Phillies Win, Despite Ejections; Nature

I walked into 30th Street Station and masses of people were clogging any and all thoroughfares.  The once bustling depot had turned into The Day After Tomorrow. Except instead of the end of the world, we had experienced a passing storm.

Somehow, the monkey in charge of Amtrak’s central super computer was struck by lightning and this had jacked the entire grid.  A 10 minute rain shower sabotaged every train–well, not every train.  Just the ones going west.  If you were one of the seven passengers boarding the “Silver Meteor” for the 18-hour journey to Miami, your vacation plans were still solid.

This gave me a window of time to read about how cool John Wall is (I never would have guessed!), what kind of music the Dodgers listen to in their locker room, and to pen a three page diatribe about how I would blow up a train if I could (it centered around robot minions).

And then, many hours later, I took pause from stalking the train conductor with a rolled up magazine to wonder, “Oh, shit… did the Phillies win?”

Phillies 12, Indians 3

If you happen to be in a Philadelphia soup kitchen within the next six months, and who of us won’t, keep your eyes peeled for everybody’s greasy-faced teen.  He may be hard to recognize without generous amounts of electric currents causing his body to lurch unnaturally, but Steve Consalvi will be community servicing Philadelphia homeless shelters for the next half a year.

Hopefully, he can get them to band together, forget their differences, and win the Peewee Hockey Championship, finally letting Consalvi drop the awful stigma attached to his name as he redefines himself as a champion.

I don’t see how every situation can’t possibly turn into The Mighty Ducks. Also, why wouldn’t you want it to?

Speaking of desperate situations, the Phillies used an aweful Indians team to peck and claw their way to a mere 2.5 games out of first in the NL East, and 0.5 behind the Mets, like a team of offensively capable, ravenous ducks.

Tearing up Indians starter Fausto Carmona, running outside of basepaths, manager ejections, and capitalizing on errors were the orders of the day.  Polanco, Utley, and Werth led the charge, going 4-for-5, 3-for-3, and 3-for-4, respectively.  Even recent call-up catcher Dane Sardinha had his first Major League home run.

Then, the hand of god reached down and sent a 35 minute apocalypse of a rain delay with the score already 12-3.  The game did not last must longer after that.

And tonight, that infamous “bullshit” series with Toronto, which is a home game for the Jays, despite being played in CBP, and there will be a DH, and the teams have to switch uniforms after the 5th innings, and a video of Joe Carter’s ’93 World Series walkoff will be played instead of inspirational videos on the big screen, and 1000 blue jays will be set free after the Canadian national anthem, and the giveaway will be a hockey puck floating in a William Shatner0-autographed bottle of maple syrup.

“That ought to even things out,” said Major League Baseball, nodding happily.

Do you think, with the division the way it is right now, that Franceour was expecting to be a festering pile of dog shit at this point?  Because you sure don’t hear him complaining now.  Clearly, he was under the assumption that the Phillies would be running away with the NL East by now, and three more home games would only support the cause.

From Franceour’s Baseball Reference page:

"Owner: Take this team, but beware it carries a terrible curse! Fan: Ooooh, that’s bad. Owner: But it comes with a free Francouer! Fan: That’s good. Owner: The Francouer is also cursed."

Ha, ha, ha.  In all seriousness, Jeff Franceour is a whiny teenager whose parents won’t hand over the keys to the Hyundai.

Today, the Jays trot out Jesse Litsch, in all his 0-1, 6.75 ERA glory.  On the other side will be the son we tore from their bowels, Roy Halladay.

“It’s… it’s good to see you too, Roy.  This is Jesse, we’re… involved now.  You’re… looking well…”