Philitically Incorrect

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. Quick count of crowd at #Marlins - #Phils : 1,590. It's a good day to get a foul ball. — Steve Wine (@Steve_Wine) May 31, 2017 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 ...

I woke up with a stiff neck. The problem is that it lasted more than four hours. For a second, I thought my husband slipped me some Viagra. Someone definitely slipped the Phillies something. They’ve taken the lead in the wild-card race and won twenty or so of their last bunch of games. That was helpful information, wasn’t it? I would’ve looked up the facts but that interferes with worthwhile stuff like plucking chest hairs in my magnifying mirror so I can finally look at my breasts and see 36 double dees. Or watching my dog sniff the cat’s butt for the zillionth time to ensure it’s the same pet he’s lived with for six years. I named my dog Brett Farve—he’s never sure. But I’m sure of one thing: the Phils looked great when we saw them in game one of the series against San Francisco. A guy with a huge cranium and his totally bald friend who was wearing sunglasses on the back of his head took their seats between the plate and me. I felt like I was staring at Vin Diesel. Th...