Good Night, L.A.

Phillies 8, Dodgers 6

No matter what I say, no matter what I write, a playoff game is not meant to make you relax.

You can’t make a prediction and then chill out because it came true.  In fact, given the predictions I’m privy to making (“WE SUCK AND WE’RE GONNA BLOW IT WAH WAH WAH”), I spend most of the game freaking out that my predictions don’t come true.

Hit ‘um early?  Check, thanks to the remarkable offensive tear sponsored by Chooch Enterprises.

But the thing that nobody agreed we could do was hit the Dodgers when it got late in the game.  The Sherrill-Broxton formula seemed unsolvable.

But Raul Ibanez didn’t seem to have any problems solving it right over the outfield wall.

Ryan Madson, again, provided the drama on our side of the fence.  I don’t know if he and Lidge rubbed their feet on the carpet and then touched index fingers or what, but they are a Disney Movie away from switching places entirely.

Three save situations maintained by Brad?  You could almost call that “dependable.”

But we’ve been burned so much in the past, I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment.  He hasn’t walked out unscathed yet; there’s always a guy or two frolicking around the base paths when the last out is recorded.

Speaking of Lidge, TBS flashed a little factoid on screen tonight that I was not aware of (In between shitting all over the broadcast of America’s Past Time):  Of Lidge’s 11 blown saves, 10 of them were on the road.

That’s a wild ratio, and one that speaks of the source of his problem stemming from himself…as it seemed to follow him anywhere and everywhere.

But, the point is, it didn’t tonight.  Tonight we saw Brad Lidge close a game, which is what he, a closer, is in there to do.

On a sidenote, I hope Charlie looked right back at Manny and mouthed something horrifically obscene.

And congratulations to Clayton Kershaw, for his record-shattering 3 postseason wild pitches in one inning.