You know, I swore my days of screaming things out loud while typing them in all caps were over.  And yet again, the offseason has sent me spiraling off the wagon.  Maybe if the Phillies wouldn’t do things like start showing interest in the Cubs’ Aramis Ramirez, I wouldn’t have to suffer through sleepless nights, wondering if my J-Roll jersey is going to be rendered obsolete by him signing somewhere else or me sobbing into it.

Maybe if everybody could just be friends and no one was threatening to rip off the face of the franchise, I wouldn’t have this festering sizzle in my gut.  People keep saying it’s indigestion or maybe a tapeworm, but I know it’s just the stress this time of year puts on me. (more…)

Despite the term “offseason,” the emotional toll of baseball exists 12 months a year.  Where would we be without it?  I often wonder.  Grad school?  A sex party?  The moon?  The possibilities are theoretically endless.

But here we are, pouring whiskey on our cereal like Jimmy’s already gone.  I guess someone will play shortstop, though, and that person could be Jose Reyes. (more…)

If you thought that was disappointing, consider we had a similar series planned for the Reading Phillies, whose exit from their playoffs was so fast and silent I didn’t even realize it started, let alone that it had come to a sudden, heartbreaking end.   (more…)