The weather can’t really decide what it wants to do in Philadelphia, and neither can the Phillies. Of course it doesn’t matter, but the that queasy layer of worrisome bile won’t leave my gut.
What a disgusting Sunday morning sentiment. Here’s another:
“Its’ a great race, because none of you are trying to win games anymore.” –Roommate, Yankees fan
He was referring to the Phillies post-division clinch. This from a guy who is not at all concerned about the Tigers-Twins race in his own league, because of an undying confidence in the Yankees’ Baseball-Eating Machine 4.0 to devour any and all comers, namely those in the first round.
So, the Phils may not be trying to win games anymore… I mean, they’re going through the motions, but the magic just isn’t there.
Its like they’re coming home wasted on a Tuesday night after promising to be back in time to tuck the kids in.
The Phillies stumble through the door and hit the light switch. I am sitting there, arms folded, a terrific dinner spread on the dining room table.
Me: And where have you been?
The Phillies: Uh, out. You know. Trying to…win…at baseball.
Me: Well, I hope you’re happy. I burnt the roast.
The Phillies: Oh come on, now, we’ll try to win in a few days. We’re just…saving ourselves right now.
Me: You used to want to win! It used to mean something, you son of a bitch!
The Phillies: Look, these games are meaningless! So what if we’re “limping” into the playoffs? We still got there! Look, we’re tired. We’ve got a…big game…tomorrow…
Walks out of the room.
Me: (sobbing) they’ll…they’ll change when the playoffs come, I know it. I just know it.