Thursday, October 30, 2008

It's the World Series, Read All About It

Well shit, I still can't believe the Phillies just won the World Series. So yeah, read everything.

-The greatest article ever written. I cried while I was reading it.

-This one was for June and Charlie.

But Manuel also has a long memory. During the postgame news conference Manuel saw a veteran baseball writer from Cleveland sitting in the audience.

"Why don't you go back to Cleveland and tell them we won a World Series," said Manuel, smiling. "Don't take this a cocky way: I always knew how good I was."

I didn't always know, Charlie. Now I do. Best manager/coach in my lifetime. You deserve this.

-King Cole

-Watch it again folks.

-Pat fucking Burrell

"We play in a tough-ass town, and I'm proud of that," Burrell said. "I'm proud to say I play here and behind this city. Just for the fact that they've been behind me. I don't think anybody in here understands this city and the way [it thinks] more than I do. To be able to hand this over to them, this is as good as it gets."


"Who knows what's going to happen," he said. "It's going to be hard for me to walk out of this town."

-Believe it.

It felt like sprayed champagne in your eyes and fans who didn't want to leave, who chanted for Phils manager Charlie Manuel to come back out of the clubhouse nearly 90 minutes after the game ended.

It looked like relief pitcher Chad Durbin, kneeling down on the pitching mound, scooping up a handful of dirt and sifting it into the tiny hand of one of his children.

It looked like 45-year-old pitcher Jamie Moyer, standing on the field, doing an interview and then excusing himself to run over and get into a picture with his wife and children. It will make one hell of a Christmas card.

-The great Bill Lyon

And thus ended one of the most bizarre and controversial games ever played in the World Series, complete with a 46-hour wait between innings, and how fitting that was, for this is Philadelphia, after all, cradle of liberty, acid reflux, angst, anxiety and the sure and certain belief that we are doomed forever to walk along the Boulevard of Busted Dreams.

But not now. Not this time. No, you can go ice skating in Hades now. The Phillies have broken the Hundred Season Drought. The franchise of 10,000 losses is a winner.


The Phillies have been committing baseball for 126 years, and this is their second championship. Their history is a tortured one.

But Lidge offered exactly the right perspective when he said: "This is our time right now, and I don't give a crap about all the rest."

Yes, the time for haunting is past. What has gone before now shrinks in importance. The vinegar turns to champagne.

Asked if he and the rest of the Phillies fully grasped the magnitude of what they had done for the city, Cole Hamels, the pitching prodigy who was MVP of the World Series, said: "When we come back, when we're all old and retired, and we come back, and they still stand up, giving us a standing ovation like they do to the guys of the 1980 World Series. The fans added to our confidence.

"These fans, they could taste it as much as we could."

-The best photo gallery ever.

-Like him or not, Bill Conlin is a must-read when it comes to baseball.

As the bullpen gate swung open and the relievers and coaches there began the sprint toward the writhing dog pile of regulars and reserves that every player dreams of joining, a token force of nine officers on motorcycles rimmed the outfield warning track, lights flashing. The crowd was too busy high-fiving, man-hugging, woman-kissing, child-lifting and releasing enough pent-up emotion to light the city for a year to take notice of the subtle police presence.


This will be remembered in the land of the Philly-bashers and the believers that no World Series that excludes the Yankees or Red Sox is worth the number of people who will fall asleep trying to watch it. Especially if it includes a small-market upstart like Tampa Bay.

But you will manage to live with the knowledge that this was the least-watched Series in history- no thanks to a pair of epic rain storms here and the actions of a clueless commissioner who should be turned out of office at the next owners' meeting.

You will live with it because these Phillies made 28 years of waiting go away. They turned in their own version of the Tug McGraw-Bob Boone ending.

And now all you need is a player to hold your favorite tabloid newspaper aloft Friday and bellow a paraphrase of McGraw's famed message to New York: "The rest of the country can take this World Series and stick it!"

-It wasn't a dream. It was real.

It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. You are wide awake and the Phillies really are World Series champions. They beat the weather and the Tampa Bay Rays, 4-3, to earn just the second title in franchise history.

Philadelphia's quarter-century without a major sports championship is over - outta here - thanks to a gritty, talented team that won two games in one day and one game that took three nights.

"I grew up watching this silly team play," said Souderton native Jamie Moyer, who skipped school to attend the Phillies' only other championship parade in 1980. "And now I'm standing in their clubhouse as a player, and we won a world championship."

Moyer, eyes red from champagne and tears, took a breath.

"Wow," he said. "World championship. That's the first time I've ever used those words. It sounds great."

Moyer and a million friends will attend another parade tomorrow. It won't be in Boston. It won't be in New York City. It won't be in Los Angeles or Chicago and it sure as heck won't be in St. Petersburg, Fla.

It will be right down Broad Street, right under the approving gaze of Mr. William Penn, right through the still-racing heart of Philadelphia.


So remember Brad Lidge, completing his personal perfect season by striking out pinch-hitter Eric Hinske for the final out. Lidge dropped to his knees as the sellout crowd at Citizens Bank Park roared, fireworks filled the sky, the Who blared on the PA system and the Phillies rushed to the mound to celebrate.

Remember Cole Hamels, seven months younger than our title drought, delivering five stellar postseason starts to earn the World Series MVP award.

Remember Charlie Manuel, awash in chants of his name, standing on the makeshift stage behind second base and holding up his index finger: No. 1. Manuel, who buried his mother during the playoff run, promised Philadelphia a "grand parade," and he delivered.


Remember Burrell delivering a 400-foot double in what might be his last at-bat as a Phillie.

Remember Pedro Feliz driving in the biggest run of the Phillies' season - the one that gave them a 4-3 lead in the seventh inning last night.

Remember every last thing Shane Victorino did: the grand slam, the two-run shot in Los Angeles, the defense, the four-RBI game against the Dodgers, the beanball throwdown and, of course, the two-run single 48 hours before the end of Game 5.

Remember Ryan Howard's just-in-time power surge, and the electrifying moments when his moonshots landed amid the bouncing fans and clutching hands.

Remember Chase Utley's opening statement, a two-run homer in his first World Series at-bat to signal that these Phillies were different from the teams that had disappointed in every sport for the last 25 years.

Remember Jimmy Rollins for the leadoff home runs and for leading the way all along.

Remember Carlos Ruiz, the shy, smiling catcher, topping a ball 50 feet down the third-base line for the biggest little hit in Phillies history.

Remember Eric Bruntlett sliding safely home on the biggest little hit in Phillies history to win Game 4 at 1:47 a.m. Sunday.

Remember Joe Blanton and his no-way home run in Game 4.

Remember the fans who turned the Bank into the loudest, happiest, coolest place in sports for the past month.

Remember the 25 years. They're important. They were real, too, and they helped define this city as a sports town for way too long. It was long enough to turn passion too often to anger. Maybe this championship will turn the vinegar back into wine.

Remember 1964 and Black Friday and Joe Carter, because they're all just a little further away and a little less menacing than they were a week ago.

Remember the Phillies' 10,000 losses, because they make this one win all the better.

Remember the other, uncountable losses: the loved ones buried in their red caps and Eagles sweatshirts, the fathers and mothers, spouses and friends who didn't make it to this day. Even the die-hards die in time.

Remember the older loved ones you weren't sure would live to see it. Make a call. Give out hugs. Bask in this with the people who matter most.

Remember Tug and Whitey. Remember Vuke and the Pope.

Remember it all, savor every moment.

After all, you waited forever and a day.

-I was just blinded.

-Great work all year from We Should Be GM's

-So, uh, this car got flipped.

-Best play in World Series history? Best play in World Series history.

-Check out everything at The700Level.

Phinally! Celebrating a World Championship in Philly from BridgeMG on Vimeo


Once on a television show I was working on, Philly writer Joe Queenan was a guest speaking on the anniversary of the Phils’ World Series victory in 1980. The host asked him, “Philadelphia sports fans have a reputation for being very angry and bitter … why is that?” Queenan’s reply was so beautifully succinct that it was almost a haiku. “Well,” he said, “Philadelphia teams don’t win very much, and that makes us angry.”


We Philadelphians have not been so inclined. Noblesse has never obliged us to do jack-squat, because if there’s one thing we know about ourselves, it’s that we are not noblesse. All the suffering did for us was make us bitter and angry, which slowly turned us into the butt of many a national joke, which only made us angrier. It was a vicious cycle that tailspinned on and on, and before we knew it, we were Gollum chasing the Ring. “We loves the Ring ... we HATES the RING…”

Today it’s all over. The wicked witch has left the building, Mordor is up in flames, Darth Vader is dead. Honestly, I hardly even know how to begin to think about that other than to say that it feels not so much like something has been given to me as that something has been returned to me. I woke up this morning with a feeling of possibility that I haven’t felt in a long, long time. To paraphrase that great Boston poet Robert Lowell (Mr. Noblesse Oblige himself), it’s pleasant enough and now my life is in my hands. That something so trivial as baseball has the power to affect such transformations is utterly baffling to me, but then it’s often been observed that what we really want from sports is nothing so much as a constant reminder that we are all children at heart.

-Wake-Up Call

-We impressed TBL.

-The highlights

-Read everything at Ball, Sticks, & Stuff, too.


-Top 5 feel-good stories

1. Jamie Moyer — The 45-year-old produced one of the most spontaneous moments of Wednesday night's celebration, searching out a shovel and trying to unearth the pitching rubber himself. When that proved unsuccessful, members of the grounds crew pooled their strength and, 10 minutes later, the relic belonged to Moyer who took every measure to make sure no one would steal it from him. After 22 years of never appearing in the World Series, Moyer played a vital role in his first appearance. His performance in Game Three paved the way for his hometown Phillies to sweep all three games at home and to see Moyer taking off with the pitching rubber like a little kid was to see exactly why he's hung around the game for so long.


5. Phillie Phanatics — Not only did they have to deal with 25 years without a major sports championship but Philadelphia sports fans have to put up with all the lines about booing Santa Claus, Michael Irvin's injury and what-have-you whenever their fanbase is discussed. Even though they can be a bit boorish at times — hey, a little bit of angry comes in every Philadelphian's blood — I've still yet to find a group of fans more passionate or knowledgeable about their teams (and, yes, that includes my Chicago). My beliefs were reinforced over the three games played at The Bank, when the placed rocked from beginning to end and the Phillie phaithful finally got the title they've wanted for so long. You always feels good for a group of fans when you know they're appreciating what they're getting.

-meech would be proud of this and this.

-Mr. Perfect

-What. A. Scene.

-The night the boos died

Say what you will about FOX, but after the game ended, the network was smart enough to simply replay the moment of Brad Lidge’s strikeout again and again and again. From every angle. We saw Ryan Howard react. We saw Jimmy Rollins react. We saw the dugout react. We saw Lidge react. We saw fans jump higher than a moon shot. We saw outfielders instantly break into a sprint towards the mound, hands raised. It was if they had isolated a camera on every single person in the stadium in order to capture them in that one fleeting second.

And God dammit, it was glorious.


Seriously, this is the greatest, bestest thing in the world. As a fan of your favorite team, I hope you do experience it. I never, EVER thought i would.



-The Deuce is loose.

-Hugging it all out

-romanwarhelmet says there is no God. Yes there is, roman, and he resides in Philadelphia at the moment.

-The Fightins is the best site ever.

This is the happiest day of life. Now my life is complete. Thank you, 2008 Philadelphia Phillies. Thank you so very much.


As I start to write this, it is 8:31 a.m., Thursday October 30, 2008, and for the first time in my life, I woke up and a team from Philadelphia was the champs. More specifically, the Philadelphia Phillies are the World Series Champions! Say that out loud and try not to smile. You can't.

I'm supposed to be at work right now. I have pretty much no more days left to take off, but fuck it, I'm taking off today and tomorrow. There are always other jobs out there. Right now, the Phillies are more important than anything else that is going on in anyone's life. Plus, the celebration I had last night/this morning renders me useless at work anyway.

I watched the game with just three other people: Adam EatShit, uncle jellyfish and our boy Alan, here at my house. And last night, the Phillies showed just how hungry they were to give us all something to celebrate. They played the way they have all year, only they didn't. A leadoff double by Geoff Jenkins--his first hit of the World Series--followed by a bunt to move him over by Jimmy Rollins followed by a popup that was just a little too far for anyone to reach, and the Phillies had a lead via small ball.

After the Rays tied it up with a home run by Rocco Baldelli, no problem. A leadoff double by Pat Burrell--his first hit of the World Series--followed by Shaner moving pinch runner Eric Bruntlett to third with a grounder to the right side, followed by a laser base hit up the middle for Pete Happy, the most underappreciated player in this entire run. Small ball again. Back in the lead. For good.

J.C. was phenomenal. And Lidge was, well, perfect. When he got Eric Hinske on strikes, the four of us leapt up and formed a 4-man hug. I sat in disbelief, walked out to Girard and saw the fireworks, literally. Mayhem was upon us. I returned inside to find Adam EatShit crying, and I, too, shed a tear. Finally, it was our turn. THE PHILLIES ARE WORLD CHAMPIONS!!!!!!

We embarked on a journey, champagne and beer in tow, as we hopped on the el, where a rabid Phillies fan, an older woman, was going insane. Another die-hard jumped on board, screaming, "25 YEARS! 25 YEARS!" As he passed, doling out high 5s, I corrected him: "You mean 0 YEARS!!!!!" A glorious roar ensued. We road to City Hall and joined in the celebration. The streets were flooded. People were drinking on the sidewalks, in the streets, and no one could stop it. For once, the city of Philadelphia truly was the happiest place on earth.

There were literally 70 people piled on top of a firetruck. Lampposts and street lights were littered with fans mounting them. And the four of us embarked on a quest. We hiked from City Hall to the Art Museum, ran the steps, honored the Rocky statue and soaked it all in. This was why I stuck with these teams so many years. My 24 years of heartache, of pain, of disappointment vanished. All was right with the world. This was for Johnny Marz, Vuk, Whitey. This was for Pat. And Jimmy. And all the rest. This was for Charlie. Boy, was this ever for Charlie. But more importantly, more incredibly, this was for us. For me and you. Finally, we were not let down. Finally, we are CHAMPIONS!!!!!!!!

After hugging strangers at the Art Museum, we walked back toward the fracas at City Hall. Then we walked all the way to South Street. All the way to 3rd. And we finally settled in at O'Neals. We met up with friends, drank the sweet night away, and then walked some more. All the way to Columbus, to the Hyatt, until finally we were picked up by my roommate and his girlfriend. Two of us, myself included, piled in the trunk. I have never been so comfortable in my life.

And as I should be at work, I don't care. This means too much. So much, in fact, that as I talked with my dad last night, at the foot of the Art Museum, he had something incredible to say. You see, early in the morning yesterday, my father called me at work to inform me his aunt, my great aunt, had passed away. She was great woman. It was sad news to say the least. Later in the day, he called to let me know the funeral would be Friday, at 8:30 or 9 in the morning. And last night, when I called him, he said, "I have something I need to tell you. Go to the parade Friday. You don't have to go the funeral. Go to the parade." And as I feel like I may be doing a disservice to my fallen aunt, I think he may be right. She would want us to celebrate. So R.I.P. Aunt Marion. I'm going to honor you the best way I know how. With that, I told my dad I love him. Because for the past 24 years, we've been suffering this together. And my only regret from last night is that I was not able to be with my father to enjoy it.

There is nothing, I mean nothing, that can compare to this. The Phillies are World Champions! WORLD MOTHERFUCKING CHAMPS!!!! I still can't believe it.

Please, enjoy the sights and sounds, courtesy of The Fightins and The700Level.

This is for Philadelphia from on Vimeo

I don't even know what to do with myself. So I ramble. Can you blame me?

LET'S GO PHILS!!!!!!!!!

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Links to Glory?

Not sure if you've all heard or not, but the Phillies will be picking up where they left off in game 5 tonight, so, yeah, that's all that really matters. But here's some links just for the hell of it.

-Bitch and moan all you'd like, but the Phils still have the edge.

-The Sixers open their season tonight against the Raptors at the Wachovia Center, with just 11 men dressed because Royal Ivey is serving the last two games of his three-game suspension from last season.

-Steve Downie got beat up and in the process got bit.

-Talk about a dirty hit.

-Scott Eyre may have said: "That fucking guy. I wouldn't let him supervise one of my shits." in referring to Bud Selig. Either way, some Phillie did.

-Greg Oden got injured again.

-Roy Williams dresses up as Tatum Bell for Halloween.

-Texans WR David Anderson pulls a Conan.

-Simon Gagne earns the Puck Daddy Star No. 1.

-A Cubs fan in Philly is feeling blue.

-Lute Olson's ousting causes Arizona to lose three prized recruits.

-Jim McMahon's dad is not happy with BYU.

-Jimmy Rollins says CC will be a Yankee in 2009. So did I. In spring training.

-Turn that Ohio State hatred to Texas.

-Speaking of Ohio State, the Buckeyes were flagged exactly 0 times for holding Saturday. This isn't holding?

-Chamomiles Davis wants you to Believe. Just Believe.:

We among the faithful have been led by conniving outsiders to believe that this drought is somehow our doing, that it’s our fault. Bullshit. And tonight will prove them all wrong.

Believe. Go Phils.

Tonight. Tonight.

LET'S GO PHILS!!!!!!!!!

Maybe You Shouldn't Park There

Houston wide receiver Patrick Edwards ran into a cart that was inexplicably parked right behind the end zone, and this happened.

I mean, damn. Someone should definitely get fired for parking those things there, and Edwards should be compensated somehow. That's some bullshit right there.

This Guy is Excited

Um, yeah, I'm going to have to agree with meech on this one. This is the greatest interview on local television ever:

Monty Gee on the M-I-C from on Vimeo.

Monty Gee. Yes sir.

Don't Look Now …

With the World Series 1/3 of game postponed yet another day, I was able to turn my attention over the Flyers last night, and it didn't take long for the action to get started.

Just 1:20 into the game, Joffrey Lupul stole the puck from Tobias Enstrom and snapped one right past Kari Lehtonen.

The rest of the period was pretty uneventful and evenly played, with the Flyers registering just four shots to the Thrashers' six. Niittymaki certainly looked sharp, but the game was up for grabs. For a while anyway.

Just a few minutes into the second, Knuble put the Flyers up 2, and from there the Flyers took over. Gagne added a back-breaking shorthanded goal before the second period ended, and Niitty was on top of his game. The Flyers took control in the second and never gave it back.

At least, that's what I saw. The announcer on Versus, whoever the hell it was, said that despite the score being at that time 4-0—after Knuble, who had a great game, scored his second goal just a minute into the third, this time on the power play—the game was more evenly played than that. Um, no it wasn't. The Thrashers were good early on, but about midway through the second, the Flyers simply took control of the game.

Lupul added another power play goal, and Gagne also tallied another to give the Flyers three players with two goals. And they weren't the only ones to get in on the action in this 7-0 blowout. Glen Metropolit, who I have not been overly impressed with, had a very strong game, scoring a goal and adding two assits. Gagne led everyone with 4 points, and pretty much every player had a strong game for the Flyers.

Continuing the trend from the weekend sweep of the Devils, the much maligned defense stepped it up, holding Atlanta to just 24 shots, none of which got by Antero. Virtually everyone played well. It was really nice to see Luca Sbisa continue to shine, and for the first time this season, Ossi Vaananen and Steve Eminger looked confident to me back on the blue line. I've been particularly impressed with Eminger's offensive skill joining the rush and his tremendous shot, but last night, he actually looked like a real defenseman as well. It was nice to see.

It was certainly nice to see a team that has struggled so much early on gain its footing in the last three games, especially on the defensive end. If the Flyers can keep up this defensive play, they'll be right back in the thick of things in no time because this team will certainly continue to score all year long.


Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Laughing at Terrelle Pryor

A glorious photo:

So Yeah, Basketball Starts Tonight

With all indications pointing toward no game 5 tonight, we shift focus to basketball, which begins tonight. Check out this video courtesy of Skeets, especially Elton Brand telling the world he wants to put a championship under his belt 30 second in:

Then check out the sick compilation SLAM put together following USC freshman Demar Derozan for the past two years:

Demar Derozan *2009 NBA Draft #1 Pick!* - video powered by Metacafe

Yeah, basketball is here.

Programming Note

Your regularly scheduled programming on The House That Glanville Built has been temporarily suspended due to rain.

The terrible articles of disgust you've grown accustomed to will resume as soon as the weather gets straightened out.

Thank you.

P.S. Tonight (or tomorrow or whenever the remainder of game 5 gets played), Mr. Chase Utley, when a Rays pitcher walks the two batters in front of you to load the bases, do everything in your power to go ahead and not swing at the first pitch, especially when it is a slider two feet off the plate, idiot. That goes for the rest of you as well. That is all.


Snap Back To Reality

Welp, I knew it. My life was going way to good. Something had to give. I had it all set up. Everything was planned. I had off from work today, and even had gotten someone to cover for me on Wednesday. Things were going perfect. The Phillies were one game away from EVERYTHING we ever dreamed of. Not only that but the Flyers woke up, Brian Westbrook appeared to be healthy, and Penn State gave Ohio St. a lesson in how holding on and mistake free win big games. The Rays had no shot, absolutely no shot last night. Andddddddddd then God reminded everyone where we were. If the Rays couldn't beat us, then Mother Nature and Bud Selig would give it a shot.

I'm not one to complain[Ed note: Yes he is. We all are.], but give me a fucking break. You are going to wait that long to call that game when the radar looked that horrible from the start. This is the WORLD SERIES. Everyone who watched the weather knew what was happening. When Jimmy Rollins had that much trouble on a pop up, things probably should have been stopped. That was pathetic. The rain was going to continue to fall and the wind was going to pick up. The game probably should have been delayed from the start. And even if you start the game, when the grounds crew has to come out that many times and puddles are building on the field and THE RADAR SHOWS RAIN CONTINUING FOR THE NEXT 20 HOURS. STOP THE FUCKING GAME. Do everyone a favor.

The clinching game with our best pitcher on the mound? Really? It was going to be that easy? Nah. It never is, is it? Now our ace has been wasted. Cole was still pitching brilliantly without the use of his curveball and barely using his Gift from God change up. Just imagine if he was able to use something besides a fastball last night. That kid wasn't losing. I'll tell you that much. It is a shame too.

BUT, it's not over yet. Game 5 is still in progress and it's up to the best bullpen in the National League. They have to get 9 outs and the offense has to score 1 run in four at bats. I like those odds to tell you the truth. I believe in this team. Ya gotta believe in this team. They are too talented and they know what they are playing for. We have waited 25 years for a championship, so what's another 24 or 48 hours, am I right people? Remember what it has been like for the next day or so. Remember all the taunts of the Braves fans who have won the division for so many years, how discouraging it was for the Marlins to win TWO World Series in 10 years, remember every FUCKING Mets fan who came into Citizen Bank Park and wouldn't shut the fuck up. Because if the Phillies play their game, they way their supposed to play, they won't lose.

A Word to the Wise

Look. If you've watched the game with a small group of friends for the last month, don't stop. If you think to yourself, "Yeah, we've just been at the corner bar all these weeks but tonight, I'm going to go to the Fieldhouse to get nuts," DON'T. For those of you who don't need a crowd to get into a game, stick to your guns.

What I'm talking about is worst move I've made in a while, the one to go down to Benny the Bums tonight to watch game 5. Why not be 400 yards from the very Park the Phils could win it all in? Why not be that much closer to what could possibly be the best moment of my 27 years?

How could that be a bad move?

That would be because apparently this bar (and I assume many others) was filled with a bunch of fuckfaces who were more concerned with getting 6 miller lites for them and their dbag cronies than watching the game. This is because I had to piss in an empty pitcher as if I left my spot I may never regain an angle on a TV. This is because a 2-2 count with nobody on and no out was no different than a full count with 2 out to most of the clueless patrons.

I swear to god if I ever hear another DJ do a "mash-up" of Metallica and some fucking dance beat...words cannot describe the anger that built up. Not that Metallica is that good, it's just that Enter Sandman and Disco Inferno just don't mix. I hate you, douche that was DJ'ing at Benny the Bums Monday night. You truly led me to believe I was in a frat basement waiting for my division 2 football team to get back from their game so we could slam Jacob's Best. You suck hard man.

If you want to watch the game with people who care, watch the game with people you know who care. If you don't, you'll end up a stone's throw from the stadium with a bunch of assholes singing 'sweet caroline' before the game, just waiting to blindly cheer if the Phils win.

All that said- this is the most confounding result that could have possibly happened tonight. I hope they get some type of resolution Tuesday and the Phils are able to pull it out. These hijinks from Mother Nature clearly favor the Rays, as they dodged a bullet from a locked-in Colbert Hamels. LET'S GO PHILS whenever this game is finished.

P.S. Fuck Bud Selig for good measure.

Monday, October 27, 2008

It's Almost Time

Since I began my job in January, I've made a habit of going on a mile and a half to two mile run almost every day after work down Delaware Avenue. In case you're ever in the area, I'm the short, out-of-shape one who looks like he's struggling to take another step. Keep an eye out.

Well today, during that run, which I just finished about 25 minutes ago, I almost threw up. Not because I was tired. Not because I was sick. Not because I ate something that wasn't sitting right. No, I almost puked, couldn't breathe, because I can feel it.

For just the third time in my life, I woke up with a Philadelphia team having a chance to win a championship on that day. The first was on May 31, 1987, when the Flyers took on the mighty Edmonton Oilers in game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Sadly, the Flyers lost 3-1, but I was only 3 years old at the time. Needless to say, I remember none of that team, season or game.

The only other chance happened just a few short years ago. On February 6, 2005, at 20 years old, the Eagles had their chance to take down the Patriots. They did not. As a junior at Penn State, I drove back to Bucks County to watch the Super Bowl with my father, the only person I could stand to watch the game with. But as always, the Eagles let me down.

Tonight, for just the third time in my 24-plus years on earth, Philadelphia can end the day as champions. The game is resting on the 24-year-old left arm of Cole Hamels and the men who line up behind him. While my roommates have descended upon South Philadelphia, friends from Bucks County traveled to South Street and everyone has been trying to convince me to tag along. But I sit here alone, in Fishtown, ready to watch the game. I cannot be around others during the game. I just don't function well that way. In big games, playoff games, I become the most anti-social sports fan alive. Other people bother me with stupid, inane comments. I get annoyed at the slightest bit of stupidity, grow furious with people chatting about topics that have nothing to do with the game. Unless I am there, I want no part of anyone. Tonight, with the chance of a lifetime worth of misery to melt away, I go it alone. And trust me, it is for everyone's benefit. But if Cole can do what he's done all postseason long, I will be sprinting down Girard, hanging a left on Broad and running until I cannot run any more.

The best omen of the night happened mere minutes ago. As I sat down on my couch, there he was, the patron saint himself, Doug Glanville, chatting it up on FOX. Doug is in the house he built, rooting on the Phillies. He once played mentor to Jimmy Rollins and said he feels like a part of the Phillies legacy. And he is. His presence can only mean good things, much like Jim Thome's did last night.

Please. Let this be the night. I'm not sure how much more I can take.



5-for-5 in Philadelphia this weekend (if you are a Penn State fan, like myself). Read that again. 5-for-mother fucking-5! A Flyers victory to jump-start the weekend on an incredible deflection in overtime by Jeff Carter. Flyers win their second straight against the Devils Rays in a dominant effort.

And while that was fun and all, Saturday was all about the nightcap with the undefeated Nittany Lions taking on Big 10 rival Ohio State in the Horseshoe and the Phillies set to play the first World Series game in Philadelphia in 15 years. Thanks to mother nature, the Phils game was a little bit delayed (like 91 minutes). That bitch. In actuality, this worked out quite well for the old Penn State alumnus that operates this here site. It allowed me to watch the first half of the Penn State game with my full attention, which was nice.

At least, I thought it would be nice. For you see, my roommates were lucky enough to score tickets to game 3, so they were at Citizens Bank Park, meaning I had the entire house to myself. This is a good thing, because I am a fucking lunatic watching games. I did invite my friend over, who would be traveling to game 4 with myself, but we'll get to that later. I was all set for us to enjoy the game in peace.

And then it happened. In walked my old roommate, who just so happens to be a female. OK, no big deal. She's a cool chick who doesn't bother to blather and ask stupid questions during games. I can handle that. But then, one my roommate's girlfriend came over to meet her, and I became very irritated. Penn State and Ohio State were locked in a defensive battle, and every inch was a struggle. And now there were two women in the room with me. Fuck.

Let's just say the things weren't going so hot for Penn State when yet another female walked in the door. Daryll Clark was having an absolutely horrible passing game, the Buckeyes were stuffing the run and it looked like the first team to get in the end zone would win. Then in walked uncle jellyfish's girlfriend to meet the other two ladies. That was horseshit, and I was officially pissed off at my roommates and mr. jellyfish. His girlfriend, with all due respect, is the loudest, most annoying young lady I've ever met. She's incredibly nice and all, but she was literally the last person on earth I wanted to be near. And she paid for it. Big time.

During the Penn State clash, locked in an epic 3-3 struggle at the half, I was freaking the fuck out. Big time. And these bitches were still in my god damn house, waiting for the rain delayed Phillies game to start. Well, almost simultaneously as the second half began, the Phillies game started. Thank the good Lord for split screen and gigantic televisions, for I was able to watch both games at the same time.

Unfortunately for me, I had to watch them both under horrid circumstances. And when Anthony Scirrotto missed approximately his 15th tackle of the night as Terrelle Pryor ran his white ass over, I took a violent swing at a beer bottle sitting on the table in front of me. It flew off the table and hit uncle jellyfish's girlfriend directly in the ass. And I had to apologize, even though the bitch fucking deserved it. That's what you get for bothering me in my own home during two of the biggest god damn games during my lifetime. Your boyfriend doesn't even live there, and he was at the game, not at my house. Seriously, my roommate and those girls can go get fucked for allowing this to happen. Next time I'm just telling them to get the fuck out of my house. But I digress …

Penn State was in such a disheartening game, especially when Ohio State took a 6-3 lead. But the Phils were roaring out of the gate, with Jimmy Rollins coming to life with a leadoff single. A walk and a wild pitch later, Rollins was on third when Chase Utley drove him home on a ground out, giving the Phillies the all-important first run.

And while the Rays tied the game the next inning thanks to Carl Crawford, Curbball Ruiz made his bid toward a potential World Series MVP candidate by crushing a solo home run off Matt Garza to put the Phils back ahead. Tits!

Meanwhile, Penn State turned the tides. Mark Rubin, who I had been killing all game for his continued sucktitude in coverage, made the play of the game, forcing a fumble on Terrelle Pryor that Navorro Bowman recovered.

And it was only fitting that Bowman pounced on the football, because that man was bar none the best player on the field Saturday night. He was all over the place, making huge tackles, deflecting passes and completely shutting down any Ohio State threats. His defensive linemen certainly helped the cause, completely dominating the line of scrimmage.

And when the Penn State offense returned to the field after the fumble, the man under center was not Daryll Clark. Apparently, Clark had suffered a head injury, which I did not know because I was listening to the Phils on 1210 at that point, but I was happy Clark was gone, injured or not. Don't get me wrong, Clark has been great all year. He is the starter. He should be the starter. And Penn State needs him the rest of the year.

But Saturday night, Clark was awful. Before the injury, his receivers, namely Deon Butler, Jordan Norwood and Graham Zug, were getting open. Like really, really open. And Clark was just missing them left and right. He was rendered ineffective by a tenacious Ohio State pass rush.

So when Pat Devlin came out and marched the team 38 yards down the field, it was great to see. Penn State's offensive line completely took over in the fourth quarter, and Evan Royster, Stephfon Green and, yes, Devlin, had room to run. And run they did. Devlin put the Lions ahead for good with a 1-yard touchdown run. Kevin Kelly added a field goal to make the final score 13-6. Penn State is now 9-0 and has a relatively easy road to an undefeated regular season. Fuck and Yes!

Fortunately for me, during this time the three unwelcomed ladies left, somewhere around the 4th inning, to head to the bar. And it was sure as shit a good thing for them, because I was about to go ballistic.

Jamie Moyer, who had been absolutely horrible in his prior two postseason starts, was pitching the game of his long, long baseball life. I mean, the man just completely had the Rays baffled. His changeup was nasty, and the professor was taking these young Rays to school. A 2-1 lead looked to be plenty given the way the Souderton native was dealing.

Of course, some more runs would be nice, especially since Matt Garza looked pretty hittable Saturday night. Well, up came Chase to lead off the 6th. I turned to my buddy and said, with Howard on deck, "You know, this would be a great time for Howard to hit his first playoff home run." Well, Chase apparently heard me and decided he'd be the one to give the Phils a little cushion, sending a 2-1 meatball high into the October night. By the time it landed, I had already jumped around about 15 times. 3-1 Phils. A few pitches later, Garza, clearly flustered, hung a 2-2 slider, and Ryan Howard did exactly what I said would be huge for him to do. Back-to-back jacks, 4-1 lead. Essentially, game over. Or so I thought.

Leading off the 7th, Carl Crawford, just trying to get something, anything going against a locked-in Jamie Moyer, laid down what looked to be the perfect drag bunt. Only Jamie Moyer, ignoring the effects of Father Time, got to a ball that any athletic, in-shape 20-something would have trouble getting to, dove for it, flipped to Ryan Howard, who barehanded the ball, beating Crawford for the out by a full half-step. Incredible play from a man having an incredible night. Until it wasn't. The first base umpire inexplicably called Crawford safe. In real time, he looked out. On the replay, it was clear as day he was out. But the umpire called him safe, adding to a the slew of horrendous umpiring in this series. Aren't these guys supposed to be the best of the best in the World Series? What a fucking joke.

I was cursing the heavens and wishing horrible, terrible things upon Tom Hallion and his family. Fucked again. And to make matters worse, the blown call led directly to two runs that would not have scored, making it a 4-3 game. I was beside myself with anger.

And then the eighth happened. An Upton single, followed by a steal, then another steal where Curbbal threw the ball away, and suddenly the game is tied. The Phils should have at least been winning 4-2 had the umpire just done his fucking job. Instead the game was tied. When the half inning ended, I went on a warpath. I threw a can in the middle of Girard Ave. I chucked a coaster full of change all over my floor. I chucked an open bag of pretzels across the room, creating quite a mess. I was more furious than I have ever been in my life. Fuck Tim Hallion! Fuck Melvin Upton! FUCK! FUCK! FUCKETY FUCK!

I couldn't handle it. Really, it was just too much. I was ready to kill. I'm not even joking. In that moment, I am 100 percent sure I was capable of murder. Thankfully, it didn't come to that. And then, after a perfect 9th by J.C. Romero, the baseball gods decided the Phillies were not going to lose this game. Not after the way Jamie Moyer pitched. Not after yet another horrible call that went against them. Not this time.

Everyone's favorite defensive replacement turned playoff hitting superstar Eric Bruntlett led off the bottom of the 9th by getting hit by a pitch. And as Jayson Stark said, that was the most normal thing to happen in the inning. With Shane at the dish, Grant Balfour threw a wild pitch that just missed hitting Shane. It flew by Dioner Navorro, and Bruntlett took off for second. But the ball bounced directly back to Navorro, who has a cannon, off the bricks. He had a shot at Bruntlett at second, but instead threw the ball into center, advancing Bruntlett to third. Holy shit!

The Rays then walked the bases loaded, brought in 5 infielders, as Carlos Ruiz headed to the dish. Bases loaded, no one out. Chooch at the dish. And the man came through. Boy did he ever come threw. A slow, high chopper. Bruntlett was off. Evan Longoria did all he could, charging the ball, stumbling and trying to flip it home. But the ball sailed 15 feet in the air. Bruntlett scored easily. Game-winning, walkoff infield single. Unreal!

I can't even say I was ecstatic or overjoyed. I was relieved. The Phillies deserved that win. Jamie Moyer deserved that win. And while he didn't get the win, he sure as shit deserved all the credit in the world. I walked out my front door, as a scene unfolded. A small group of teenagers were running down Girard Ave. They were yelling and screaming, running the streets, stopping cars, doling out high fives and people honked their horns in support. Hell, these crazy kids even ran in front of the trolley, stopping it in its tracks, celebrating the night away. It was a fun sight to see. That was, until the cops showed up to tame them down. Turns out, the Indian restaurant owners of Ekta called the cops. They couldn't sleep, you see. I told the guy that was not cool and the kids were just trying to have fun. He gave me a dirty look. So, all three of you out there, don't ever fucking eat at Ekta. Fuck those stupid ass Indian faggots. Just because you foreign assholes don't know two shits about baseball doesn't mean you have the right to come to our city tell us how to act. Fuck you! I hope your business goes under and you're forced to peddle cheap rugs the rest of your lives, assholes.

What a fucking night! We celebrated in our own way, and then went to get some rest. For you see, the Eagles came on at 1 and I was headed to game 4 afterward. Rest was needed.

I would love to get into the details of the Eagles' win, but I gotta tell you, I was not overly into the game. I was informed by Arkansas Fred, a lucky bastard who holds season tickets to the Birds, that Lito and Sheldon came out of the tunnel together in introductions. That was pretty sweet.

Now, the first half of the Birds game was pretty awful. It looked like both teams had not much of a clue what they were doing. Donny was off big time, and neither team got much going. The game was essentially won by the offensive line and Brian Westbrook, who was phenomenal in his return. It was great to see the Eagles run the ball, and Westbrook, still struggling with his health, proved just how fucking good he is. 22 carries for 167 yards and two touchdowns, not mention 6 catches for 42 yards. Nice.

McNabb rebounded in the second half to wake up and actually throw well. DeSean continued to prove he is the best receiver on the team. Kevin Curtis did virtually nothing in his debut. And L.J. Smith was finally having a quietly nice game. He was blocking well and getting open, which was nice for a change. But it didn't last. Lawyer Milloy absolutely destroyed L.J. Smith on a late, unnecessary roughness penalty hit. I mean, it looked like L.J. was never going to get up. That hit was vicious.

Sad to see L.J. finally have a good came only to get concussed. It was good, however, to see Lito Sheppard completely dominate on Sunday. He was tremendous in pass coverage, and the Eagles defense played pretty good all day. Michael Turner was held in check and the Birds surrendered just 14 points.

This I do know though: Matt Ryan is good. I mean, he did not look rattled at all. The Penn Charter kid looks like he's destined to become a great quarterback. I never saw this coming last year, when he threw a shit ton of interceptions. Also, how bad has officiating been in professional sports lately? The Eagles got a huge break on that muffed punt call. That was absolutely horrible. Thankfully, the Falcons had no timeouts left, but man, officials, refs and umpires really do suck these days.

Well, with the Eagles game over, I decided to take a little nap before heading down to the ballpark. I woke from my slumber at 5:10 p.m. and hopped in the shower. I then went in my room, and proceeded to pump myself up the best way I know how—by listening to these two songs:

So I guess you can say I was ready. I walked downstairs and looked at my friend Josh: "We're going to the World Series right now."

We took a six-back of Tecate, walked to el and embarked on our journey. Once we hit Broad and Pattison, we were awe-struck. The scene was spectacular. A huge stage, lights everywhere. We walked around the area, scanning the Linc parking lot, heading over the Wachovia Center lot, watching all the debauchery and drunkeness, still stunned we were going to be in the stadium for game 4 of the World Series.

After checking in with some friends, Josh and I walked around outside of the stadium, working through a mass of people. Finally, at around 7:40 p.m., we entered and took our seats in section 425, row 13, seats 22 and 21. It was a great row, with two rowdy fellows behind us, a young kid who was as into the game as anyone in the stadium a few rows behind, two old-time, long Phillies fans to my left, and two extremely attractive women to our right. Oh yeah, and there was a guy wearing an Ohio State pullover two rows in front of us. Josh yelled at him. It was great.

As I looked around the field and saw the Phillies getting ready to be introduced, I started to get misty-eyed. I was at the NFC Championship game against the Falcons. I thought that was the best day of my life and probably always would be. But on Saturday night (well, Sunday morning), my roommate returned the house. He was also at the NFC Championship game with me. He said to me, "The World Series, being there, is so much better than the NFC Championship game because that game, it was for the Eagles to get to THE GAME. The World Series, it is THE GAME." Literally 15 minutes later, Adam EatShit returned and said, verbatim, that exact thing.

Well, let me say, they were both right. 100 percent. I had chills like never before. When Patti LaBelle began to belt out the National Anthem, I was freaking out. Gone. Completely out of my mind amped up. I was there. At the World Series. With the Phils holding a 2-1 lead. And the night had only begun. I mean, I was so caught up in the moment I actually snapped a few photos. I never take pictures. Ever. But for this, I couldn't resist.

For some reason or another, I had all the confidence in the world in Joe Blanton. And I knew, just knew, the Phils would hit Sonnanstine. I don't know why. I just had a hunch. And Fat Joe came right on out and pitched a 1-2-3 first. I was losing it.

Then bam, J-Roll continued to enjoy the home cooking, lacing a double down the line. Jay Werth did his job, moving Jimmy to third with a fly ball to right. After a Chase walk, I was pissed when Howard chopped one right back to Sonnanstine. He had Jimmy dead to rights. Only Jimmy, caught in a rundown, somehow got back to third to load the bases. Apparently, Jimmy should have been called out, but let's just say the umps owed us. Then the Bat worked a walk to drive in Jimmy for that all-important first run. It was glorious.

And man, Joe Blanton. Joe motherfucking Blanton. The media destroyed Pat Gillick and company for failing to get arms like CC Sabathia and/or Rich Harden, instead opting for the likes of Joe Blanton and Scott Eyre. Well guess what? Joe Blanton is still pitching. CC and Harden aren't. And you know what? Joe Blanton has pitched incredibly, and he was never better than last night. Blanton was simply dealing. The Rays could not touch him. The man of four pitches mixed them all well, but man, that changeup was just devastating. He must have been taking notes watching Cole and Jamie, because last night, that thing was unhittable.

Sure, he did give up two taters, but they were the only mistake pitches Blanton made all night. He went 6 plus innings, giving up just 4 hits and striking out 7. He was as good as he's ever been when the Phils needed him the most. And to add to his incredible night, he did this:

Joe Blanton hit a home run. In the World Series. And I was there. Un-fucking-believable. I had lost it. I was shaking the shit out of Josh. This game was over. The Phillies were going up 3-1, just one win away from a World Championship.

The bats broke out. Ryan Howard is a Cot -Damn Monster. He crushed two homers. One to left in the 4th of the three-run variety to give the Phils a 5-1 lead—the Phils' first extra-base hit with runners in scoring position in the series. Then he hit another, this time to right, in the 8th.

Jay Werth added another home run, complementing Howard's 5 RBIs. Durbin and Eyre held down the fort for Madson, who just continued his renaissance, and J.C. Romero put the nail in the coffin.

We stayed a little while, soaking it all in. Then we stopped home, got the car and headed out for a celebratory cheesesteak. Phillies are 1 win away with their best pitcher, the best player of this postseason, on the mound. At home. For the whole damn thing.

This could be it. This should be it. Do it again, Cole. Show us you are our king.

Update: Awful Announcing coming through again:


Friday, October 24, 2008

Just a Reminder

The Flyers take on the Devils tonight and tomorrow in a home and home series, and the Eagles take on the Falcons Sunday. In case you've forgotten, the Eagles suck, and the Flyers, well, they make the Eagles look like John Wooden's UCLA dynasty. Ugh.

A Rumble in the Horseshoe

Tomorrow night, you people all better have some major split-screen action going on or make sure you have two TVs in front of you, because as the Phillies take on the Rays here in Philadelphia for game 3 of the World Series, the undefeated Nittany Lions will be putting their national championship hopes on the line at Ohio State. Both at the same time.

Penn State is undefeated, ranked No. 3 in the country and has unquestionably the most balanced offensive attack in the Big 10, if not the country. They have a dual threat quarterback, three extremely talented senior wide receivers, the best running back no one has ever heard of, an incredible, senior-laden offensive line, two solid tight ends, a freshman burner and depth out the ass.

Defensively, the Nittany Lions have a steady stream of talented defensive linemen, a stud at linebacker in LaVorro, a solid secondary (Mark Rubin excluded) and some pretty darn athletic young linebackers (Josh Hull and Tyrell Sales excluded). They rank 8th in the nation in total defense and 11th in total offense. That's pretty damn good.

Ohio State has Beanie Wells, Tyrelle Pryor and Brian Robiskie, but beyond that, the offense has been underwhelming, excluding last weekend. Defensively, well, Ohio State is damn good. They rank 10th in the nation in total defense, so we'll call the defenses a push. But offensively, well, Ohio State sits at 92nd overall. Advantage: Penn State.

Now I know what everyone's thinking: This game is being played in Columbus, and the Lions have not faced anyone as good as Ohio State. Both valid points, but this team seems ready to show the nation it's for real. From The Daily Collegian:

"To continue to stay in the race for a Big Ten title, we're going to need this game," senior Lion wideout Deon Butler said. "So there's a lot at stake for both teams. I think just as hyped up as they are, we're going to be hyped up also."

"This is their game to get back on the map -- redemption to kind of put that USC loss behind them," Butler said. "But then I think on the flip side, it's our game to make a statement. A lot of people are saying maybe we haven't played a top-notch team yet."

It's their game to make a statement, just as Deon said. And while I don't necessarily have a great feeling about the game, this made me feel a little better. Penn State dominates most of that chart, so click the link you lazy bastards.

So, it's time for Penn State to go into the horseshoe and kick some ass. This one's for all the marbles: the Big 10 Title, a BCS Title Game Birth. What more could ask for? Give 'em hell JoePa.

And as always, LET'S GO PHILS!!!!!

It's Friday, Time to Dance

With Larry Johnson disgusted with himself and doing everything in his power to screw my fantasy team, I thought I might try and help him remember the good times he's had with his good pal Jay-Z. So in honor of Larry Johnson trying to get his life back together and his alma mater Penn State attempting to go into Columbus and topple the Buckeyes, I present you with an L.J. video cameo.

Look at that! L.J. was in a club and managed to not spit a drink in a woman's face. Huzzah!

Go Lions!


Glass-shattering Hit

Some character named Milan Lucic of the Boston Bruins absolutely destroyed Toronto's Mike Van Ryan—and the glass—with this hit.

With the Phillies in the World Series and the Flyers sucking, here's a reminder that hockey is still fucking awesome.


A Game of Epic Fail

All right, maybe last night's game wasn't on par with this epic fail, but it was as close as you can get in one game.

I gotta tell you, all day long I had a great feeling about last night's game. At work, I was calm, cool and collected, just sensing the Phils were primed to go up 2-0. I should have known better. And, well, I think my brain was trying to tell me not to get my hopes up too much about 15 minutes before the game. Sitting on my couch, preparing to take in game 2, I got an awful feeling that the Phillies would lose. Despite my confidence all day long, right before it was time, I could sense things were going to go wrong. And oh did they ever go wrong.

In fact, it would hard to write about what went right for the Phillies last night. Carlos Ruiz was the best player on the field for the Phillies, and he still had an error. And Eric Bruntlett had the only RBI of the night with his solo home run in the 8th. Other than that, the Phils didn't do shit. Sure, Howard got two hits, but of course he's going to get pitches when no one is on base.

No, last night was a game of epic failures. The candidates are many. There was Greg Dobbs, a man I can't recall striking out in consecutive at-bats all season long, whiffing his first two at-bats in situations where the only thing he couldn't do was strike out.

Or it could be Jimmy Rollins, who's been missing in action in Tampa. Hey Jimmy, WAKE THE FUCK UP! This is the World Series. And if you think fans were hard on you when you ran your stupid fucking mouth, just wait until they get a hold of you tomorrow if you continue to go 0-for in the series.

Shit, 0-for-10 in two games? Desi Relaford could do better than that.

There's also Pat, who doesn't seem too interested in joining this World Series party either. And Chase and Pedro each put up 0-fors last night as well, but at least those guys helped win game 1.

Brett Myers could also be a good candidate. Sure, he kept the Phils in the game, even went seven innings. In fact, overall, it was not a bad outing. Except for that first inning. Oh, the first inning—Brett Myers' nemesis.

Someone really needs to get Brett up and throwing about a half hour before the game and tell him it's the first inning then. Or hypnotize him before he goes out there to make him think the first inning was already played. I mean, you cannot, absolutely cannot, keep giving up first-inning runs in the World Series and expect to win. That's science. Just look at the first two games.

And of course, there's this guy:

Kerwin Danley, you should never be allowed to umpire a little league softball game again, let alone a god damn World Series. Never before have I ever seen an umpire call a guy out on strikes, only to then appeal to first and then let that guy walk to first base. I mean, it was plain as day. You called Rocco Baldelli out. And he should have been out. He fucking swung the bat. Instead, he ended up on first because you are fucking moron and the first base umpire was as blind as you are.

Then, in the 9th, you completely ignore the fact that David Price fucking hit Jimmy's jersey with a pitch. It was clear as day you blind fuck. Certainly, Jimmy getting on base there, instead of popping out, could have changed the outcome of that ninth inning. Maybe not, and without question, the Phils deserved to lose that game. But that doesn't mean you should get off the hook. I hope terrible things happen to you and your family the rest of your lives, you fuck. Actually, all I want is my 75 cents back, an apology and for him to be fired.

Not Skittles indeed.

Anyway, the epic fail of the day could go to any of the above mentioned parties. But no, last night's epic fail goes to one person and one person only: Jayson Werth. I've grown to like Jayson over the last two years, but last night was inexcusable. Mr. Iracane sums it up nicely:

Who should Phillies fans be hanging in effigy this morning? Sorry, Jayson Werth, but your douchey facial hair and extraneous 'Y' in your first name can't save you now. You made your first error of the year in the first inning; that led to a Rays run. You went 1-for-5 at the plate with 2 K's and three men left on base. Sure, you threw out Rocco Baldelli at home to prevent a Rays run, but he returned the favor later and doubled you off first base on a liner.

I mean, Jayson, that was one of the worst games from anyone ever. You struck out with a runner on third and less than two outs. You made your FIRST ERROR OF THE SEASON in the fucking World Series. And you got doubled up off first on a fly ball to right field to end the inning, with Ryan Howard waiting on deck. Last night, Mr. Werth, you sucked worse than anyone. You were the winner (loser?) of the epic fail of the night.

That was awful. So let's put it behind us and get a win tomorrow. Or Sunday. Or whenever the hell game 3 is going to be played. Jamie Moyer (God help us) takes the mound against Matt Garza in game 3. These two have an awful lot in common. Like being in the Major Leagues and the World Series.

Actually, other than that, the two couldn't be any more opposite. Garza is a young righthanded, flame-throwing Latino who has been dominant in the postseason and also has three brothers who absolutely suck at singing. Jamie is the oldest player in baseball, a lefty, throws softer than Sean Considine hits people, is of the vanilla complexion and has completely blown donkey balls in the playoffs.

And you know what, as Chase Utley would say, I still like their chances. Why? I have no idea.

So back to Philadelphia, where baseball is meant to played—outdoors—and back in the win column.