Phillies-Reds 12-5 Finale: When Charlie’s Cooking, Phil’s Bats Are Hot

This morning I watched an episode of the Charlie Manuel Show that I’d previously recorded. On that particular day, Charlie was cooking—linguine salad, to be exact—and the rule of the day was “no talking baseball.” 

 

But watching the Skipper cook made one thing utterly obvious: Charlie cooks like he coaches.

 

Slow, methodical, intentional, and intuitive. 

 

He eyes up amounts like an executive chef and follows his nose like he follows a hunch.  Without a word of the game spoken, Charlie made it clear why 2008 was the year.

 

Charlie knows what he likes. 

 

He knows players like he knows food. If he’s as predictable in the clubhouse as he is in the kitchen, it’s no wonder players like him. They don’t have to concern themselves with a guy who’s indecisive, or even wonder what’s for dinner.

 

Did you know Charlie has lost thirty pounds? No wonder Brett Myers and Ryan Howard lost weight in the offseason. It’s embarrassing to be shown up by an old man. 

 

I know how they feel. That’s why I feign an injury whenever my dad suggests a foot race. He’s finished six marathons. The only one I’ve completed is a Harry Potter five-movie binge on a cold offseason Saturday. 

 

But in yesterday’s series finale, the Coors Light cold-activated can didn’t turn blue. 

 

The sun was hot, the balls were floating, and the bats were boiling.   

 

It was obvious Charlie fed Joe Blanton well, as he contributed four strong innings of expert first-ball strikes to prove he pitches like he eats—seldom missing a meal and rarely missing his mark. 

 

Then in the fifth, he gave up five runs. 

 

My husband nipped from a fifth and closed his eyes to take five. 

 

But it wasn’t over. The bullpen came through again with scoreless innings—four of them. Clay Condrey was the pen’s first course—a dish that could have used a little zest. 

 

Then Scott Eyre was followed by Chan Ho Park. Yes, Park. He may not like it, but the bullpen is where he’ll make his mark. Last but not least, Sergio Escalona made it obvious that he’d rather play in a major key than a minor. 

 

The Phillies offense supported its pitchers with enough runs to make the mistakes of the fifth look as insignificant as me in a string bikini. Charlie loaded the lineup with lefties while facing right-hander Micah Owings. That poor guy started a streak of collecting runs in the first that was a tradition continued through the eighth.   

 

Jimmy Rollins earned the leadoff spot for life, going 4-for-6. He was hitting, scoring, sliding, stealing, and smiling his way to his 300th lifetime steal. 

 

He’s only the third Phillie to reach the 300-steals-and-doubles mark. That must have felt a whole lot better than his earlier struggles at the plate. To fix that problem, he changed his batting stance from what has worked for him all these years. I think Charlie would agree—sometimes you need to try a new recipe. 

 

Jimmy’s affront was joined by Chase Utley, who missed batting for the cycle by only a triple. He was 3-for-5 with four RBI and a sac fly. Then Raul “The Amazing” Ibanez turned up the heat to contribute a double and a dinger in a game where the Phillies’ first four batters were 10-for-13 with six runs, three homers, and nine RBI.

 

Matt Stairs must have eaten way too much, as he only managed a slow pace to base, walking twice. He started for the struggling Jayson Werth, who stepped to the plate in the seventh and eighth but only extended his no-hitting streak to 10.

 

I’d give him 10 to streak.

 

But the flyin’ Hawaiian hacked away for a single, a double, and a stolen base, and chased down balls like a fielding ace. 

 

Then the bottom of the lineup kept the fire burning. Greg Dobbs hit his first homer of the season while Carlos Ruiz got his slow series started with a double. And Pedro Feliz gave us a two-RBI, pinch-hit double in the seventh, proving why he’s the Phils’ best hitter with runners in scoring position for 2009. He makes it look Feli-Z.

 

The soup on J.C. Romero is warming up. 

 

We had a J.C. once. He was a two-week old kitten that we found in a barn in New Jersey, hence the name – Jersey Cat. He was a wild one. He used to stalk my son like a Navy Seal and draw blood like the Red Cross. He was sweet, yet dastardly, but fun to watch when he wasn’t picking on you.

 

The Phillies’ J.C. is thirteen days away from officially sitting in the bullpen. Last year he led the Phils in most holds with a pesky 24, which was also third best in the NL. In his Wednesday-night minor league appearance, he hit a guy with a pitch just so he could pick him off of first. He’s sweet, yet dastardly, but fun to watch when he’s not pitching to you. 

 

In other news, the Phillies’ old friend Adam got Eaton up by New York. Like my 10-year-old in a cooking class, Adam was experimenting with mess-making. The Bronx Bombers were cooking and Adam got fried in the 7-3 Yankees victory. The Phillie alum’s days in the kitchen may be limited, but the Yanks increased their winning streak to nine in anticipation of a three-game series with you-know-who. 

 

Brett Myers will start it off. He’ll pitch against an NYY pitcher who also hasn’t had a banner season. But on Saturday my heart starts palpating. That’s when my other kitten, JA Happ-y, will stand up against those high-dollar hitters in his first 2009 start.  He’s opposing fellow leftie Andy Pettitte who, although he’s 4-1, hasn’t pleased many palates.  

 

Then on Sunday it’s ace against ace—Cole Hamels vs. CC Sabathia. Leftie vs. leftie.  Man vs. man in the ultimate grudge match. CC hasn’t faced the Phillies since they cooked his goose in the NLDS with five runs off six hits in less than four innings. I was there. I saw his pain. And I cheered when they pulled his plug.

 

But you know what they say.

 

If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

 

Charlie will tell you the same.

 

Go Phils!

Phillies-Reds Game II: Game Goes to Dogs with Harang’s K-9

Reds pitcher Aaron Harang lost seventeen games last year, tying a club record.

 

But last night he was the CEO, and Great American Park was K-Mart.  Strikeouts were the blue-light special with deep discounts given on walks back to the bench.

 

It was no game for streakers—the Phillies blew their five-game winning streak, the Reds stopped their losing run at four, and Jimmy Rollins let his ‘hit and run’ streak end at eight.

 

And everyone knows if Rollins isn’t hitting, the odds are against winning.  Simply put, our team was out pitched and out hit. 

 

But we looked damn good doing it. 

 

Pitching is a combination of components: the cosmic and the cognitive; the mental and the mechanical.  Even though Jamie Moyer was the master of most last night, the honorary doctorate was denied his decree, proving the 250th win doesn’t come free. 

 

Hits were dropping like jaws at a bachelor party, like pants at an MLB drug test, or like Madonna dishes boyfriends (hey, is that an A-Rod joke?).

 

Moyer was even called on a balk.  That will get you a dose of Cialis.  His pitches were faster than the guy in the upper deck who forgot to take his Flomax, but that didn’t help a game where the offense couldn’t get it together.  The Phillies went for that high fast ball more times than Sarge fell for a bad hat. 

 

But we looked damn good doing it.

 

Moyer would have been the oldest player in baseball history to reach 250 wins.  That’s impressive, especially if you factor in his age handicap.  I don’t know how that relates to dog years, but it’ll never be worse than the handicap I hold in golf or bowling, even when I use bumpers.

 

But I’m sure Jamie doesn’t have to use inflatable guides.  Then again, at his age, maybe he should give them a try. 

 

The good news is Ryan Howard showed prowess at the plate by laying off those breaking balls when he was behind in the count.  Especially in his third at-bat where he exhibited the patience of an old-timer, drawing twelve pitches on his trek to a 3-2 count, and still took his base. 

 

They grow up so fast.

 

After showing selflessness in the last two games to let the other guys take the praise, Raul Ibanez decided to step to the plate and get the party started.  He hit a solo home run in the fourth inning—his 14th of the year. 

 

But even though the Phillies have the best winning percentage when trailing after seven, we couldn’t pull it off.  The Ibanez bomb was the only run and we stranded five guys just like the hamburger stand (sorry that’s an east coast joke).

 

Jamie only gave up three runs, but Disturbin’ Durbin put the win out of reach when he added two earned runs off a triple on a bad hop in the seventh. 

 

That’s when my husband went to bed.

 

He looked damn good doing it.

 

The sad part was, with just over 15,000 in attendance, the Reds’ stadium seemed so empty in spots it looked like the Acme ran a special on beans.  I’m not sure what my son ate but he smelled funky too. 

 

How’s that for going green? 

 

In other news, Jayson Werth turned thirty yesterday.  But he got no gifts.  The Reds denied him a hit four times.  There are oh so many ways I’d like to make it up to him, but given the space restraints of this column (along with the new stalker laws), I think I’ll settle for blowing him a kiss.

 

There, I hope he felt that.  And I hope it didn’t land simultaneously with something released overhead by a bird.   

 

Ibanez is the “Phillie of the Week.”  He’s the league leader in a bunch of ways with 9 hits, 3 HRs, and 9 RBI on the week while batting .481.  But there’s still no mention of that calendar or even a centerfold.  And I’ve offered numerous times to help with make out…I mean makeup. 

 

JC Romero had a twelve-pitch scoreless inning in the minors—a much better outing than his first.  But with the way Sergio Escalona pitched last night, my anxiousness to have JC back has been abated.  At least for now. 

 

The new leftie, coming off his first major league win against the Nationals, threw three pitches to strike out Jay Bruce on a breaking ball to end the seventh.  That’s impressive, especially for someone who’s still suffering from pre-prom jitters. 

 

So the Phils earned a good-willed “L” after five straight “W’s.”

 

Just like my youth, all good things must come to an end. 

 

But I looked damn good losing it. 

 

See you at the ballpark.

Philadelphia Phillies-Cincinnatti Reds Opener: Jayson Werth to be Debriefed?

First, the big announcement: Chan Ho Park’s going to the bullpen and JA’s a Happ-y man.  We knew there was a pow-wow on Monday and we knew Charlie would share the secret with us Tuesday.  I love secrets.  And I loved this one only because Park’s going to a much better place.

 

And Jamie Moyer’s moving up in the rotation to pitch on Wednesday so he doesn’t have to face the Yankees over the weekend. 

 

Hmmm.

 

Wondering why we coddle Jamie Moyer when we have other talent to develop is a lot like my cat wondering why I shower when I have a tongue. 

 

Answer: because. 

 

Because of Rich Dubee, because of Charlie Manuel, because of Ruben Amaro, and because I can’t reach every part of my body with my tongue (although if I could, it would make me quite popular on YouTube).  In all seriousness though, it’s about respect.  Jamie’s earned it, Jamie gets it, and Charlie will give it to him. 

 

Then Dr. Moyer will come back and pitch against Florida – a young team that’s historically been a win for the old-timer. 

 

So who am I to talk about old-timers like that?  Well, no one really.  Not only are Jamie and I the same age, but during the slow times of Tuesday night’s game I threw the ball to my dog repeatedly but only managed to knock over a candle, dent the drywall, and hoist it into the trash twice over six innings. 

I suck, so I can’t fault anyone for trying, and I’m not.  I’m not even faulting management for trusting.  I’m just hoping they’re right.

 

The series opener with the Reds was rather slow, so much so that over the first two innings my son gradually stripped off his clothing until he was walking around like the Buddha.  The only reason I think he paraded around in his briefs was to show me that he’s growing hair on his legs and he’s quite comfortable with a wedgie.  I didn’t say a thing. 

But when he turned to walk away and showed us his self-made thong, my husband made the most loving comment.

 

“Get away from me, you freak.”

 

Speaking of briefs, isn’t it about time to resurrect that old debate about women reporters in the locker room?  There are a few Phillies I’d love to debrief. 

 

But to take my child’s mind off the boredom, I paused the game with my technologically advanced TiVo system and read him some books.

Then later we could fast forward through the commercials so I wouldn’t have to explain what erectile dysfunction was again or hear what to do with an erection that lasts more than four hours.  I, for one, wouldn’t consider that my problem.

 

Then in the third inning my dad called and told me a story: 

 

There was a wasp crawling up his kitchen window.  The pest was just warming up so he considered him an easy target, and hoping to see him die a slow, painful death my dad grabbed a can of repellent and sprayed, grumbling, “Take that, ya little varmint.”

 

A few seconds later the wasp started his ascent again, shaking his body like a dog after a bath. 

 

“What the…?”

 

The old man picked up the can and sprayed again.

 

Yet a third time the wasp prevailed, buzzing wildly with irritation.  As the little booger hooked its feet on the glass with each persistent step, my dad finally read the can – WATER REPELLENT.

 

He wasn’t taking its life; he was only making it mad.

 

That’s what it was like watching Cole Hamels pitch.  When the Reds got a hit, Cole came back with a K.  When the Reds drew a walk, Cole came back with a K.  And when they hit two homers followed by hits, Cole came back with a K.  He had seven K’s in all.  Special.  The Reds weren’t shaking his confidence; they were only making him mad. 

 

Then Condrey, Madson, and Lidge pitched three scoreless innings. 

 

But I will say Lidge has done more than just turn the lights out – he’s made it dark and scary.  I don’t think I was the only one holding my breath and peeking out between my fingers. 

 

Great American Park was the site of Brad’s first save for the Phils last year spawning 41 straight in 2008.  When Tom said that, it brought back nightmares of Fox Sports beating Brad’s consecutive save record to death with every single game of the World Series – like they wanted to jinx him.

 

So the ninth was a typical Lidge nail-biter:

 

First batter – fly ball.  Easy out.  Take a breath. 

Second batter – single on a J Ro bobble.  OK, pay attention, base runner. 

Third batter, 3-0 count.  Whoops. 

Then 3-1, then 3-2, then… Say it ain’t so! Base on balls.  

Fourth batter, 3-2 count.  Not again!  Cover eyes. 

Then foul ball, then foul ball, then… Strike. 

Rung him up!  That a boy! Take rapid, shallow breaths.

Hope for a happy ending. 

High ball to the flyin’ Hawaiian – just what the doctor ordered. 

Game over. 

Click off TV without even catching a glimpse of cute Ricky Bottalico.

Go to bed.

Sigh.

Ignore debriefed husband.

 

The offensive summary is easy.  I think you’ll recognize the melody:

 

Chase and Jimmy got a hit, E-I-E-I-O.

Ryan hit one o’er the fence, E-I-E-I-O.

Shane looked fine; Raul sac flied,

Werth and Ruiz kept on tryin’,

But Pedro got two hits on by, E-I-E-I-O.

 

So that’s a wrap.  Cole Hamels got the win and Brad Lidge got the save—just like old times.  The Phillies have won their last five on the road and are still first in the NL East. 

 

In other news, Alex Rodriguez hit a two-run homer for the Yankees to help beat the Orioles 9-1.  Picking a target like Alex definitely made Selena Roberts’ book easier to sell, but A-Rod’s performance is making it harder to believe. 

 

I guess you can’t knock a good wasp down. 

 

See you at the ballpark.

 

Chan Ho Park Heartbroken: What’s Really Wrong with the Phillies Pitcher

On Saturday the Phillies won a double-header in route to a series sweep, and a filly ran the Preakness in route to a sweep of the field. 

 

What’s the difference?

 

Nothing really, until you look at the failure of Chan Ho Park. 

 

Something has to be true about Chan Ho: he has to have something that comes close to resembling an intangible phenomenon called “talent.” The MLB didn’t go all the way to South Korea to get a pitching prospect because we lack talent right here in the US. 

 

Something had to catch someone’s eye and I’m sure it wasn’t because they had money burning a hole in their pocket. Even Charlie Manuel doesn’t look at a prospect and say, “Does he wanna make a load of dough?”

 

No. He says, “Does he have talent?”

 

Because Charlie says, “If you don’t, it’ll be an uphill battle,” (only he won’t say it clearly and he’ll stutter a bit, but you get my point). 

 

So what’s up with Chan Ho Park? Well, we’ve established it can’t be lack of talent. 

 

The population of the United States is 306.5 million (give or take the Phils fans who fall on and off the bandwagon). And the 40-man rosters of all 30 MLB teams total only 1200 players.

 

So the ratio of players to population—just in the United States alone—is such a small figure my calculator only spit out a decimal ending with an “e.”  I don’t know what that means except it’s astonishingly small (insert your own penis joke here). And that doesn’t include the minors because we all know everyone else is simply vying for a spot in the show.

 

What’s my point? It better be good, it’s taking me a while to get to it. 

 

Rachel Alexandra doesn’t know someone paid $10 million for her last week to see her win at Pimlico. She just runs. It’s something she can’t help but do. And Calvin Borel was so sure she would win he broke a jockey’s unspoken pact and predicted she would. 

 

So what’s she have that Park doesn’t have? Heart.

 

It’s not about having to perform; it’s about wanting to perform. And frustration, impatience, and excuses never accomplished anything. 

 

Personally I can attest to this because those three words never wrote an inspiring blog, created an unforgettable character, or produced an amazing experience in bed. But one thing’s for certain—I never did any of those for the money (although the last one had crossed my mind).

 

I can’t help it that ballplayers are paid extraordinary salaries to perform. The market mandates this. Major League Baseball just so happens to exist in an economy where free enterprise directs salaries. And, you and I support this.

 

Fans want to see their teams win, and you can’t win without talented players, and you can’t attract talent without money, and you can’t get money without fans. It’s a vicious cycle.

 

Society has moved from an existence of subsistence to sustaining our addiction to entertainment. We wanted it and we got it. It’s an economy we hail. 

 

Personally, I think the sport had more heart before money became such an instrumental player. I’m not saying we need to go back to how it was—why, gracious no—I want to see my team win. I just think the pressure for players to live up to their paychecks is a bigger obstacle to overcome than being a filly in a field of stallions.   

 

Rachel Alexandra didn’t think much when she ran that race. She just had talent that her jockey organized with technique. 

 

That’s all Chan Ho has to do—of course without the tiny man atop his back. He needs to stop thinking and start doing what he wants to do—pitch—not think, or fret, or bellyache, or obsess, or complain. Just throw.

 

He should stop coming to the ballpark thinking he knows what he’s going to throw, like he did on Sunday. That four-seam didn’t work because it wasn’t supposed to, and he couldn’t place his slider. 

 

What’s that tell you? It wasn’t meant to happen that way. Come prepared to pitch.  Come prepared to believe everything that comes your way has a purpose. And, when life hands you lemons, juggle them; it will help your dexterity. But definitely don’t walk in a run. That’ll just bring Charlie to the mound.

 

You can’t control how prepared the batters will be, or what the umpire will call, or even if the sky will fall. All you can control is what you throw and how you react.

 

Harvey Dorfman will even tell you that. But I don’t know if he’d tell you to watch a horse race to learn how to pitch a game. I might be the only wacko who can make that connection. 

 

As a fan I have no attachment to what Chan Ho will do this season. I can’t control it, so I don’t worry about it. I know the Phillies want to win as much as I want them to. Park’s not doing anything to me, and the only thing he’s not doing to himself is remembering why he plays professional baseball. 

 

He’s one of only 1200 guys in the United States who are fortunate enough to do that—who are talented enough to do that. 

 

If there’s anything I know about life, it’s that once you think you have it all figured out, it’ll throw you a curveball. Whether you hit it or not depends on what you’re thinking. If you’re thinking you won’t, you won’t. But if you’re prepared to not think at all, you will. 

 

It’s like writing a story. You can’t force it, you can only feel it; it has to come from the heart.

 

Chan Ho doesn’t feel it, and you can tell by the look on his face; he’s heartbroken. 

 

Just break from the gate and run the race. You might get bumped, crowded, or have dirt kicked in your face, but if you keep your eye on the finish line, great things can happen.

 

Like ‘Nuke’ LaLoosh said in the best baseball movie of all time, “Don’t think, just throw.”

 

Or just watch Bull Durham. It’s enlightening and entertaining, especially on a night with no Phillies baseball. 

 

Enough said. See you at the ballpark.

Phillies Sweep Nationals, but It Could Be the End of the Road for Park

Messages come in the most peculiar ways. 

 

This morning I sat wondering what makes players hot or sometimes cold when suddenly my son bound from his room firing his fake M-16 rapid-style about the room like we were in battle. 

 

So I asked him the logical question.  

 

“Is there something I should know?”

 

He simply flipped the gun upside down and started singing a rock song into end of the barrel. 

 

Maybe I thought too much of it. 

 

Maybe I’m doing the same thing with the Phillies. 

 

I think the message is, the Phillies do battle; then the fat lady sings.  That’s as simple as it gets. 

 

Charlie would say, “Stop talking about it.”  I will…starting now.

 

Just before the game, we saw a commercial for a movie called Drag Me to Hell.  After the violent, spastic horror trailer ended, I glanced at my son with my jaw gaped in shock and said, “Wow, you think that’s a comedy?”

 

He replied, “Probably a chick flick.  Looks a lot like Bride Wars.”

 

I don’t know where he got his sense of humor, but Charlie didn’t have one after Chan Ho Park ‘dragged us to hell’ today. 

 

The skipper pulled him after one-and-one-third innings, nudging the bullpen awake early in the second after Park struck out two but allowed five hits, four runs, and three walks before he handed Jack Taschner loaded bases and a single out. 

 

So what’d Jack do? 

 

Jack be nimble

Jack be quick

Jack hit the first batter with a pitch

 

But he kept us in the ballgame until Chad Durbin came on in the fifth.  Durbin was disturbin’ more than just Phil’s fans when he gave Willingham a love tap right between the shoulder blades. 

 

The problem was it just so happened to be with an 85 mile an hour pitch.  The batter took his base and Chad took a warning.  It was the ninth batter beaned in this series. 

 

Can you feel the love? 

 

Then Durbin struck out a batter with such a nice pitch even Tom and Gary in the booth were surprised.  I almost expected Tom to say, “Check on that Sarge.  Are you sure Charlie hasn’t switched pitchers?”

 

Congratulations on a decent outing, Chad.

 

Then Sergio Escalona took over in the seventh.  (What did Flattish just write?)  Yeah, Sergio Escalona.  He’s from AA Reading (like I had any idea until Tom McCarthy said something).  He came up with Andrew Carpenter who started Saturday night and would have done better, but he forgot to breathe until the second inning. 

 

Sergio had a scoreless seventh and Scott Eyre did the same in the eighth, but he was summoned back in the ninth to face the first two batters–lefties.  He struck out the first and walked the second, leaving that mistake for Brad Lidge to deal with. 

 

Now remember, Lidge had not made it through a game without allowing a run until Saturday so, just like a good horror movie, I didn’t know whether to hide my eyes or giggle in anticipation of the next horrible slaughter. 

 

I had already chewed down two nails in the time it took him get to the mound.  As he threw the first pitch, I read the words that popped up on the screen explaining that Brad had no double play ground outs in twelve opportunities. 

 

It was like an omen; it felt like The Omen.  I was so scared.  But like a twist in a great script, the next pitch yielded a miraculous 6-4-3 double play to end the game.

 

So the bullpen covered seven-and-two-third innings and helped cap a four game series sweep with an 8-6 win.  We have the best road winning percentage in baseball at 12-4 and our hitters managed 33 runs and 49 hits in this series alone. 

 

The game had a lot of action but the best play came in the eighth.  Jayson Werth-y had just singled when my favorite Hawaiian drew a walk on four pitches from the hotheaded Julian Tavarez.  Then Pedro Feliz set down a perfectly executed bunt that was well-fielded, but the throw whizzed past the first baseman, allowing two Phils to score. 

 

It handed us the runs we needed to move ahead by two so when Washington failed to score again, it proved a costly error.   

 

And oldie Jimmy was back–again.  He went 2-for-5 and got picked off on his first stolen base attempt, but that didn’t stop him from trying again. 

 

I like try.  

 

I like it when Jimmy takes it upon himself to get into scoring position, and I like it when it just so happens to coincide with a Chase Utley double.  I guess I just like scoring, especially when I can do it in the same sentence with Jimmy and Chase.

 

Raul Ibanez was the league’s third leading hitter coming into Sunday, but he unfortunately went 0-for-5, only earning his way to base on a walk.  He would have had a hit in the ninth, but Adam Dunn decided to move his butt for the first time and actually field a ball in right. 

 

Hell of a time for the fire to light under him.  I loved Raul’s performance in this series but like Charlie suggested, I’m gonna stop talking about it.

 

Here’s an interesting fact. 

 

Eric Bruntlett led the Phils in batting average and steals in spring training, which must be why Charlie continues to send him to the plate even though he’s batting only 138.  But in the Sunday game, he pinch-hit in the sixth and finally delivered. 

 

He hit a double and earned an RBI in the process, and I’m sure that did more for his peace of mind than mine. 

 

Shane Victorino is using Matt Stairs’ bat.  He says it’s bigger in the barrel…the bat, not the Matt, although both are true. 

 

Jayson Werth is still “Playmate of the Week,” I mean, “Phillie of the Week,” at least for one more day. 

 

But there’s still no mention of a calendar. 

 

And I’m spent. 

 

The Phils battled through four games in just over 48 hours; I simply had to duck gunfire this morning in my living room.   Fortunately we have Monday off.  I think I’ll snuggle up on the couch and watch a good movie. 

 

But believe me, Hell won’t be in the title.    

 

See you at the ballpark. 

 

Phillies-Nationals Double-Header: Did You Feel That?

An I-Bomb-nez went off in the nation’s capital yesterday.

 

The same thing happened in my son’s room. 

 

I knew my child had been busy.  While I sat on the couch for nine hours watching HD-TV present an exciting double-header with a Preakness intermission, my son was busy redecorating.  

 

So before I even opened the door to his room, I said, “What’s it look like in here anyway?”

 

He said, “Like someone picked it up and shook it really hard!”

 

That doesn’t work for a room, but it worked for a lineup.  Charlie shook up the order and it worked like a charm.  I think before every game he should put the starter’s names in a cup and shake them, like Yahtzee dice.

 

Over the course of both games we had Jimmy Rollins in the leadoff spot with Shane Victorino and Chase Utley trading off at number two.

 

But then Raul Ibanez hit in what will now be known as the “preliminary cleanup slot”, with Ryan Howard in the “backup cleanup spot”.  Moving Raul to the third spot redefined the batting order.  I guess you can never be too safe.

 

In game one, Raul stepped to the plate like he’d just arrived at a political convention: ready to party.  Nats pitcher Scott Olsen missed his mark, but Raul didn’t. 

 

He hammered that low inside pitch right over the 402 on the center field fence.  It was the first dinger hit off Olson by a left hander all season and gave the Fightin’s their only run of the inning. 

 

But it got the party started.

 

Especially for Jayson Werth.  He hit a homer to christen the second inning, breaking free of an 0-for-9 slump. 

 

Then all hell broke loose in the 3rd.

 

J Ro singled, my favorite Hawaiian moved him to second with another, and then Rauuuuuuul did what he does best (he focused) on the outfield wall again to bring ‘em all home safely with a three-run shot.  I wish the President could do that in Iraq. 

 

It gets even better. 

 

Ryan Howard proved that he really does want to be the best he can be by showing iron-clad patience at the plate by finally laying off a breaking ball to draw a walk on a 3-2 count.  It was a thing of beauty. 

 

Then Jayson hit a single, doubling our presence on the base path, and Chris Coste (yes, Costey) hit one to load the bases. 

 

But then the slumping Eric Bruntlett hit a fly ball to position seven to call it quits.  The poor guy ended three innings that way. 

 

And although he wasn’t in a two-out at-bat in the eighth, he failed to contribute again as he went 0-for-4.  It was sheer torture.  (Can you hear a Guantanamo Bay analogy here?)  My heart went out to him. 

 

But I don’t think anyone noticed.  With Raul beating up the Nats pitching staff in game one to go 4-for-5 with 4 RBI, and Jimmy Rollins, Shane Victorino, Ryan Howard, Jayson Werth, Pedro Feliz, and Chris Coste all contributing at the plate, it covered up Eric Bruntlett’s and Brett Myers’ inability to get on base like a Watergate conspiracy. 

 

But Brett’s pitching was a different story.  All Charlie needed him to do was go deep, and he did.  He went seven innings, struck out eight, and allowed only three hits…all personal season bests.  And he did it by shaking up his throws like he was standing at the craps table. 

 

Even after Ryan Madson let his fastball hang for three RBI in the eighth, allowing the Nats to move within three, Brad Lidge finally allowed no runs in a game as he closed down the ninth for an 8-5 Phillies victory.

 

I tell ya, there’s gold in them thar Phils and we found more of it in game two. 

 

Calvin Borel showed how to ride a filly to victory in the second leg of the Triple Crown, and Philadelphia showed Washington how to hit for another victory in the second game of a double-header–in front of a surprising number of Phillies fans. 

 

The oooo’s for Raul were just as prominent in Nationals Park as they were on Citizens Bank Way. 

 

Last night Rollins showed he learned his lesson last year when he hustled to beat a throw to first to assist him in hitting 2-for-4.  I hate to go out on a limb here, but I think old Jimmy is back. 

 

After sitting out game one, Chase Utley got a chance to contribute by hitting 3 for 4, helping him get on base all four times. 

 

Then Ryan Howard continued the slugfest with a two run dinger in the third, and Raul proved that his three-run HR in the afternoon wasn’t a fluke by repeating it in the fifth inning last night. 

 

Matt Stairs, Shane Victorino, and Carlos Ruiz couldn’t get a hit but managed to get on base drawing walks, but then the rain came pouring down in the fifth, prompting the Nats to cry “Uncle,” and put an end to the 7-5 victory that gave minor leaguer Andrew Carpenter a chance at his first MLB start without hurting anyone (with a little help from Clay Condrey).

 

Through it all, Raul exuded effort by going 6-for-9 on the day.  He left his mark like an ink pen in a washing machine. 

 

He even attempted to take out an infielder to foil a double play.  Earlier in the week, I saw him try to take out second base to do the same thing.  I know a babe in section 145 he could take out.

 

Now, it’s true our team didn’t do everything perfect on Saturday but they did a bunch right. And it gave me enough to restore my hope for the season…much like a great President Obama speech. 

 

And one more thing… Jayson Werth is “Phillie of the Week.”  Does that mean he’ll appear in a calendar?  I’d be happy to help with the wardrobe (or lack of).  And how about positioning?  I could show him where to lay (very close to me). 

 

I’m still seeing stars.  I can’t wait until the next time the Phil’s bats erupt.  The bomb that went off yesterday cast a cloud over the Nationals and helped our team go 3 for 3 in the series so far. 

 

Let’s see what we can do today.

Phillies-Nationals: Quality Comes with Quantity—12 Innings of It

It was a long, warm night.

 

It was one where quality came with quantity…12 innings of it. 

 

But it didn’t start out that way.  After the first inning, it seemed like it was happening all over again.

 

“We’ve fallen and we can’t get up!”

 

The top of our lineup forgot how to hit, and Joe Blanton threw more than 26 pitches to get out of the inning. 

 

Then in the second, it became apparent that the top of the lineup really started at the end of the alphabet: Raul IbaneZ, along with Pedro FeliZ and Carlos RuiZ, made offense look E-Z. 

 

They each singled like a pack of copycats, with Pedro reaching base in his last eight appearances and Carlos doing it in his last nine.  I don’t know the stat on Raul; we’re just used to him doing everything with a capital “Effort” and “Hustle”.

 

Then Pedro Feliz made Davey Lopes proud with his gutsy base running as did Raul Ibanez, Jimmy Rollins, and Jayson Werth.  Hey, he’s the base coach who whined that they weren’t aggressive around the diamond, so let me pose a warning to you, Davey: be careful what you wish, for you shall get it.

 

And he did. 

 

My motto is, “You can’t get around the bases by standing still.”  I imagine that’s something Davey’s known since he was a teenage boy entertaining “company” in the back of his daddy’s Buick. 

 

As a former leadoff hitter and stolen base record holder, it’s obvious he started rounding the bases at an early age.  And his experience works for the Phils.

 

Hit-by-pitches came in pairs; two for you, two for us, with Chase taking both of ours.  It helped him make it to base four times without a hit.  Now he has the 91st HBP of his career (setting a franchise record) and eight on the year.

 

We’re going to start ending his name with those initials: Chase Utley HBP.  We’ll give him an honorary doctorate for sacrificed flesh and his epitaph will go something like this:

 

Here lies Chase Utley

He wasn’t keen on leaning.

He took a bunch for the home team

If you get my meaning.

 

Ryan Howard stepped to the plate in the seventh, 0 for 5, and hit a three run dinger.  It was an inside pitch and they said when you pull your arms in like Ryan did you’re not supposed to able to hit a ball more than 400 feet.  Tell that to a bumble bee.

 

The saga continued for 12 glorious innings but it seems I’m the only one with the attention span for long games. 

 

Since the Nationals don’t draw much of a crowd, the camera showed those in attendance so many times I now know each spectator personally, and near the 10th, my husband and son started comparing the sounds they could make with their own flesh.  Trust me, a Phil’s loss is prettier.

 

By my count Feliz and Ruiz (now dubbed the “E-Z’s”) made it on base 10 times.  Raul, the Zen Master of Consistency, went 4-for-6, Jimmy earned his third stolen base, and Shane even got a few good hits in and caught the last out…again.

 

The sad thing was Tom McCarthy could finally talk poorly about the quality of the Nats bullpen because they’re the only other team with one worse than ours. 

 

But not last night: Durbin wasn’t disturbin’, Condry took on his two batters and won, Madson faced four and retired four, Lidge gave up only one run (but did so in his 6th consecutive inning), and JA Happ looked sharp as a time traveler, taking his win for tomorrow’s double-header today. 

 

And in case you fell asleep, Carlos “Bargain Basement” Ruiz silently improved his batting average to .308 while Jayson Werth increased his by 100 points since April, even though he only made it to base on balls last night. 

 

Still, he’ll definitely be wrapped around me when I pick up my blanket on July 24. 

 

And I hope it’s a long, cold night.

Philadelphia Phillies’ Pitching: We Need More Than a Psychologist

I’m a woman and I’m a lover.  By design one makes me do the other. So after yesterday’s 5-3 loss to the Dodgers, I left all the hating to the man I married, whom we’ll now call “Husband Vader.”

 

The Dark Lord was so distraught at Phillies’ pitching yesterday, he nicknamed Chad, “Disturbin’ Durbin,” and he said, “Lidge throws balls and strikes in a ratio like kids share candy—one for you, one for me.”  He says the problem with Phil’s ball slingers is Ruben Amaro didn’t amend the pitching staff in the off season – like my better half told him too. 

 

I hate it when he’s right.

 

So I got to thinking (which is always a little scary).  Then I read the article in the Daily News about sports psychologist, Harvey Dorfman, and I got to thinking even harder.  Then I went deep, like a Ryan Howard hit.

 

I decided we need that magic back; be it luck, chemistry, or timing, we have to find it.  Then I glanced over at the skipper of the Death Star and it came to me.  We need to tap into “The Force.”

 

So with the team looking toward Harvey and my husband representing the dark side, I thought I’d pick another route.  I’d contact the Dalai Lama.

 

I’ve been thinking of calling him myself because the temperature adjustment on my shower is so sensitive that the only way for me to take the perfect shower is to set it via mental telepathy. 

 

So when I ask the Dalai to help me manipulate things with my mind, I’ll put in a good word for my team.

 

Maybe the Dalai has a special running—like the Phil’s ticket office: a six-pack of sessions we could split to save money.  But getting in touch with him could be tricky. I guess I could Google his contact info and find a number to fax or text.  I wonder if he Twitters—or is that Tweets?

 

I’d probably have to explain that that’s not the same as communicating by bird, although a guy in Conshohocken used that to vent his frustration with me quite effectively yesterday. 

 

So here’s how I’d start.

 

 

Dear Mr. Lama, Esquire: 

 

I think that shows respect.  Then I’d get right to the point.

 

My Phils need your help if they expect to finish at the top of the NL East.  So could you please give them the attitude of a Jedi Knight, turn their arms into lightsabers, and say something cool like, “May The Force be with you?” 

 

Oh, and I hope you’ve seen Star Wars.  If not, this most certainly makes no sense to you so if that’s the case, just give me a call at… well, you’re the Dalai, I reckon you know how to get in touch with me. 

 

Then I’d write something catchy to get his attention to distinguish my request from the other worthy causes like peace, hunger, and global warming. 

 

Maybe a poem. 

 

Now if you’ve read my articles, you know – a poet I’m not.  I don’t know pentameters from odometers, and I’d have to consult that site that helps you find rhyming words because the only one I know that rhymes with pitching is the one my husband uses to describe what I spend my time doing. 

 

So here goes.

 

Help Us To Pitch, From the Bitc…

 

(Vader helped with the title)

 

There are so many things that Phillies can do

Like winning the division, the league, and the world.

But this year we’ve struggled and if I had my say

I’d have to blame pitching and poor ERAs.

 

I pay you great homage; I think that you rule

So I’m sending this message to ask for some fuel

For a staff of Phils pitchers who can’t find their groove

And a stand full of fans whose frustration still brews.

 

We need cyborg arms like that Terminator man’s

Made of titanium with wrought-iron hands

And mitts that attract any hits from the plate

That thought there’s a chance they’d pass us in haste. 

 

Give us sliders that drop like the ball’s on the take

And changeups that stop just a foot from the plate

Hundred plus fastballs and sub-one ERAs

But no torsos that say they like Tasty Cakes.

 

We want what we want, and not a bit more

Just another Broad Street parade to make our hearts soar.

So if you’d oblige which we ask with great shame

We’ll give you the credit in the very next game. 

 

It’s not like we’re asking to conquer the world

We just want our pitchers to learn how to hurl.

And I think the Nationals, Marlins, Mets, and the Braves

Would all welcome the challenge (or so we say).

 

So send us Four Horsemen or the Magnificent Seven.

It doesn’t take many to salvage a season.

Throw in a game-saver who’ll pitch a first strike

That hits Chooch’s glove and takes a out a bite.

 

Or send us something that’s legal when used

A concoction made from Dalai juice.

And last but not least, to prove our sincerity

We promise to pray for things like world peace

After we beat every team in the league.

 

Then I’d end it with something gracious because I heard he goes for that.  Something like…

 

Ever grateful for your help,

 

Flattish Poe

 

 

You don’t think he’ll think my name’s weird do you and then think I’m a freak?  (Husband Vader says it’s not the name that makes me a freak.)  But, think about it.  I’m writing to a guy whose name is based on a little girl’s toy and a long-necked fuzzy animal, and he communicates via the airwaves.  How much more freakish can you get?  (The Dark Lord says, “Lots.”)

 

Wait! Where are my manners?  I didn’t even invite him to a game.  How thoughtless.  I’d have to add a postscript.

 

P.S.  If you’d like to see what I’m talking about, please don’t hesitate to join me at the ballpark.  I’m in section 145 so you might even catch a home run ball.  (And I don’t imagine you’d need a glove for that.)  But don’t wear any Mets gear.  Not everyone in my section is a fan of unconditional love.

 

Anyway, that’s what I’ll do.  I know I’m just a fan but I feel I have to do my part, too. I’m just hoping to help the ball club and take a comfortable shower in the process.

 

Until next time,

 

Flattish

 

P.P.S.  Dalai, please give our offense a shot of magical juice too (but not the kind that Manny used).  Much obliged.

Phillies-Dodgers II: If You Don’t Have Anything Nice To Say…

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. 

 

This could be a short post.

 

I haven’t even seen the game yet (yeah, that mommy thing), and I’m wondering if I should.  My dad already foiled the ending with a late night Facebook post with the result.  Is it illegal to un-friend your dad?

 

So I’m warming up to it—a lot like Phillies pitching this year.  I haven’t powered up the TV and the pitching staff hasn’t turned on the power. 

 

My husband is so discontented with Jamie, before the game he said, “The Dodgers are gonna hit the snot out of Moyer.”

 

“Why, honey,” I said, “that’s awful negative.”

 

He continued, “Remember the playoffs last year?”

 

Remember the Alamo? 

 

And he says women have selective recall. I hate it when he’s right.

 

So, judging from the stats, it looks like a number of things are certain: Jimmy’s liking the five spot, although he says he’s a leadoff man; Raul’s silently chipping away at leading team stats, although he says he’s just here to help the ball club; Shane’s still a hottie, even though his bat is cold.

 

Jamie has a bad three-game streak going although no one seems to know how to make it better, and now JA Happ-y will be seen smiling on the mound in the Saturday double header. 

 

Things get more interesting all the time. 

 

Maybe Jamie’s just screwed up over the anticipation of getting his 250th win—kind of like the pre-prom jitters. Maybe what he needs is a new hairdo, a manicure, a pretty dress, and a shot of Schnapps. 

 

Hey, it helped me.

 

See you at the ballpark. 

 

Phillies-Dodgers: Jayson Werth’s Been a Bad Boy

I was in NYC yesterday.  I know…how could I possibly visit the city of the Phil’s arch-rival so fresh off our losing series with them. 

 

But if it’s any consolation, I wore my Phillies World Series jacket—the one with the big “P” over my left fully padded breast.  And when a woman approached me and pointed to it, I was sure she wasn’t impressed with my cup size, but I thought maybe she’d compliment me on my team’s banner 2008 season.  Instead she thought I played in the World Poker Tour.  Oddly enough I didn’t know that existed.  Can you tell there’s only one game for me?

 

And did I call it or what!  Just as I whined that the Phillies lacked spirit, Jayson Werth ran the bases like the ghost of Phillies present.  My dad tells me it was eerily familiar to the baserunning of the ghost of baseball past: Jackie Robinson.  In 1954, he was the first player to steal his way around the bases in the NL in 26 years and he stole home 19 times in his career.  One theft of the plate is tough, but I wonder why no one caught on during his stint?  Answer: he’s a ghost, too.

 

Please don’t post that I think Jayson Werth is anywhere near the caliber of Jackie.  But you can compare him to Garry Maddox who had four searing steals in a hot game against the Pirates 31 years ago. 

 

And you can compare the two double steals he and his cohorts Ryan Howard and Jimmy Rollins executed to the awesomeness of the Michael Bourn-Carlos Ruiz double steal two years ago that sent Carlos sliding across the plate like a penguin on an toboggan run. 

 

Old Charlie shook up the lineup, and now that it worked, the speed-racer trio might just stick like a stuck accelerator pedal.  And furthermore, I dub Davey Lopes the “Mr. Miyagi of base coaches.”

 

Now, a straight up steal of home plate is just freaking cool.  Although it’s never been done to me, it goes on my top 10 list of all time coolest plays ever.  And Charlie Manuel said Jayson did that all by himself. 

 

Last night J Dub was back having the time of his life.  Business was a little slow in right field so he thought he’d run a special on baserunning.  And he was having a good time being a bad boy.  I’ve been a bad girl—I forgot to redeem my coupons at the checkout—please punish me.  Forget my Jayson Werth blanket; I’ll wear out my Tivo footage of his rant around the bases by the weekend. 

 

And I want to congratulate the cameraman at third base who caught that steal.  He had the lens focused directly on Jayson’s backside.  That’s my favorite view.  If I was a camerawoman, my producer would have eventually said, “Why’s that camera still aimed at Jayson’s arse?”

 

Answer: “Because I’ve got a problem.”

 

But the game didn’t start out so well.  I was hoping Chan Ho Park would take the mound like the first Korean pitcher in the majors who intended to put his country on the map.  Instead, it felt like he was haunted by games passed when that 3-2 fastball soared right down the middle and was hit off the wall by Dodgers lead-off man, Juan Pierre. 

 

Then Park pitched a 3-0 count to the second batter, and by the end of the inning had allowed two doubles and a run on 26 pitches.  I could almost hear Dolly Parton singing, “Here we go again…,” but that’s not the type of singing that conjures Philly spirit. 

 

That’s what I call a Seoul-crusher.

 

And that’s not a good omen when playing the Dodgers.  They’ve been busy lately.  The LAD flew in like the LAPD, ready to enforce what we already knew: a record 13 straight wins at home (losing only after Manny’s suspension) and they’re the most successful team in the National League in like…everything. 

 

We started last night with a four-game losing streak with our leadoff hitters last in batting average and on base percentage, and second to last in runs scored in the league.  But we, umm, have some really good-looking fielders?

 

Then Park came back in the second and struck out two in a one-two-three inning.  But then they continued to hit him.  The upside is, he didn’t hand out free passes to first like the Dodgers who’d been dealt a rotten deck in Monopoly.  And the fact that we lead the league in bases-loaded walks proves we’re the best at monopolizing on misfortune. 

 

And how about that pickle?  Tom McCarthy told us Garry Maddox once started in center field and ended up closing a play at the plate.  Last night Jayson Werth started the 9-2-6-4-7 rundown at second that was capped with a tag by Raul Ibanez.  Did I say how much I love this game?

 

The other piece of good news is last night was dollar dog night—and I missed it.  Need I say more?

 

The only thing I didn’t like about our victory was there was no Mitch Williams commentary after the game.  Mitch and I are a lot alike.  He likes to get inside the guys’ heads after the game and I’d like to get inside their pants.  I’m sorry, was I thinking out loud?

 

The moral of the story is, Jayson Werth is now Casper’s mischievous sidekick on the base path, Jimmy Rollins got to contribute in a stirred up lineup, Shane Victorino started another hitting streak, and the fat lady sang her way to a 5-3 Phils victory.  Only Turkey Hill Grand Slam ice cream is sweeter than that.

 

See you at the ballpark.

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