. And this time Cole can’t blame his extended inning on a fielding error. It was unfortunate—Phillie starters had a combined 1.22 ERA in May coming into this game. To stop the bleeding, Charlie could have called in Nelson Figueroa—the starter/long reliever/reliever they acquired just for this occasion. But instead he chose Chad Durbin. My husband looked like he smelled shit. “Dist

We packed in the car to attend our first game of the season. After fighting the rowdy crowd, we took our seats just as the game started. That’s when the calls from the crowd brought to mind a memory. My husband summed it up when he said, “Hey, I forgot. We’re supposed to yell stupid shit at the other team.” Then he shoved napkins in my crotch. He claimed he didn’t want them to blow away but his smirk indicated he’d simply took advantage of a good excuse. This was going to be a great day. Once we were cozy, anticipating a hot day and a sizzling team, I decided to take some notes: The first inning was busy. Jayson Werth hit a three-run homer in retaliation for his 26 game on-base streak that was broken in game three. Hold on… My husband says it’s not a streak—it’s a stretch. Well, honey, stretch doesn’t have the same connotation as streak. I’ll do anything to increase the imagery of seeing him naked. I’m the pervert who tried to peel away his clothing with Photoshop at least 26