Philitically Incorrect

The Phils were desperate for one of two things before they left San Francisco: a win or a day off. They got both—just in time to settle down for a nine inning nap. After last night’s 9-1 slaughter by the Mets, Charlie took the podium. Usually he recites the team stats, but last night he shifted his hat with a nervous smile and said, “Hey, does anyone have the phone number for Pedro Martinez?” Actually he didn’t say that, but I dreamed of him mumbling it and ending with a slight stutter on P-P-P-Pedro as if he was selling a Chia Pet. Hey that’s an idea—a Jayson Werth Chia Pet giveaway. It would grow like mad because Jayson gets his energy from his hair. If that’s really the case, I wish he would’ve shared some locks with his teammates. What’s the problem? Last week Shane Victorino broke the air speed velocity of the English Swallow by going from first to home on a single. But last night he couldn’t beat a badly jostled ball by Rod Barajas from home to first. Can you say, “Benchwarmer?” ...

This morning I chased a rogue eyebrow hair for 46 tries. Then I opened the patio door and threw my cheap tweezers as far into the woods as I could. Now I know why people pay $10 for a pair of tweezers. Nothing is more frustrating than something getting the best of you. Ask little Davey Herndon. Herndon was stellar from the bullpen this season until that fateful April 16th against the Marlins. His 96 mph sinker was hit on the ground—just like it was supposed to be—except that day they hit ‘em where nobody was: five times in less than an inning. The misfortune earned him his first ERA of the season: 7.71. Then he got it together for a few outings until the strike zone mysteriously shrunk in the eighth inning of the 8-6 loss to the Diamondbacks in the final game of the series. That tragic evening gave him his first loss of the season. But his problems aren’t Rich Dubee’s only plight. Cole Hamels continues to “mature,” JC Romero is taking his time defining his post-supplement self, JA Happ...

As I sit here gazing at my complimentary Phillie of the Month calendar, a problem occurs to me: they’re all fully dressed. What happened to equal opportunity, women’s liberation, and all the hints I sent last year? My husband buys a subscription to a crappy car magazine and gets a calendar with Marisa Miller scantily clad in a dozen seasonal plunge bras. I spend hundreds on a season ticket package and get a calendar with pictures I can find in my kid’s baseball card collection. Is there no such thing as equal perversion? Anyway, that brings me to the part of this blog where I have no segue whatsoever. Actually I could say that brings me to the topic of my article: what I want to see before I die, but that would be faking it—and that’s something my husband says I do well. Unlike most bucket lists, mine isn’t composed of death-defying acts of irrationality like skydiving. I don’t need to do something daring—I gave birth naturally. I don’t need another adventure to end w...

When the Phils lose, don’t get down. I’ve found that a really fun way to pass the time is to go to the pet shop, find a big cage of mice, and watch them fight for position on their wheel. Seriously. It’s hysterical. It doesn’t even take mind-altering drugs to enjoy a curious mouse getting damn near decapitated by an ambitious team on a wheel. But don’t watch if an employee messed up and put one girl in with the guys. Watching a cage full of males with balls bigger than their brains chase an innocent lass about a brothel isn’t for the meek. That’s for Republicans. Whoa! That comment was way past al dente! The good news is Kyle Kendrick’s poor start has definitely taken the heat off Cole Hamels. It was disappointing seeing Hamels last only five innings until Kendrick tossed only four. At least Kendrick didn’t walk the first batter on four pitches like the 2008 World Series MVP. But when Nyjer Morgan stretched the first pitch into a triple, it ignited a Nationals offensive that ended with...

I attended a clinic for members of our local little league that featured Scott Sheridan, the head trainer for the Philadelphia Phillies. It was a seminar designed to introduce coaches, trainers, and parents to the methods of conditioning young pitchers. To my disappointment, the majority of the clinic was run by local people who, although they were very informative, had never actually touched a Phillie. I was eager to share my coffee breath with someone who had. So, I sat patiently with my son as they started the clinic with warm up exercises, complete with hot young men to demonstrate. But my attention spiked when the speaker told us the next exercises were designed to “…open those hips.” Instantly I knew I was in the right place. I fought the urge to volunteer. Then they showed us drills that were important for achieving optimal cocking position. I can’t even comment. They explained that it’s important to work the non-dominant side equally as hard as the dominant side, and that a pla...

There’s an old song that sums it up: After you go, I can catch up on my reading. And after you’re gone I’ll have a lot more time for sleeping. And when you’re gone, it looks like things are gonna be a lot easier… You might know the rest, but if you don’t, the punch line is: I’m bluer than blue. And blue doesn’t have the same zest as pinstriped red. Sooner or later, I knew I’d have to quit my nail-biting manicures, start addressing the cellulite that now conforms to my seat in section 145, and stop postponing an appointment to get my roots colored a shade that’s cooler than gray (and I’m still thinking pinstriped red). But for the Phillies, I would have annoyed the eyes of others until after Game Seven. Fortunately my face never flushes red, even when I’m blue. And when I’m down, I like to sing. It’s not pretty but it gives me a warm feeling that doesn’t offend people like peeing in my pants. The last note of the season was just like any other: one team won and one team lost. That doesn...

Each day I wake, I attempt to do the same thing: be a decent mommy, be a loving wife, cook for my family, gather notes for a blog, and get my goats fed. Since I’m an old goat, I’ve made a lot of attempts at doing these things well, but sometimes I’ve fallen short. Just ask my husband. Two old goats fill the starting posts at position No. 1 for World Series Game Six. One’s called “Andy Pettitte” and the other goes by “Pedro Martinez.” The number that sums up their combined years of lifetime experience is 75. I have two old goats, but from one game to the next, their names change. That’s because I reference them for the most recent Phillie killers. So this morning, one was Johnny Damon—“Demon” for short—and the other I called, “Old Leftie,” in honor of the southpaws who have haunted the Phillies' big bat, Ryan Howard, through the Halloween season. Howard’s five-game offensive numbers aren’t impressive: .158 average, two runs, one RBI, and 12 strikeouts. But the number that sums up hi...