I do this thing where I change the channel nanoseconds before the final out of a Phillies loss happens. As a surrendering pop fly passes its crest and soars lazily into some opposing outfield leather, or Jayson Werth takes a mighty hack at a slider and stumbles comically out of the batter’s box, I emit a stifled, yet audible, “barking type noise” and flip over to Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift.
If someone else is holding the remote, I put on a shocking display of shrieks and arm flailing not seen since barbarian hordes still roamed this land. Exactly that sort of thing happened this evening, as the Phillies failed Cole Hamels for the third night in a row and mounted a half-ass piss-ant of a ninth inning rally.
Giants 5, Phillies 2
Why is Mike’s Hard Lemonade trying to sway dudes away from beer? Doesn’t “beer” make up a third of what advertisers tell us human males are made of (“tits” and “fantasy football” are the [only] other things we love, I hear)? And now Mike’s is wandering into the arena and demanding that pfffffft beer is for suckers who don’t know how to talk to women. Why don’t you have some lemonade instead? Its just as cool. Just ask those four-year-olds enjoying some down the street. Oh wait, you can’t, because the hostess keeps telling you you can’t walk out of the bar with your delicious beer.
So, obviously tonight I reached a point where I was paying far more attention to the commercials than to the game itself. I realized when David Herndon came meandering onto the field that this game had been bitten and poisoned by loss, putting it in grave risk of turning into one at the next full moon.
Scoring three runs in the first inning is never a good sign, like when I get home from work and the possum has already scuttled through my basement window. There’s going to be trouble. Fortunately, in this particular Phillies game, nobody lossed a bunch of blood or gained rabies.
But Cole (5 IP, 5 ER, 7 H, 5 K, 1 BB) got touched pretty early, and if he, like all of us watching, knew that the Phillies offense would be about as potent tonight as whatever liquid is actually in that bottle I bought from the homeless man labeled “possum spray,” than he had to know that even just a single run was too much (SEE: Cole Hamels’ last two starts).
So, what then, can we look at through the filter of optimisim from this evening’s contest? Well, for as much silverware-throwing as I do when David Herndon is pitching, he didn’t allow any runs. Or hits. And he struck out three.
“I thought this was a big game for the guys.” –Bruce Bochy
Well, tweedly-tee, Bruce Bochy! They’re all pretty big games right now. Its one of those filler terms everybody can use during the second half of the season and at least one team playing in a game is a contender.
“To get this last one against a very tough pitcher is big for this club.” –Bruce Bochy
Fine. Give us compliments. What a great sportsman you are, Bruce Bochy. But picture me saying that last sentence with my eyes rolling and my voice in a horribly mocking tone. Text doesn’t always sell the sarcasm, so I thought it would be important to explain how I look when I write some of the more glaring examples in this blog.
And the Braves lost, too.
So, Cole Hamels wanders off into the sunset with another lost carved into his soul. It was not pretty. It was not likable. He was probably pissed. Some stories don’t have a happy ending.
Tokyo Drift does, though! There’s a car and a sex and a mountain!