Showing posts from July, 2010

Philadelphia Phillies: The Placido Polanco Effect

So, I’m watching TV waiting for these people to get eaten by sharks when a thought crosses my mind: They can’t get eaten—they’re telling the story.

But wait. I can only see them from the neck up. Perhaps someone lost a limb.

There is hope.

There is hope for a pennant too.

That same “Throw them to the sharks” mentally is what Phillies fans are notorious for, so will they sigh with content at two straight four-game sweeps at home or will they expect the team to go in for the kill?

I’m not suggesting the Phillies will have to claw and scrape their way to the top of the division but it sure is nice to attain something with the effort the team has extended lately.

Take Ryan Howard for instance. He’s my vote for hardest working first baseman in America. It’s easy to observe his greatness, especially when he’s playing opposite Jason Giambi. Ryan was sliding and diving and working so hard he looked like he was dipped in chocolate sprinkles.

Someone should lick him off.

I’m sorry, I meant clea…

NL East Race: The Devil Wears Prado

Things have certainly not been going well. It might be the Year of the Pitcher somewhere, but not in Philadelphia.

I’m sorry. Perhaps that wasn’t supportive. Let’s petition to focus only the positives.

I’ll start: Jimmy Rollins is the current active leader in consecutive steals, Placido Polanco is back from the DL with his team-leading batting average, and Ryan Howard leads the league in RBI.

Jayson Werth, however, has developed an unexplained aversion for touching his bat to the ball.

Someone should tell him it won’t make you blind.

Here’s another petition: stop the Tweet-volume graphs on the game recaps. There’s nothing more irrelevant to the game. It’s no secret that the volume of twits tweeting about the Phils is directly proportional to stuff happening during the game.

It’s just as circumstantial as the level of disgust rising in my house when my husband uses the john.

It’s not rocket science.

Supposedly things are so bad people are petitioning to get Pat Burrell back.

Fat chance…

My Cliff Lee Quandary: All My Ex's Live in Texas

I drive a Honda CRV.

It might be the first of its kind; it could be the prototype. There is nothing modern about it. The only gauge I have measures gas; mileage stacks up via flipping digits, and mechanical failures are indicated when the appropriate circle lights up red.

Some people call them idiot lights. That’s because when they glow, idiots wait a few weeks to see if they’ll go out—all by themselves.

I think Ruben Amaro Jr. has a few on. The problem is there’s one that won’t go out all by itself.

Admittedly he’s concerned about pitching. And admittedly he has what it takes to get what he wants. That can only mean two things: Jayson Werth should keep the beard to accent his sex appeal for a trade and the love affair with Cliff Lee continues to be the quintessential story.

Where do I begin
To tell the story of how great a team can be
A great love story ‘bout the man they call Cliff Lee
Another year with a World Series victory
Oh, Ruben please.

The way I understand it, Cliffy’s “Dear John…