Philitically Incorrect

My friend, Dave, got this message on his Fitbit: "I hope that was 10,000 steps. If not, you're about to go blind." I wonder if George Jetson got jerked around like that by Rosie. Sometimes a joke is about the right choice of words. That means s ome of you got that and some of you will be dumbfounded until Tuesday. That's okay. Stream a few episodes of The Bachelor  and your brain will again cease to function. So, I broke my toe. This makes the fact that Donald Trump is still President that much more annoying.  And the fact that the Brewers left Milwaukee to show the Phils what a top-tier offense looks like, is as disappointing as a Philly cheesesteak made with real cheese. That shit should come from cows in a can. Like real food. By the way, the Phillies are the worst team leading a division. The NL East also boasts the worst team in baseball. You can count the Marlins' wins on two hands and this includes a whopping 1 of their last 10.  They've become ...

Now that Bryce Harper swiped right on the Phillies, the acquisition has created more buzz than the electric line that came down in another freaking area snowstorm.  By this time in Philadelphia, two things are evident: Punxsutawney Phil is full of crap and we need a distraction. That's where I come in. Since Harper has monopolized the headlines for weeks, it's time to make this all about me.  This whole ordeal had the makings of a Harlequin romance—tease you for 200 pages but never get you off. Until John Middleton tapped into his inner E.L. James.  I haven’t felt this level of enthusiasm since Hunter Pence crossed the Schuylkill with chicken legs . His signing excited me so, it was the beginning of the end of my contribution to Bleacher Report . Hey,  I did what I did because love came to town . Now I’m hoping Harp’s contract will be the start of something beautiful. I need new fodder and Broad Street is horny for another parade. Bryce Harper Ign...

by Cindy Falteich Well, the inevitable happened. On August 2nd, 2011, I was censored off the blog site  The Bleacher Report . They said my posts were over the limit on their content criteria and I had failed the limbo with my language. Much like the Game Commission, they were hunting for violators and I’d been tagged. (The blog that started the ending is  here .)  I said,  “ I shouldn't be held responsible. I only did what I did because love came to town." It didn't matter. Obviously relaying my honest intentions regarding the bodies of major league players is immoral, especially when the site has highly intelligent life forms posting articles like ‘Sexy American Wags’ or ‘40 Hottest MLB Wags’ or ‘One Night Stand Wags’ (WAG = Wives and Girlfriends). I mean there’s nothing more offensive than reading the secret thoughts of a middle-aged MILF when guys are secretly stroking in the john with their ‘Wag of the Week.’ Fortunately for you, I’...

As the title says, this is my second annual bucket list— Phillies   style. I hate the redundancy of writing a totally self-explanatory title and then reaffirming the topic in my first sentence but with those darn search engines constantly looking for articles with relevance, I’m already at a disadvantage. When it comes to blogging about baseball, I’m the master at having nothing relevant to say. And I’ve proved that for two whole paragraphs. First, I should let you know that unlike most bucket lists, mine isn’t composed of death-defying acts of irrationality like white water rafting. Hell, if I wanted to be tossed about by a current I’d call my husband in on the waterbed. Besides, I don’t need to do something daring—I got married. I don’t need another adventure to end with, “What the hell was I thinking?” Now, on my first bucket list, I gave considerable thought to the organization—I thought about bullets or numbers or an alphabetical arrangement. I even tried little ...

After the Phillies failed in their League Championship quest, I planned a hard luck blog in my head. While words festered in there like a zit from a chocolate Ding Dong, I asked my dad to share a story I’d once heard him tell. But before he did, he wanted me to make one promise: “Title your blog: My dad says, ‘Don't pick on the heavy guys.’” I had to commit because every writer loves a theme and every story needs a hero, and my old man was the key to both. So after I exchanged a title for a gift, he fed me one: “Bradley was his name. Bradley Johnson. He was our second baseman. Good little leaguer. Always was the best dressed eleven-year-old I ever coached. Hard-nosed and bright—extremely so. We were playing Guttenberg and their pitcher was good-sized for twelve and threw hard. Smoke came behind the ball. After three innings of him it seemed we had done nothing but hit foul balls and cower. Now I had kids who were not usually afraid because our pitchers threw hard to them ...

With the Phillies’ postseason sweep of the Reds, I thought it was time to pay homage. I’ll start: When it comes to Phillies pitching, there’s definitely something in the H20. Mike Sweeney is so generous with the hugs, I applied for a job as bat-boy. The Phils successfully steal so many bases, they gave away EPTs at the last game. Wilson Valdez is such a great backup, I’m tempted to call him when my husband’s out of town. A close examination of Chase Utley proves he definitely deserves the nickname "Chase Buttley." And on a scale of 1 to 10, Jayson Werth should just take his pants off. Speaking of compliments, here’s some comments from the wonderful people who have endured my blogs and can write in complete sentences: “Lots of mental pictures there, some I may not be able to shake.” “You are by far one of the most self-deprecating columnists that I've ever had the pleasure of reading.” Another said, “I haven't seen so much sex intertwined with baseb...