A Quick Reminder That We Need a Bullpen



*NUCLEAR EXPLOSION*Horror is tough to come by in during the holidays.  Yet, another lively family political debate has led to my father racing upstairs to find his shotgun; which we of course buried in the yard hours ago.

Reading about the Phillies as I always am, one is being swayed to believe that our off season moves haven’t truly addressed our issues and there are plenty of reasons to flood your brain with dark thoughts.  Which is hard to assume, as I sit here in a crisp new Cliff Lee jersey.

But, yeah, duh.  Ruben stepped over the flaccid bullpen to sign Cliff Lee, and then cut loose the one guy we did sign to play in it.  I’d love to theorize that we have enough pitchers that can go deep in a game to make the bullpen an afterthought, but that never really has happened.  As much as I’d like to continue pretending that the San Francisco Giants don’t exist, they do have a skilled relief corps to backup dominant starting.  And while they’re… success… certainly happened this year, they do not have the rolling consistency and talent to repeat as world champs.


They clearly have a recipe for winning, with the primary ingredients being the arms of pitchers up and down the roster, rather than just concentrated in the first four slots.

I remember the NLCS (this may be the first time I address it in public, actually) and the Phillies were getting to one of their starters–the bitchy one, whats his face.  Sanchez.  He was throwing a ton of pitches and walking dudes, and the Phillies were instinctively trying to get at his soft underbelly early.

But I suddenly recalled that the last thing we should have been trying to do is get to the bullpen, because it was just as big a threat, and if Sanchez was having an off night, or had shit his pants or something, than they would undoubtedly be better than him, and therefore much, much worse for the Phillies and my ability to restrain outrage in a public setting.

And hey!  What do you know, we lost the NLCS.

I’m just saying, it’d be nice to have that confidence to fall back on.  Roy Halladay won 21 games this year, but he also lost 10, and I’m sure on at least a few of those occasions, he would have loved to have been like “Fuck it; let the relievers take it, I’m going to the clubhouse to punch my punching-wall.”

Just kidding, Roy Halladay would never say “Fuck it” and quit anything. But you know what I mean.  Possibly.

But its Christmas, so I think its best to just blindly assume that the relievers will for some reason be effective and just move right along mentally, like recovering from a tragedy in an uptight wealthy family that never talk about their feelings; which will be a stark contrast to this blog, in which you probably know way too much about my feelings.

Also, the holiday season looks to be a tad more nomadic for the lovable Joe Blanton, who we all know is on his way out, depending on what happens to Carl Pavano.  But, if this comment section is any indication, there is little to deduce regarding this movement outside of “He is fat.”

Whoops, Dad just sprinted outside with a shovel, so it looks like the jig is up.  EVERYBODY RUN.