That Balls Outta Here » perfect game

A 2010 Phillies Review While My Family Plays ‘Settlers of Catan’

Justin Klugh — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 04:12:31 +0000

Years ago, I documented an epic trilogy of events that occurred while I tried to write a college paper with my bedroom door open as my roommates got stoned in the living room and played D&D. The world was different then. I forget why, but the world is always changing, so let’s assume that it was.

So, in the nature of telling stories as people play games, I’m going to tell the tale of the 2010 Philadelphia Phillies just in time for the year to end while my parents, sister, and brother in law engage in a hearty match of “Settlers of Catan,” a recent Christmas present to one of them and a board game I’ve heard described as “WHAT THE FUCK?!“

: LET’S DO THIS

[8 Bit Ghost]

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Roy Halladay Loses Perfect Game Bid in the Fifth

Justin Klugh — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 06:13:00 +0000

Tonight’s lead-in was going to be about a pumpkin that looked like the Phillie Phanatic.

Obviously, since one o’clock this afternoon, things have changed. Back then, there was only one post season n0-hitter on record. Now there’s two, the Phillies are up in the NLDS 1-0, Roy’s got a post season RBI, Orlando Cabrera is pissed, everyone is disgusted with Orlando Cabrera, Reds fans can’t decide if they’re impressed or depressed, and Philadelphia is still standing. For now.

But in this town, we like our pitchers perfect and our cities destroyed in celebration.

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Roy Halladay Finally Catches Up With Dallas Braden’s Skill

Justin Klugh — Sun, 30 May 2010 11:52:24 +0000

A wave of frothy drizzle sat on Roy Halladay’s face all night. His hallmark concentration cut right through the shit, as he honed in on Paul Hoover’s mitt like a torpedo seeking a school of radioactive piranha.

Kevin Youkilis remained ardently opposed to any and all breaking pitches and sent the ball to live on a farm upstate, on the other side of the outfield wall. It was not the ace’s night. Roy’s concentration remained unbroken. Erase. Recalibrate. Attack.

Charlie Manuel broke into a bad-ass trundle on his way to the mound. He nodded at Doc and said something soothing and Virginian.

“No point in locking the barn after the horses have already eaten your children,” probably was not it.

He took the ball from his starter and the great Doc Halladay stepped off his mound, capping the day off with a performance that saw him go less than six innings. Later that night, before the vigilante crime fighting or marathon of rage-fueled sex that habitually served as outlets for Roy’s stress, he would address the press corps.

“A couple things didn’t go the way I wanted to early,” he said.

Dozens of reporters nodded and scrawled, typed, and recorded in unison. They all needed an angle. Roy Halladay, best pitcher in the game, had just gotten shellacked by a Boston team being pissed on for a slow start. Why could they dethrone him so viciously? Were the Phillies pushing Roy too hard? Did the Sox already know the punchline for the dark, alarmingly precise, totally humorless joke that was Halladay’s pitching?

Six days later, Roy threw the 20th perfect game in the history of Major League Baseball.

Erase. Recalibrate. Attack.

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