Phillies Can’t Seem to Handle Awesome Power of Last Place Team
By Justin Klugh
I’ve seen a slump before. Trust me. When I played tee ball, I went hitless in 207 at bats, and then my coach “accidentally” hit me with his car and went into a “sneezing fit” that sounded deceptively more like maniacal laughter than any allergies. Thus ended my illustrious career.
But this, scoring zero runs, so many times, feels like so much MORE than that. Its like striking out and then coming back to the dugout to find out your dog killed your son, then ran into the street and got pulverized by a convertible driven by Alex Rodriguez, who the cops are going to let get away with it because he’s so cool.
You might as well check out my latest guest post on BoSox Injection.
If the Phillies offense isn’t getting the “Charlie Manuel Special” right now (Getting screamed at and then bullwhipped until you develop a kidney disorder) then there is no hope. Losing is one thing, losing a lot is another, getting shut out a lot is even worse, but to do it against the Mets? We play them three more times this week.
Mets 8, Phillies 0
I had to keep reminding myself that when I heard people cheer, it was a bad thing. Like Pavlov’s Dog, but instead of a bell ringing, it was 33,000 half-brained New Yorkers clapping their flippers together, and instead of me salivating, I would put my fist through a mirror. By the end of the night our apartment looked like the crime scene from Red Dragon.
Okay, so for starters, we can’t hit a knuckleballer. That should be obvious by now. The fact that we faced one two nights in a row has to be some sort of record, in fact, I know it is, because I heard Chris Wheeler making some sort of “I remember when…” comment in between massacres tonight about the last time the Phillies face two knucklers in a row. Apparently that time, both pitchers were brothers.
Mmmm, interesting. Thanks, Wheels. You sure know how to take the sting of an eight run Mets deficit away with a horse shit story about nothing.
But can we even hit normal pitching? Raul Valdes had our number just about as much as R.A. Dickey (Come on dude, that name is just asinine–it sounds like a filthy sock puppet you’d find giving poetry readings in an adult book store). Every time we’d get the ball out of the infield, it would suddenly become the hardest thing in the world to get a run in, even with the bases loaded and nobody out.
Not only is that in general easiest scenario to score in all of baseball no matter what continent you’re playing on, but that used to be like ringing the dinner bell for these Phillies. This inverse, backpedaling Chooch is not a pretty sight. He even knows he’s swinging at bad pitches, and yet… his self-awareness doesn’t stop him from being a 1-2-3 son-of-a-bitch run-strander.
I’ve never seen them all slump together like this. Its strange. In nature, it’d be like a cheetah trying to pick off a weakling from the herd, but every single member of the herd is the weakling, and the cheetah’s head almost explodes from sheer ecstasy when he realizes that he can eat whichever wildebeest he wants at any time, ever.
Jamie Moyer’s start was just another bit of distance from his complete game 2-hit shutout that gets blurrier and blurrier these days. He only went five, which is awful, but when he’s getting hit like that, it’s like watching an elderly relative get beat up by street thugs. So we go to the bullpen, and that went… totally expectedly. Changes may be in the works in that regard, so stop screaming into your shattered bathroom mirror.
Here’s some shit that wouldn’t fly in America on this great Phillies blog I was directed to.
And the fans in the background of this picture look hilarious.
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