World Series Game Two: Great Blogs of Fire
So, we tasted the agony of defeat. Actually, it’s quite good on toast. You could say I’m making light of the fact that the PA team focused on a World Series repeat came up short. You’re right. And you could say the Game Two loss to the Bombers was like a kick in the balls. But you’re wrong. My husband took it in the groin by an eight inch tree truck. And trust me, Thursday’s loss feels nothing like it. His crotch looks like a cast iron kettle, and he still talks like Peter Pan, but the flip side is, he could have been dead. Let’s face it, the Phillies simply lost—but they didn’t die. But like my husband, people are getting a lot of mileage from the fact that they’re still alive but took a big hit. In honor of them both, I’ll try to keep my innuendos to a minimum. Really. First things first. In yet another postseason game, the umpires blew some calls. That’s to be expected. There were only what—16 of them on the field, including the one with perfect vision? Besides umping can’t be hard....