Archive for July, 2010

Sure, its easy to abandon ship without putting up much of a fight because then you get to say “I TOLD YOU SO” if Oswalt is a bust. But that’s so cowardly I don’t know how you read that last sentence without putting an axe through your computer.

Whether you can taste the dread of future years or months, or believe a third legitimate ace in the rotation will save our souls, it is always good to know the Mets are [still] suffering.

Ransom became the focus as Sam Perlozzo waved him home like a panicked armadillo.

“Literally” is a such a fantastic word. I’ll assume we all know what it means so that I don’t have to patronize people with dictionary definitions (“Patronize,” of course, meaning to talk to people as if they’re idiots.)

“DOM BROWN IS THE CHOSEN ONE,” you shrieked, as the bartender made a mental note to cut you off. “AND HE WILL SAVE US ALL.”

Wouldn’t be a Phillies game without horrific casualties.

Is Ruben Amaro talking to people about relievers? Why won’t he leave his secret general managing tower at the top of the hill? What is he doing up there? Why won’t he talk to us?! WE JUST WANT YOUR PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS SECRETS, RUBEN!

Its all about HGH tests, heaving breasts, dying dogs, and Eric freaking Pettis this week. Baseball is craaaaazy!

When Jimmy’s on third, his muscles and bones and thoughts are all naturally gravitating toward home plate. This, undoubtedly, sets of blaring klaxons in his head should the ball get away from the catcher. Its like there’s a party in his legs, and everyone is stampeding to get there.

When the doctor says *Count backwards from ten,* Jamie Moyer says, *Screw you!* and knocks himself out with a brick.