A friend and I were discussing the merits of whiskey consumption in combination with poor quality cooking. The minute rice was being a bit of a bitch, making me open it with a knife and spill it everywhere, then begin and give up on a strongly worded letter to the packaging company. My friend was both watching the Phillies game and providing color commentary on the conflicts erupting kitchen. By the 8th inning, somehow the rice and whiskey had become one in the same glass.
“I’m not really sure if that’s–JESUS GOD!”
“No, I… don’t think its that big of a deal, its just whiskey with some rice in it,” I replied, assuming his outburst was unnecessarily targeting what was clearly an awesome new drink.
Here, he paused to send a look of quiet disgust in my direction, then turned his attention back to a much healthier source, the television, and his original point continued in a less enthused tone than it started.
“… Dom Brown just skied the the seams off the ball. 8-2 Phils.”
Phillies 8, Giants 2
Maybe you spent tonight in a much more stable set of mind, and that’s great. Good for you. I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself, Mr. “But it’s only Wednesday.”
Tell that to Jimmy Rollins, who Tom McCarthy kept calling “frisky” for some reason. The shortstop came through with an almost-cycle, falling a double short. Fortunately, there were plenty of hits to go around to solidify that the Giants would be responsible for some earned runs, along with the heaping gobs of unearned offense with which the Phillies victimized them.
Most aesthetically pleasing was Dom Brown’s aforementioned brain-rattling dinger that will land somewhere around the base of Olympus Mons within the decade. If my understanding of space travel, which does not go beyond “30 seconds on Wikipedia,” is correct.
Pretty obvious that offense is going to be burning a hole in the opposition pitching when even Raul Ibanez can do his “beached squid trying tap dance” style of baserunning and still leg out a triple. And Jayson Werth followed with a double that–wait for it–knocked in a damn run.
But it wasn’t just the “J-Roll’s Roguish Smile” show. After watching Joe Blanton let Andre Torres turn the first at bat of the game into a casual trot around the bases, it seemed as though we were on the cusp of yet another classic Blanton start, in which he allows five runs in the first, zero through the sixth, then five more in the seventh, at which point the bullpen would cartwheel into the game and allow seven more runs over the last two innings.
But, like a horror movie ending after the first scene because all the characters have already been butchered by the rabid clown who died 1000 years ago tonight, the Giants offense stopped, with much more having been expected. Joe put a lid on them and didn’t let it pop off again, save a sixth inning attempt at CPR by Pat Burrell, who you may remember from the fantasies of middle aged female Delaware Valley Phillies fans a few years ago.
Chad Durbin, Ryan Madson, and Jose Contreras no-hit the Giants over the last 2 2/3 innings, and the Phillies jumped to a two game lead over these very Giants in the NL Wild Card.
Meanwhile, Jason Monolith Heyward electrocharged the freaking Braves to yet another walkoff win over the damn Nationals, negating the thrilling heroics in Philadelphia. Again.
So, while an important win, this one was once again running the wrong way on the NL East treadmill, though we did learn that Dom Brown can touch the sky, Joe Blanton can pitch deep without allowing handfuls of runs, and rice and whiskey should, for the most part, be kept seperate, even if you think you are standing at the verge of an alcoholic revolution.
Speaking of the Braves, how the hell did the Braves get Derrick Lee and money for nothing? Why is there even a trade deadline?
AAAAAAAAAAA TBOH ON TWITTER RUN FOR YOUR LIVES