If you were one of the Phillies fans who thought that the Madoffs would come to the Bank and fold up like one of the accounts managed by their namesake, you were wrong. If you were one of the Phillie fans who went to college in New York, and you ranted and raved to your New York friends about how the Mets were going to be slaughtered like General Pickett's division at Gettysburg you might not want to answer your phone, listen to your voice mails, or even think about looking at your Facebook page because, as someone once said, "payback is a bitch." The long suffering fan advises that, in the future, you wait until the ballots are in before baying like a dog in heat. While I do not believe lessons will be learned from our overconfidence about the candystripers - those of you who fit the above description have been told.
Losing to the Madoffs 7-1 at home is an absolute disgrace. To be out of the game against a team that may very well lose 100 games like the Phillies did tonight needs to be addressed by Charlie, tonight. By tomorrow it will be too late, since whatever virus that Cole Hamels has may have already spread to the rest of the team. Hamels looked pathetic in his last spring outing against my beloved first place Pirates - another team that will fade, and he certainly hadn't improved any tonight. In fact he looked worse. Hamels has had a habit of having at least one suicide inning per game(Wait till I'm finished before you boo at the old man!. Since coming to the big leagues he has had his moments of brilliance - even I can't forget his work in '08. But, yo, whas up now?
Hamels has had the benefit in many of those innings of an offense that saved his ass with a major eruption of hitting. He has had a lot of luck along the way. You cannot expect any team to overcome the inning that Hamels gave the Madoffs in the third inning tonight, so I focus most of my venom to Hamels, and I have a plan to deal with him.
As I am the judge jury, and executioner of my rantings I sentence Hamels to the following sentence. Part One: Complete and total shunning by the rest of the staff. Part Two: His fruity hair is to be shorn by Cliff Lee using dull hedge clippers and a rusty razor. This will be a dry shave of course. Part Three: He shall be beaten using a baseball bat wielded by Ruben "El Oso Judio" Amaro, Jr. Part Four: Whatever is left of him will be immediately driven to the intersection of 3rd & Indiana Streets and dumped out on the sidewalk, where he can prepare for his next start against St. Donato's Parish JV squad. It could be worse. I could have sentenced him to be exiled to a suburban Tea Party enclave - we know how compassionate those assholes are.
There is a rumor circulating that Hamels is about to announce his retirement from baseball so that he can open up "Cole's Cuts," a hair salon specializing in the unisex look that Cole believes will come back sometime later this millennium. As soon as I can confirm this rumor I will pass it along to you.
Mr. Hair Salon wasn't the only goat out there tonight. Superstar, who did have a remarkable first weekend of the season went 0-4 with three, count 'em three, strike outs. I thought I detected an uptick of the wind velocity whenever he came up to the plate. Imagine, our guy, our Superstar has one home run so far this season. He trails Pirate McCutchen in this category.
Kendrick did his job when he relieved Hamels but the offense was not to be found, so the Phillies were able to lose their first game of the season in fine fashion. Ibanez did have two hits, proving himself a clutch hitter when nothing is on the line. The "I'm From Obama's Birthplace & I play Center Field" flying man was a perfect 0-5 tonight, but by the time he was asked about it by the Daily Times reporter he had forgotten the whole thing. Blessed are the stupid - they suffer some things less than others. Stop! He seems like a nice guy, but should have a clause in his contract forbidding him to either speak or try to think. If he speaks, he sounds stupid, and Charlie does not want him to have to go on the DL because he hurt himself thinking.
Tomorrow is another day and my favorite Phillie pitcher is taking the mound for his first start of the season. The long suffering fan is sick and tired of all the bullshit about the Four Ace's (maybe I should say three Ace's and a hairdresser) that I will be carrying Joe Blanton's banner all season. The guy looks like he is in the best shape of his life and still looks like anything but an athlete. He looks like the guy from the exterminating company who comes to your house a few times a year to rid you of unwanted pests. He could also be the UPS driver who brings you the overpriced shit you buy from QVC or HSN. Yea, sure, that computer you bought from them is worth 9 payments of $500 when the same machine is on sale at Best Buy for $300. I digress.
Blanton has a lot of heart. Shit, anyone with the guts to wear a beard like he does is probably not someone you want to fuck with, especially with the neanderthal stare that his eyes give off. Regardless, I like the guy, so he is now my guy. I am holding out against hope that the guy ends up as the only 20 game winner on the team and that he wins the NL Cy Young award(Put down the Heavenly Hash old man - you have had enough)!
My highlight tomorrow will be at 1:30 PM when my beloved Pirates will have their game broadcast on MLB Network. Do not call me at that hour, as I will not answer the phone, nor am I open to walking anybody's dog!
I have done some thinking about the post I sent out Sunday regarding the performance of a certain re-enactor. I might have created the wrong impression about the skills shown by Scott and, if you thought I was being negative, I should like to clear this up by inviting you to join me in the Wayback Machine for a trip back in time to watch my only son play little league baseball. Fasten your seatbelts since there is still turbulence from Superstar's 3 Ks and you may need the barf bags found in the seat-back in front of you. Tonight's 8-track entertainment will be James Brown singing ballads and spirituals.
Here we are at one of Scott's little league games. Scott's coach has positioned him in deep right field, hoping that no balls find their way out there since Scott has taken a sitting position so that he can pick the buttercups easier. There I am, a younger me with beautifully tan legs (as opposed to those watching the game who could stand in the sun for days and only get red) screaming at the top of my lungs for the kid to at least stand up, but he ignored my pleas. This was not strictly a baseball-related phenomenon since Scott has always had the ability to turn off his hearing when he didn't like the message being given. We move to Scott taking his at bat. The ball had no need for medical insurance since it was never touched by the lad's bat. Not even a foul tip into the catchers mitt. In his final year of little league, his batting average was .000, although when he did manage to earn a walk, he was fast enough to steal bases and even score a run or two.
At the tender age of 8, baseball was not Scott's game. He played because his parents signed him up to play, and perhaps because he was trying to please us, but regardless, at that point he wasn't the least bit interested. He heard his own drum when it came to playing sports, and would later excel in lacrosse. He was a pretty fair wrestler while he was involved with that barbaric sport. I was as proud as a parent could be watching him set records for goals saved as a lacrosse goalie. He was peppered by lacrosse balls every game, and stopped most of them. He was fearless in the net which was something he had to be since his team (consisting mainly of first-time players as it was a new program) never learned to play defense.
Now that we have returned to the present I hope you understand the progress he has made in hitting the ball, and though I have not yet seen him play the old timey game, I imagine he plays with a reckless abandon that I would be proud of. I plan to catch at least one of the games this year and report my findings at that time.
That's it for tonight. The long suffering fan has to get his beauty rest since tomorrow evening I must teach my line-dance class. You are all invited. We dance between 6:30 & 8Pm at a church on 62nd & Cedar in the Cobbs Creek section of West Philly. Really, everyone is welcome to this safest of neighborhoods in the greatest city in the world.
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