Well, first of all, we’re in second place behind a time who’s city thought this was a good headline.  So that feels nice.

You can laugh it off, you can clench your fists, you can perform ritualistic voodoo in front of all your neighbors, but this shit-streak just… won’t… end.  And every game, every pitch, every called third strike, feels more and more like a sluggish, lackadaisical, unfortunate parasite tunneling deeper and deeper into your innermost guts.

Instead of asking if the Phillies won, I ask if they scored.  Instead of worn and pissed, Charlie answers questions with a smile, because… well, what the hell do you want him to do?  Walk out in front of the press corps and play Russian Roulette for 20 minutes?

He’d do it, too.  Dude’s a bad ass.

Its a problem without a solution, at least, not one that can be seen from this particular computer chair.  And it’s got wheels on it, too, so it’s a really nice chair.  I can glide around this room with frequent success.

The slump is in complete control, and if a perfect game–an alteration to the very history of the sport the Phillies are playing–is not enough to break free of its grasp, then all you can really do is bow your head, say your prayers, and maybe read this terrific rant about Joe West that I wrote.

There are many fat jokes.

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ABOVE: Phillies third base coach Sam Perlozzo attempts to stop Jayson Werth from running at a Giants player full speed and slapping him in the face.

Nothing helps stop a monotonous cascade to a division’s festering underbelly like a good old fashioned contractual “impasse” with Jayson Werth.

Never mind this season, which has managed to hustle its way into a losing streak that even Roy Halladay couldn’t tamper with successfully.  Let’s start the god-awful process of determining just how likely it is that Jayson Werth will be a Giant or a Met or a (*Vomits into bag*) Yankee in 2011.  Did you know he’s the only starter without an extension past this year?  Yeah, you probably did.  Sorry.

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