After all, they did manage to explode for two whole runs, which was finally enough for Hamels to get off the schnide. Cole pitched eight strong innings, scattering seven hits while surrendering just one run to finally pick up his long overdue 10th win of the season. Jimmy Rollins, free from the tyranny of boos, scored the first run of the game, and then proceeded to do squat the rest of the way. But no worries, a man who can take a good booing and like it, Pat Burrell, played hero, launching a solo shot in the left field seats for what wound up being the winning run.
Last night's win wrapped up a cheer-worthy 2-5 west coast swing that saw the Phils go from two games up to two games back of the Mets in the division. Jimmy Rollins' batting average is now down to .266. Make sure to give him a standing ovation tomorrow night. Clearly he's earned it.
As far as the weekend went, the Phillies were way down on the list of things that were fun for me. Sure, Brad Lidge looked great again, getting two saves in two opportunities to remain perfect on the season, but even his electric slider couldn't compare to Michael Phelps.
On Friday night, I was giving my dad shit for turning off football, even it was preseason, to watch swimming. I most profess, I usually hate swimming. But I knew my dad wanted to watch, and honestly, deep down, so did I. I wasn't disappointed. As I watched the 100-meter butterfly, with Phelps racing for his 7th gold, I was certain he lost. Serbian Milo Cavic looked to finish milliseconds ahead of Phelps, crushing the run to perfection.
But the scoreboard said Phelps finished first, by the slimmest of margins, 1/100th of a second. I couldn't believe it. I watched the replay, and upon first glance, it showed what my eyes saw the first time around. Phelps lost. I was certain. In fact, the American was still in a full windup of a stroke as Cavic reached for the wall. Another replay, and I still thought there was a mistake. Then, they showed the underwater angle, confirming that Phelps, indeed, touched the wall just before Cavic. It was amazing—a script that couldn't even be written.
On Saturday, I had the displeasure of spending the evening in New York. Actually, truth be told, I had a great time, seeing as I was completely shitfaced by 8:30 p.m. thanks to a bachelor party. And as I was drinking like Kerry Collins, race time approached for Phelps and his U.S. teammates. When it began, the entire bar, packed full, went ape-shit nuts, yelling the entire race and roaring when the U.S. won. It was pretty cool. From what I remember.
So cool, in fact, I decided to celebrate by more drinking. It was fun. And fucking expensive. Take a guess at what it cost me to order a round (10) of carbombs? $150 with tip. New York blows.
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