It was a cold night. As much as Phils fans are fair weather friends, Phils hitters are definitely warm weather bats. I know how they feel. I spend November through April in my thermals. I say I’m just cold-blooded but my husband has another word for it.
I whine, “Honey, that’s harsh.”
“The truth hurts,” he replies.
To solve my problem (or rather his), my better half bought a mattress heater. Even though that has enticed me on occasion to strip from my layers… well, you don’t need all the details. I’m certain the thought of us snug as bugs in a rug won’t do anything to enhance the Phils’ slugging percentage, so I’ll move on. My point is, it was cold.
It was a slow night too. I don’t know about you, but I’m still hung-over from that Monday night thriller. The most excitement I felt in game three was in the fourth. I thought for sure the Howard-Werth-Ibanez bases-loaded situation would conjure insecurity in their starter, but it turns out he was shaken, not stirred. But I was definitely nervous when Brett Myers struggled, and our bullpen didn’t stir. Again, I reached for the antacids. Fortunately, Brett soon figured out that walks waste pitches. Now I know Brett lost twenty-five pounds in the off-season but I think the problem is his package shrunk. He’s got to get his mo-jo back.
The game was so slow even two bases-loaded situations didn’t interest my son. In the crowd, he reported spying two guys with funny moustaches, one man from That 70’s Show, someone wearing sunglasses at night who he deduced must be blind, a teenage boy who pulled up his shirt to flash the camera, a girl eating boogers, and Santa.
“Santa?” I confirm.
“Ask him for a grand slam.”
“Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes, “it’s not Christmas.”
He was right. Olsen closed out the inning.
My favorite thing about being a Phillies fan is hearing people tell me why we’ll lose when we’re winning:
You can’t win without pitching.
You can’t win on home runs alone.
You can’t leave so many guys on base.
And you can’t win ‘em all when you’re coming from behind.
Can I get, “Duh?” Any sensible person knows we can’t win by doing all of them, but we sure end up winning a bunch one way or another.
You’d think the Nats couldn’t win either if you pick just the right stats: they have the lowest bullpen ERA in the league, a staggering total of 21 errors, and struggled with plays at first last night, but they managed a W anyway. Sometimes the best dish comes from the simplest recipe and they had it – just hit ‘em where they ain’t.
So, enough of that. Let’s look at the highlights – from a babe’s take:
Chase, “we’re gonna change his name to ‘Manly’,” dove back to the bag and after infield hits with the vigor of a little leaguer. I hope he didn’t harm his sweet little hips. Jayson “Werth-y of my admiration” slid after an outfield fly and into second just to turn me on - and it worked. Ryan ran the bases like he was Jimmy Rollins and Jimmy fielded just like the new Ryan Howard, but when J Ro struck out, the frustration on his face said he just needed a hug. I can take care of that.
I’m sorry, was I thinking out loud?
Allow me to continue. Raul proved why 500 more Phils jerseys were sold with ‘Ibanez’ stitched above the number 29, but alas, Matt “the Greek God of pinch hitters” Stairs walked to the plate with his thunder-bat and was denied. If I could just hold his hand I know everything would be okay. Shane’s lucky he’s fast because if I ever catch up with him… And I missed the first inning. Did I see a pickle in there somewhere? You can press me between two Phillies any day.
Now I’m warmed up. Fan me off and feed me grapes.
Rest up. Friday we host the Mets. You’ll need your energy.