Kyle Kendrick, I Wish You’d Just Leave Us Alone

Hello.  Its me, Justin Klugh, Senior Editor of That Balls Outta Here, a handsome young Philadelphia Phillies blog for the FanSided sports network.

Ha ha, we’ve sure had some good times on this web site.  Remember that time the Phillies went to the World Series?  So good.  But we also take a lot of liberties on here.  For instance, our “information” is never “fact checked” and rarely “researched” or “even spellchecked.”  Sometimes, we publish complete fiction that uses the names and likenesses of Phillies players.  I refer to this as “phan phiction” to myself, and have never used that phrase in front of people before.  I hope revealing my terrible secret as I just have can strengthen the bond between us.

No one takes it on the chin in these works of narrative fiction like Kyle Kendrick.  Maybe Greg Dobbs, who I once had slowly kicked to death.  But other than that, I portray Kyle as a juvenile, oblivious dolt, constantly working for the affection and acceptance of his disinterested teammates.  And that’s probably not very fair, because I’m sure Kyle works very hard and is well-liked, or somewhat respected, or at least permitted to use the toilet.  

But last night, Kyle Kendrick was the author of one of the most grotesque, twisted carnivals of baseball ever witnessed.  Aside from a balk, he arranged a bouquet of misguided actions(From the Inquirer:  “walk, throwing error, sacrifice fly, hit batter, wild pitch, intentional walk, sacrifice fly, and intentional walk”) that   felt like there was a lost child out on the field, and security found the display so morbidly engrossing they chose to stand there and watch rather than electrocute and handcuff him.  I’m pretty sure he thought his warm-up pitches had continued well into his first batter.  The Brewers didn’t even really want to scare.  They only did it because Kyle Kendrick forced them too.

The Phillies tried to scare up some runs in the bottom of the 12th, but what was the point?  Kyle Kendrick had touched the game.  There was no way to disinfect it.  Even if Ryan Howard had tied it up with two men on, who cares.  Kyle would have found a way to ruin it.

I have a TV on in another room and ESPN is coincidentally recapping the very game in question.  Their footage of the 12th inning is narrated by a few shocked sighs and Hannah Storm breathing “…unreal…” as they move to the next clip.  They’re forced to finish with “Well, only in baseball, folks…” because what else can you say other than “Holy fuck, I’ve never seen a less competent inning, and I coach a third grade intramural mixed-gender tee ball squad.”

I can only imagine the look on Roy Halladay’s face as he watched this murder of pitching unfold before his eyes.  As good a pitcher he is, he is just as good a teammate, so he more than likely sat there and forced himself to watch the entire spectacle.  To his right, Joe Blanton probably stared in disbelief as his first solid outing of the year turned into bullshit at a bizarrely fast pace.

In his defense, Kyle hadn’t pitched in 10 days.  In our defense, 10 days ago was the last time we lost 6-3.  (Yeah, that wasn’t Kyle’s fault that time, but… I mean, last night taught us that it very easily could have been).