I shared my feelings about Harry back then, which still hold true 100 percent. Watching and listening to the Phillies just hasn't been the same since. No need to rehash those feelings again, but since Harry would have turned 76 years old today, I thought it would be appropriate to listen to his magnificent voice on his birthday.
Two years ago today, Harry Kalas passed away. Eerily, it happened in Nationals Park, where the Phillies are right now, set to take on Washington in the second game of a three-game series.
Listening to Harry Kalas call all of those games year after year was a privilege I cherished and always will. It's been two full years since we last heard him call a game, yet he's still the first person I think about every time I watch a Phillies game. We may never get to hear him call a live game again, but Harry will forever be in our hearts. Watching and listening to baseball just hasn't been the same without him.
Yesterday was Major League Baseball's official opening today, and at 1:05 p.m. Eastern Standard Time today, Roy Halladay will throw out the first pitch of the season for the 2011 Philadelphia Phillies. So naturally, you have to listen to "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." It's the American thing to do.
And of course, no opening day for the Phillies would ever be complete without the late, great Harry Kalas.
You know how they say it's difficult to replace a legend? Well, that's certainly been the case ever since the late, great Harry Kalas died.
There isn't a day that goes by during baseball season that I don't miss the man. And that void gets larger with every stupid thing that comes out of Tom McCarthy's mouth. Like this awesome gem from last night, when McCarthy said, and I quote: "We definitively know that Brad Lidge is unavailable tonight. In fact, he probably won't be available until Friday." Well, Tom, considering yesterday was Wednesday, and the Phillies don't have a game today, Thursday, and Lidge is unavailable for the game — then yeah, he definitely won't be back until Friday at the earliest. Because the Phillies don't play today. You jackass.
Going from Harry Kalas to Tom McCarthy is like going from Brian Dawkins to Macho Victor fucking Harris. Everything he says makes my head want to explode. I hate listening to him with every fiber of my being. Tom McCarthy sucks. He sucks so hard. I wish he would just go away already.
But you know who doesn't suck? Cole Hamels — unlike last season. Hamels was again brilliant last night, pitching 7 innings of shutout ball, giving up just four hits while striking out five. And he actually picked up the win, because the Phillies must have forgotten he was on the mound and actually scored a bunch of runs — 10 in all. His ERA is now down to 3.06 on the season, and the man hasn't given up a run in 25 straight innings of work. Yeah, he's an ace once again, even if his record is a very deceptive 10-10.
You know who else doesn't suck? Ryan Howard. The big man hit another home run last night — his 4th of this still-young month — this one a three-run bomb that accounted for half of his six RBIs. Howard was 3-for-5 on the night, and his home run was to left for the second straight game. That's when you know he's going good, hitting those opposite-field home runs.
He's worth every damn penny the Phillies paid him because he earns it when it matters. He's doing it again, tearing it up in the month of September and helping the Phils reclaim first. The man missed pretty much a month of baseball, yet he still has 28 home runs and 95 RBIs, just five behind Carlos Gonzalez for the NL lead. He's good.
Shane Victorino, Chase Utley and Raul Ibanez don't suck either. Shane had another three-hit night out of the leadoff spot, going 3-for-6 with three runs, an RBI, a stolen base and a double. Chase was 2-for-3 with two runs, two RBIs and a steal — he's been on fire in September as well. And Raul had another multi-hit game himself, going 2-for-4 with a run scored and a double.
None of the Phillies regulars suck, now that Raul is hitting again too. Polanco had a hit and scored a run. Chooch continued his awesome season with a hit and an RBI. Even Hamels went 1-for-3 with a run scored, and Jimmy Rollins continued to tear it up batting down in the order, going 2-for-2 with a run scored thanks to another tremendous slide.
But what does suck is Jimmy hurt himself on his second hit, a double in which he started to come up lame after he rounded first. Making matters worse, Ruiz followed two batters later with a single, and Sam Perlozzo sent Jimmy, despite Rollins almost jogging coming toward third with a bad wheel. Rollins scored, but he was forced to push it to get home, and he never returned. That sucks. The Phils need Rollins, now more than ever. And Jimmy's been hitting the crap out of the ball since Monday, when Charlie moved him down in the order. Hopefully, he's all right. Evidently, he tweaked his hamstring, and the Phillies don't sound overly concerned. Let's hope it's nothing serious. Because that would suck.
You know what else sucks? Nate Robertson.
Hey, Nate, you do know you don't still play for the Marlins, right?
With the Phillies up comfortably 10-0, they obviously wanted to rest the important bullpen arms and get to the off day. So they brought in Robertson to conceivably finish the game. Instead, this asshole gives up 6 runs on four hits and two walks in two-thirds of an inning, turning a 10-0 blowout into an uncomfortable four-run game. That forced Manuel to get Ryan Madson up in a game he had no intentions of using Ryan Madson in, and then forcing him into the game to get the final two outs. Thanks, Nate. Hope I never see you out there again.
While Tom McCarthy, Nate Robertson and the injury plague that has been cast over Philadelphia most definitely suck, what doesn't suck is looking at the standings and seeing the Philadelphia Phillies in first place. In September. With the bats beginning to really show some signs of life.
As everyone is aware of by now, Ken Griffey Jr. retired on Wednesday. Here in Philadelphia, the news took a back seat to game 3 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Across the nation, it was overshadowed by Armando Galarraga and Jim Joyce and the perfect game that wasn't. And as a 26-year-old sports fan, that just doesn't sit right with me, and it shouldn't sit well for anyone who was privileged enough to watch Ken Griffey Jr. ply his trade for 22 remarkable seasons.
In my eyes, Ken Griffey Jr. takes a back seat to nobody. He was the Michael Jordan of baseball, sadly minus the championships. But he was every bit as good on the diamond as Jordan was on the hardwood. The man had no weakness in his game. Not a one. Yesterday, silver fox laid out the stats: 630 home runs, 1,836 RBI, 2,781 hits, 184 stolen bases, 10 Gold Gloves, 13 all-star appearances and an MVP. Truly impressive, staggering numbers, especially for a guy who was riddled with injuries his entire career.
As incredible as his numbers are, they don't tell the whole story. Ken Griffey Jr. transcended numbers. He was a god walking amongst men. During his prime, which spanned the entire decade of the '90s, there was no argument as to who the game's best player was. It was Ken Griffey Jr. and everyone else. He was Willie Mays reincarnated — a swift, smooth centerfielder who covered more ground than anyone, with a rifle arm to boot; a picture-perfect swing that generated astonishing power without sacrificing contact; a deer on the base paths; a player so good, so talented that he made it all look so easy.
All my life, I've admired players that value their defense as much as their offense. Over the past few years, as injury and age and a more rotund waistline caught up with him, Griffey's defensive abilities vanished, but in his prime, in his early days, he was arguably the best defensive centerfielder who ever lived. I've gotten to watch the Kenny Loftons, the Andruw Joneses, the Torii Hunters and Jim Edmondses, some of the truly incredible centerfielders the game has ever seen. And not a single one of them could hold a candle to Griffey. No one got to more balls. No one took better routes. No one made stronger, more accurate throws. Most people remember his sweet swing first and foremost. Me? I think about all his diving catches, about breaking his wrist with a miraculous catch at the wall, about him gunning a runner down at the plate.
In his prime, he was far and away the best baseball player I've ever laid eyes on. Better than Bonds. Better A-Rod. Yes, even better than Albert Pujols. He played the toughest outfield position, probably the third toughest defensive spot on the field behind catcher and shortstop, and he was the best at it. He hit for power. He hit for average. And he had more speed than should be legal.
And he brought a joy to the game that so few of today's athletes display. Before injuries robbed him of prime years and he became less outgoing, you couldn't look at Griffey without seeing a smile on his face. He was engaging, endearing, a man who truly loved what he did for a living. With the backwards hat and the giant grin, he looked every bit the part of "The Big Kid." And he played the game with the enthusiasm of a little leaguer imaging himself playing in the World Series. He wasn't just the best, but the most likable too.
The biggest shame of it all is the way he's been brushed aside over the years. As Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa HGH-ed and steroided their way into the record books, Griffey was put on the backburner. When his career ended, I found out by a ticker on ESPN, not a break-in news story, because a perfect game was going on. The man has been lost in the shuffle, and that's not fair. It's not right. To think that there is an entire generation just below mine that knows Griffey only as the aging, slightly overweight slugger whose career fizzled out makes my blood curl, and makes me realize just how lucky I was to get to watch him at his peak.
Ken Griffey Jr. wasn't just one of the best players of his day. He was THE BEST player of his day, one of the greatest of all time. He was the left-handed Willie Mays. He was The Kid. And that kid made grown men marvel at his remarkable feats, for 22 incredible years. The game always goes on, new stars always emerge, but a player like Ken Griffey Jr. only comes along once in a generation. I couldn't be more honored that he happened to come along during mine.
Links …
-Dash has his chilling farewell to the Kid, painting a picture-perfect scene of his thrilling gallop around the bases to beat the mighty Yankees.
Really great read.
-Beelove re-emerges as well with his thoughts on Griffey.
Ken Griffey Jr. left Seattle bound for his home in Orlando Wednesday afternoon.
Diminished playing time and lack of productivity brought to an end one of the greatest careers in baseball history.
If the airplane had been headed straight to Cooperstown, it would have been just as appropriate, because the Hall of Fame is bound to be Griffey's next home.
Here we have one of four players in history to hit 600 homers, one of three outfielders in history to win three Gold Gloves, the only outfielder in history to be elected to start 13 All-Star Games -- and we're still wondering WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN?
Digest that thought for a moment.
…
He was still one of the two or three greatest players any of us ever saw play, from beginning to end. But …
He easily could have been in the argument for Greatest Player Ever. Easily.
In 1989, the Mariners wanted Griffey to spend a third year in the minor leagues and play a year at Triple-A. "When he came to camp in 1989, he had no chance to make the team," Bradley said. "But he got a lot of at-bats early that spring because a lot of veterans don't like to play a lot early. After 20 games, he wasn't just the best player on our team, he was the best player in the league that spring. The Mariners basically said, 'We don't want this to happen, we don't want to rush him, we don't want him to make the team.' So they started running him out there against every elite pitcher, against all the nastiest left-handers they could find in hopes that he would stop hitting, and they could send him out [to the minors]. It never happened."
-The Phils signed Willy Tavares. If I had my way, I'd immediately call him up to the big club (a speedy guy who has a career batting average of .274) and send down Greg Dobbs.
-KG and Paul Pierce playing in the McDonald's All-American game, along with Vince Carter, Robert Traylor, Chauncey Billups, Stephon Marbury and Shareef Abdur-Rahim, among others:
On tap this weekend, the Phillies return to begin a four-game set against San Diego and hopefully find their missing offense. And of course, game 4 of the Stanley Cup Finals tonight, game three slated for Sunday night. Three more wins.
To outsiders, Pennsylvania may seem like one northern hickish state with two major metropolitan areas — a state united by its stupidity and obeseness.
In reality, Pennsylvania is made up of two entirely different places that might as well be in different nations, let alone states. There is the Philadelphia area, and the rest of the state that sucks incredibly hard. There is no disputing this. I know. I'm a born and bred Philadelphia area young fellow who spent his college years in the middle of Pennsylvania surrounded by mongoloids from the west. They don't like us. We don't like them. That's science. There is no overcoming this.
I feel a greater connection to the shithole that is New Jersey than my western brethren in my own state. That should tell you something. I prefer New Jerseyans to western Pennsylvanians. They and their six Super Bowl rings and their three Stanley Cup championships can go get fucked. Damn right I'm jealous, but just of the rings, not of anything else. You're practically West Virginia.
Of course, I bring this all up because tonight the sorry excuse for a franchise from the west comes to our great (crime-riddled, racist?) city, where you're God Damn right our very nation was founded! I thoroughly look forward to the impending sweep to wrap up an outstanding homestand before the All-Star festivities embark on Monday. Pittsburgh sucks.
Let's link …
-When is an appropriate time to break out the "C" word? When some lady goes to a Phillies game and instead of watching the action, reads a fucking Vanity Fair.
Full disclosure, I watched the Curb Your Enthusiasm last night where Larry David calls the gay guy from HBO a cunt during a poker game. That episode is fantastic.
-Former Eagles receiver Donte Stallworth got drunk and high, got behind the wheel and killed a guy. Now he's been released from prison after serving 24 days. For DUI manslaughter. Seriously, 24 days. America and the courts make absolutely no sense at all, via Deadspin.
-As if you didn't already miss Harry enough having to listen to the insufferable Tom McCarthy every night, Iracane, who is headed to Philadelphia for the weekend, posted this:
-Adam Gretz profiles two former Flyers who are free agents, then shows his stupidity by calling Marty Biron "the weak link in Philadelphia the past two seasons." Clearly he didn't actually watch the Flyers whatsoever, because if he did, he'd know the defense was the weak link in Philadelphia the past two seasons. Perhaps you should have said scapegoat instead of weak link, especially seeing how Biron played out of his freakin mind in the 2008 playoffs. Sometimes I wonder if these guys even watch sports.
Yeah, that's pretty much it for me today. I'm tired. My back hurts. And it's entirely too nice to be inside an office with horrifying neon lights. Stay in college, kids, as long as humanly possible. Even if you're stuck with people from Pittsburgh.
Well, this week was an easy choice. It's Friday, time to dance along to the greatest song these ears have ever heard, sung by the only man who can pull it off …
Tonight, it will finally set in once the Phillies and Nationals get underway. For the first time since I've been on earth, the Phillies will play a game without Harry Kalas ever setting foot in the ballpark. On Monday, he was there beforehand. Tonight, he may not be there in person, but he sure as shit will be there in spirit, with every single one of those players, managers, coaches and fans down in Washington.
Thankfully, I won't have to endure much awkwardness with the Phillies broadcast because my main attention will be held by the Flyers-Penguins game. It is the Stanley Cup playoffs after all. But no doubt, I'll be thinking of Harry every time I check in to see how the Phils are doing.
Hopefully, some of these links can take your mind off the sadness for a little while …
See, Michigan football is a collection of twats and fags that think their shit don’t stink. Guess what, their shit stinks something fierce. It’d be one thing if the Michigan program, both players and fans, were as classy as they said they were, but they’re not. They’re a concoction of the worst aspects of fandom there can be, combining the ridiculous condescension of Pittsburgh Steeler fans with the blind, ignorant arrogance of Yankee fans while adding a dash of Red Sox Nation ass-baggery.
In short…they DESERVE Greg Paulus as their QB.
…
First off…Duke is the king of the douche pile. If you even consider going to Duke, you’re a balls-deep homo, no matter what. This is science, don’t try and argue it. If you’re a decent basketball player at Duke, that’s fine…you have my respect as a player but I’d still want to watch you fall down a spiral staircase littered with broken glass. Paulus wasn’t good, so he’s pretty much worthless as a human being because of his Duke connection and the fact that he slaps the floor like a little pussy.
But if he went to Michigan? Oh my…
…
Really though, I just wanna see Michigan suck even longer. Because fuck them, that’s why.
And yes, if you read that, you'll see correctly that I've been asked to partake in Ed the Sports Fan's 3-part MVP series. Ed had LeBron, Kenny has Dwyane Wade tomorrow, and yes, I was asked if I'd be interested in making the case for Kobe and accepted, meaning on Friday, head on over there and check out my argument for Kobe. Hate me now.
-I've really been enjoying Will Leitch's "Ten Humans of the Week" column, and this week's was particular excellent:
Harry Kalas was one of the last of his breed. Not just because he was a beloved broadcaster. But because he cared enough to stick around so long. People don't do that anymore. For better or worse.
-Puck Daddy, usually on top of the hockey world, makes some tragic mistakes in this Flyers-Penguins preview, but, to be fair, it's not Wyshynski, it's Sean Leahy. For instance:
During the last month of the season, the line of Asham, Carcillo and Danny Briere have been a pleasant surprise for head coach John Stevens, with the two tough guys making room available for Briere.
I'd rather someone not write about the series at all than to write something as incredibly stupid as this. During the last month of the season there, Leahy, Danny Briere was anchored on a line with out-of-this-world talent Claude Giroux and Aaron Asham, with Carcillo occasionally spelling Asham on the line. Briere, Asham and Carcillo did not exist together. In fact, Carcillo has been playing very well of late alongside Darroll Powe, for the most part.
Also, he runs through this entire preview without mentioning Claude Giroux until the very end, meaning he hasn't paid remotely any attention to the Flyers since January. Horribly uniformed preview.
The death of Harry Kalas touched the entire baseball world, not just Philadelphia. Proof of that came when RomanWarHelmet, the resident Mets fan at Major League Jerk, asked me to write up a short tribute on Harry Kalas for the site. Here's the link, and I've reposted it below. Still can't believe he's gone.
Some of you may know me. Some of you may not. I go by the name of Reverend Paul Revere, proprietor of The House That Glanville Built, and I am Phillies fan. Spend two seconds and the site, and you know I live and die with the Phillies. Well today, a little piece of me died with the passing of Harry Kalas, and one of the few Mets fans I know and respect, RomanWarHelmet, asked me if I’d like to write something on the passing of Harry Kalas. I thank him for the opportunity. I just hope my words can do justice to a man that I will miss dearly.
The photo above is the Philadelphia Phillies radio/television broadcast team I grew up with as a child through the mid-80s and early 90s on. From left to right, they are Richie Ashburn, Andy Musser, Harry Kalas and Chris Wheeler. They are the men I grew up listening to. They taught me as much about baseball as my father did, as any coach did. It was an all-star crew, and the standouts were by far former Phillies great and Hall of Fame centerfielder Richie “Whitey” Ashburn and Harry Kalas, who was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame as an announcer in 2002.
The friendship between Ashburn and Kalas is the thing that stood out from my childhood. It was like two best friends who grew up in the neighborhood were watching the game together and having the same conversations they would when they were 16, only with a lot more baseball knowledge than the average fan emanating through the television screen. When Whitey died in 1997, it would have been perfectly understandable if Harry lost some of his passion, some of his joy of calling Phillies games. But he never did. Not once.
When I think of the Philadelphia Phillies, the first person who comes to mind is Harry Kalas. And I’m not saying that because he just died. It’s true. It always has been. Harry Kalas is synonymous with the Phillies. He’s more famous, more recognizable to Philadelphians than any player, and God knows how much Philadelphians know and recognize players, good and bad. His call of Mike Schmidt’s 500th home run is one of the greatest calls of all time. And his patented, “Swing and a long drive. Watch this baby, OUTTA HERE!” on home runs is just classic. Truly classic. It makes me sad that I’ll never hear that again.
The thing about Harry is he was more than just a broadcaster. He was sort of the grandfather of the Phillies for my generation. He wasn’t a journalist, per se. He was a fan who rooted for the Phillies with every call, but never allowed it to affect the way he called the game. He simply called it as he saw it. And with each word, you knew he truly loved it.
One of my prized possessions is the Harry Kalas/Richie Ashburn bobblehead that was passed out at Veterans Stadium after he was inducted into the Hall of Fame.
I remember the game like it was yesterday. The Phillies were playing the Cardinals, and before the game, Harry was driven around the warning track in a convertible, and Scott Rolen, who had recently left Philadelphia in a trade to the Cardinals and was not well-liked by the fans of Philadelphia at the time, was not in lineup. He had no reason to show his face in order to get booed by the Phillies fans. But when that convertible pulled up outside the Cardinals’ dugout, Scott Rolen came flying out to open the door for Kalas. Of course, once Rolen emerged, the boos rained down, but that’s how much Harry Kalas means to the players who had the honor of Harry Kalas calling their names. Boos be damned, Scott Rolen was going to show Harry Kalas just how much he loved him, respected him, no matter what. That speaks volumes itself.
From the “Mitchy Poo” to “Mickey Morandini” to “Chase Utley, YOU ARE THE MAN!”, Harry Kalas brought a smile to every Phillies fan’s, player’s, employee’s face. He was more than a broadcaster. He was a friend. Even if you never met him. In 1993, when the Phillies made a magical run to the World Series, he sang high hopes in the clubhouse with the team going wild. The players truly loved him, accepted him as one of the guys. Last year, he called the final out of the World Series, as the Phillies became World Champions in his final full season.
Those words will live with me forever. Last Wednesday, I was in attendance at Citizens Bank Park as Harry Kalas threw out the first pitch before the ring ceremony. Forever, I can say I was there when Harry Kalas threw out his final first pitch. I’m glad I did.
Love the Phils or hate the Phils, it was impossible to hate Harry Kalas. He was a lovable guy, a great announcer and a person who loved baseball as much as a human possibly can. For those of us that love the Phils, we love Harry Kalas. My cousin summed it up best in a text message he sent me after he heard the news:
He’s back with whitey and he got one more world series and got to broadcast with his son. I feel like a family member died.
That’s exactly how every Phillies fan feels, like a family member just died. In a way, one did. Watching and listening to Phillies games will just never, ever be the same. I love Harry Kalas. I will miss Harry Kalas. But I am incredibly happy I had to opportunity to grow up listening to Harry Kalas.
And I know, just like my cousin said, he’s up there in heaven right now, shooting the breeze with Whitey, calling another classic.
It's a sad, sad day in Phillies Land today. Hell, it's a terrible day for baseball, for the NFL, for all of sports. Harry Kalas, the greatest announcer I've ever heard in my entire life, died at the age of 73 today.
I had been working on a links post, but that's all thrown out the window. This trumps anything else that's out there right now. Watching a Phillies game, or listening on the radio, will never be the same again.
I grew up listening to Harry Kalas, and although I never met him, I loved him the same way every other Phillies fan out there loved him. He was the voice of the Phillies. To me, he always will be. There's so much more that deserves to be said, but honestly, I'm just sad right now. Words can't do Harry Kalas justice. I feel honored and privileged to have had the opportunity to listen to him.
RIP Harry the K. We'll all miss you. I know you're up there calling games with Whitey again.
If you haven't gathered, I hate Duke. A lot. Like, as much as I hate Dallas, New York, Michigan, you get the idea. And when Duke is taking on a team from this area, the hatred grows even stronger. So tonight, I'm begging Villanova, Scottie Reynolds especially, to show up and play an even better game than they did against UCLA, which would ensure victory.
I want to see the same hard fouls the Wildcats bestowed on UCLA … only harder. I want Dwayne Anderson and Reggie Redding to rip Gerald Henderson's throat out. I want Corey Fisher and Scottie Reynolds to torch those stupid, ugly, douchey faces of Jon Scheyer and Greg Paulus.
I want Dante Cunningham to eat Brian Zoubek's and Kyle Singler's faces. And I want Nova to destroy Duke, then have the Blue Devils' plane to go down on the flight home after their loss, preferably crashing right into Cameron Indoor. I don't think that's asking for too much. Now let's link.
K1X: What about your own quote, “passes don’t get paid”?
FREE: Uhh, I got that from Fred Carter. When I was a rookie he came to me and said, “Rook, let me tell you something: In this League, passes don’t get paid. Passes do not get paid.” And that stuck with me as soon as I stepped on the basketball court. It wasn’t my own theory, though. I got it from a veteran. There could be five guys open and he would still not pass it to you. [Laughs]
Of course Hextall made it, but check out Biron fight Ray Emery. Who knew? And that Garth Snow vs. the Sabres … could that be when Matthew Barnaby faked injury and Snow went to check on him then got jumped by Barnaby? I hope so, that was great. And shit, even Neil Little is on there. Apparently, Philadelphia has had goalies with anger issues or something.
Moats was speeding towards the hospital with his wife in tow and at one point even threw his flashers on driving through a red light in an effort to make it to the hospital in time to say his final farewells and that is when he caught the attention of one Dallas police officer who finally pulled him over in the hospital parking lot. Moats' wife ran into the hospital, disregarding the officer, while Moats himself was pleading to the cop to let him go to his dying mother in law, all while being ignored. He never got to see her before she died.
-Penn State will take on Notre Dame in the NIT semis. When one blogger looks at Luke Harangody, all he sees is Officer Farva.
Yeah, he looks like he needs a liter o cola to me.
Last night, Jimmy Rollins started the game just like he did in the clincher against the Brewers—with a leadoff home run. It was glorious. And Pat, Pat. He's had a HUGE playoff run, got a clutch RBI hit last night and made an absolutely spectacular catch for a big, slow leftfielder. Then there's Charlie. Like virtually everyone, I haven't always been too kind to old Uncle Cholly. I've questioned his moves, his makeup, his leadership. Well, I question him no more. Charlie Manuel is the best manager I've seen in a Phillies uniform. And he earned this trip to the World Series, and like he said, this team isn't done.
"Also, this is for the city of Philadelphia. We've got one more step. This is the third step. We've got one more big step and then we're gonna take a Grand Parade."
And let me be the first say, Cole, I was wrong. You are an ace. Right here, right now. Last night, even without your "best stuff," according to that decrepit old windbag Tim McCarver, you buckled down, threw your third straight playoff gem, and sent this team to the World Series. You earned that NLCS MVP. You deserve it. You are an ace. You are our ace.
That was one of the most satisfying games I've ever seen. Every pitch, every at-bat was fun, nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I loved every minute of it. I will always, always remember that game. From Chase Utley's tremendous defense, turning double plays, diving for the ball like his life, our lives, depended on it to Pedro Feliz vacuuming up everything at third to Pat Burrell's catch, Ryan Howard's hits, Jimmy's home run to Werth chatting up Furcal, the man who opened the door with his 3-error inning.
I'll remember Cole dealing, Madson just pitching lights out and Shane Victorino, getting intentionally walked twice because of his penchant for huge hits, and his tremendous play in center.
And I'll remember Brad Lidge, doing his damn thing, getting a popup to end the game, as Curbball Ruiz squeezed it.
And I'll remember these images, as I went down the street, hit up the bar and drank in the win.
Today, I am smiling. I don't smile often, unless it is in the midst of laughing. But today, I am smiling. But the work is not done. There are still more games to be won. Four more to be exact. And you know what? I think this team has 4 more wins in them. Four more.
