Also, remember that part where they both get chased down and kicked by a football team?

That’s what the Houston Astros are doing to the Phils right now.

First, it was Pedro Feliz.  He was… he was a guy.  Great defender. Gelled well with the team and their philosophy.  Awful offensively, especially in the postseason.  Something happened to this guy when he picked up a bat; his talent, skill and precision that he used to spear hotshots down the line went POOF like a ninja with a fistful of smoke bombs.

And we forgave him, for awhile, but when the time came, Ruben Amaro and the front office knew that to up our game, we need to fix the parts of the machine that aren’t working.  So we did not sign Feliz and he drifted away.

Along came the Astros and scooped him up, patted him on the head, and plopped him in Houston’s hot corner.

Now, they’ve got Brett Myers all over their hands.

Enjoy, Houston!

Brett was a special guy.  Most notably special about him was his distinct ability to be NOT the ace of the staff, like he was supposed to be.  He was decent, then awful, then moved to a closer position, where he excelled, then pushed back into the rotation, and was awful again.  Also he is probably going to be most remembered for taunting Cole Hamels in front of the Philly press, being left off the postseason roster, and oh, PUNCHING HIS WIFE IN THE FACE.  IN PUBLIC.  AT A BAR.

The dude’s all class.

So if the Astros want come in and “Coach Yoast” Brett onto their pitching staff, good luck to them.  Brett likes to speak his mind.  Sadly, his mind does not have a lot to say.

In other ex-Phillies pitcher news, people seem to be equating Scott Eyre’s decision to retire with being dead.

Well, now we need a comic relief guy in the bullpen, too.  The challenges of this offseason just keep piling up.  Who’s going to give the bullpen coach bunny ears during in-game interviews?  WHY DON’T PEOPLE THINK OF THESE THINGS?!

In other words, this post was mostly for show.

Not this year.

They basically wasted an entire afternoon going out of their way to not congratulate the Yankees, which is just about the greatest governmental proceeding I’ve ever heard of.

"... no, Thomas, you've got to understand you can't just buy a team and not expect small-market clubs to keep their mouths shut."

Then again, there’s some pretty nasty shit developing on every side of the world, so maybe “Yankees suck” isn’t really the best usage of their time right now.

Offseason shuffles continue, as Scott Eyre announces he’s ripping off his Phillies jersey and hurling it into his fireplace in a fit of passion.  ”Loose bodies” or not, Eyre won’t be coming back next year, having filed for free agency.  The bullpen will remain safe from goofball antics, until some other mid-to-late 30s relief pitcher decides to be “The Funny One.”

Happy trails, Scott.

Anybody else keep expecting them to say “National Lampoon’s” before the phrase “loose bodies”?  It feels too natural to ignore.

The Mets’ offseason is also chock full of thought-provoking moves (Because, you know.  Their’s has been a lot longer than ours).  Seeking out a giant baseball bat, like a lot of teams are in need of, they seem to show interest guys like Matt Holliday (Who isn’t?) or Jason Bay.

But now they’re buying admission to the “Chone Figgins Rodeo,” and want to, I don’t know, move him to left or something.

Figgins has got to feel like the prettiest girl at Prom right now.  There’s a truckload of teams all hunting for the same three players, and he’s one of them (Apparently, he’ the only 3B on the free agent market to get an “A” from the “Letter Grades for Professional Athletes Agency” or whatever).

Everyone’s making loud, purposeful coughs over his postseason numbers, I guess (*COUGH* 9-for-35, .086 BA, 9 K *AHEM*).

Change:  It’s a good thing.  Isn’t that right, Congress?

Three double plays, no runners in scoring position through the first four innings, and a revolving door of pitching, some of which was ineffective.

Also...stellar defense.

Which was nothing, compared to the “7th Inning of Terrors” that unfolded more like a Stephen King novella than an inning of professional baseball.

First, Blanton’s out, Happ’s in, and almost immediately takes a screaming liner off the knee.  He leaves with the bases loaded and nobody out, and in comes Scott “loose bodies” Eyre.  Meanwhile, its announced that Cole Hamels has left the stadium because his wife’s gone into labor.

I naturally assumed we were seconds away from Charlie Manuel’s hair catching on fire and the Phanatic accidentally swallowing a toddler.

You know, just to make things interesting.

Forward by the Phillie Phanatic

The next inning, Brett Myers trots out and starts firing away at Troy Tulowitzki’s elbow.  Fantastic.

There were moments of hope, which makes the loss all the more unbearable.  A close-up of Shane smiling wildly in the bottom of the 6th was a precursor for our best inning offensively, as seven seconds later he was standing on second base.  The hits just kept on coming, and it was the best part of the afternoon.

And Madson looked positively stellar out there, among other impressive bullpen turns; Scott Eyre escaping with the bases full and ROOKIE Antonio Bastardo erasing Jason Giambi.

Then the Charlie Manuel/Jim Tracy dance contest in the bottom of the 9th led to a “yeah-yeah-ERRRRRGGGH” series of moments, which is how I found myself at game’s end.

So, I took a few moments to take out the recycling before I wrote this, because if I hadn’t, it would just be a series of all-caps death threats against various members of the Colorado Rockies.

You’re welcome.

Off to Denver, where the air is colder than it is thin, to the point where you think baseball wasn’t even really meant to be played.  I will close with some higly relevant words:

“You can’t lose hope when it’s hopeless. You gotta hope more, then put your fingers in your ears and go, ‘Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah!’”

POST GAME BITCHING

• I blame TBS Sports’ bland and personality-less broadcasts on the fact that TBS Sports only exists for about two and a half weeks a year.
• On a related note, Chip Caray said “fisted” way too much for a baseball game last night.
• If I see one more commercial featuring a bunch of guys looking into the camera and saying “I piss way, way too much,” I’m boycotting the toilet.  That’ll show ‘um.
• After Madson’s 1-2-3 badass top of the 9th, I wrote down “Mad, son!” and then immediately scribbled it out.