Philadelphia Phillies: I Never Promised to Keep This PG

The regular major league baseball season is 162 games. The total accumulation of bouts that go well vs. those that go horribly wrong, leads to either a happy wife or one that'll pack on ten pounds until you apologize.

Wait, I think I mixed metaphors. 

My husband says that's not an excuse for getting something wrong.

Except it actually is.

Last Wednesday, the Phillies hit rock bottom in a 15-1 trounce in Game 3 against the former Bryce Nationals. 

If that happens again, they'll have to build a Nutrisystem stand at Citizens Bank Park. Or schedule some "Bring your dog to the ballpark" games to fill seats.

Or risk becoming Marlins Park.





By the 9th inning of that romp, Gabe Kapler had a decision to make: bring in a position player to close the game or strip naked. 

I'm always surprised he doesn't choose the latter. 

Then outfielder Aaron Altherr, a native of Germany, struck out two batters with the skills innate to his homeland: eating wienerschnitzel.

I'm sorry, that's all I could narrow it down to. 

Or I might be jonesing for an Anthony Weiner sighting. 

Where was I?

Oh, yeah. Digging a hole.

Altherr will hereby be immortalized in my "Position Players as Pitchers I'd Love to... Snuggle" calendar. Or as I like to call it, the PPPILF monthly. He joins team notables Glenn Wilson, Jesmuel Valentin, Roman Quinn, Scott Kingery, Pedro Florimón and Ichiro Suzuki. 

I know Ichiro was never a Phillie but he's a God. He's on all my calendars

Even the ones without numbers.

But the centerfold is still held by 2011's 19th inning PPPILF, Wilson Valdez.

Only because I was there. Till 1:30 in the morning. Me and 46 others.

After the Nationals took 2 of 3, the Phils got a day off before flying to the next series against Miami, a team that was averaging only 2.62 runs per game. 

Until we came to town.

To put it in perspective, it should have looked like we were playing these guys:



Any more cuteness and PETA will add children to their list of critters that matter. 

Speaking of... My cat is in ketosis. Or she has a hairball. Either way, I'm giving her three or four lives to work it out.

A man wants Tinder to have a weight verification setting for women. Because there's just not enough places to stick it on that damn app.

People who swear a lot have been found to be smarter, sharper and more intelligent.

That super redundant headline was definitely not written by someone with a potty mouth.

I raked some leaves from my yard.

My husband tells me I have to say it that way because I didn’t rake all the leaves. Like when I take a bath, he says I'm never completely clean. 

With visions of ballplayers dancing in my head, that’s as unlikely as finding a black hole.

Wait. It's not! They took a picture of one! 

No, it wasn't with the new iPhone.

The algorithm to capture the deep, dank hole was developed by a team led by astrophysicist Katie Bauman

She's so smart, when she speaks, I can't tell if it's English or Klingon.

Katie and I are about to go into dark mode on Twitter. I’m expecting some real matrix shit to go down.

In other news, it was recently discovered that Mike Trout has dog DNA. Or he's Shazam. In either case, he's definitely not going to be a Phillie.




I just discovered that my credit score is like the guy who's sitting in the dunk tank when Jake Arrietta comes to the carnival.

The jersey he wore in the Friday 9-1 rout of the Marlins is going on his wall to commemorate his 100th career win.

Like much of Miami's lineup, my credit score has asked to be reassigned.

Some of the best bullpen pitching of the season came in extra innings win over the Marlins on Sunday to end the series. By the time the curtain closed on the 13th, the last 9 recorded outs were K's.

Who'd have guessed the bullpen needed nine innings to warm up.

Or nine games.

Monday was Jackie Robinson Day. Few people have crammed as much life into 53 years as number 42. I salute you, dude. 

On May 8th, the former FOX series, Lucifer, is back for season 4. It was designated for assignment to Netflix.

After watching this teaser, I totally get why Eve couldn't resist that apple. And because of Tom Ellis, everyone but the Catholic Church has forgiven her. 

There’s a movement to improve the salaries and conditions of minor league baseball players

How about improve the names of the teams? Miami's AAA affiliate is the New Orleans Baby Cakes, Wichita chose the Wingnuts and Savanna the Bananas. Add to the emasculation the Chihuahuas, Mudhens, Rubber Ducks, Biscuits, IronPigs, Yard Goats, Muck Dogs, Tin Caps, Cornbelters, Beach Bums and the Isotopes. 

Only Katie Bauman knows what that even means.

I have some suggestions that will surely capture the soul of the fanbase. How about the Gigolos, Centerfolds, Playboys, Underwear Models, Mermen, Boy Bands, Chest Hairs, Dwayne's Johnson, Everything Phallic, Big Pieces of Meat or if you read my last blog, Manscaped. Or in honor of this post, Not PG. 

I'd throw in Chippendales but that might be trademarked. And Dick-in-Dale's would get stuck in litigation somewhere between Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey. 

My favorite prospective minor league team name is still the Lorena Bobbitts. She's got more balls than anyone. 

Tucked in her freezer. 

Plus, the options for team mascot are so Jordan Peele. 

You can't script that Amazon Prime would release a Lorena Bobbitt documentary produced by Jordan Peele about the time you were wondering if she's still relevant.

That's just comedy karma. 

Or fodder until Anthony Weiner misbehaves. 

Vegas has odds on him.

And a dashcam.

If the MLB gets 27 million retweets on this post, they’ll change the image on their logo to Mike Trout.
If I got 27 million retweets, I'd do more than redesign a graphic. Hell, Katie Bauman and I would make a time machine. 

I can't speak for her, but I'd return as Mike Trout. 

Or on him.

Katie says when you put your Twitter feed in night mode in the middle of the afternoon, an astrophysicist gets a cosmic shock.

Or I just made that up. At this point what does it matter.

This is just the type of cuteness that leads to another obscure rescue organization:
I heard a rumor that the Delaware Valley is being rebranded Harper Valley. Since he moved to Philadelphia, I've looked at Mormons in a whole different light—a bright one that illuminates his ESPN body issue.



He's such a physical phenomenon, I heard his presence has single-handedly healed the damage caused by Tara Westover's memoir, Educated.

Whoa! I know what you're thinking. 

Cindy can read?!

With one hand tied behind my back.

In case you didn't know, a special announcement by Phillies' management is planned today at 2 pm. Those in attendance will receive a commemorative rally towel. 

Guess that crushes my hope for a Bryce Harper thong giveaway. With these chilly nights, I'm desperate for something classy to wear on my head. 

See you at the ballpark.

⧫⧫⧫

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