A Collection of Thoughts as I Gaze Distantly Out a Rain-Soaked Window

Now that I think about it, its probably really really hard to win the World Series.

It seemed pretty simple in 2008, when we were in the middle of doing it.  It was like, “Win the World Series, Phillies!”  And they would do it.  Simple.

These past few years, we’ve been like “WIN THE WORLD SERIES, PHILLIES!!” And they’ve been like “Well, we’re trying, but its sort of hard.”  And we were like, “HARD?!  WHAT?!  NO IT ISN’T.  HOW COULD SOMETHING YOU’VE DONE BEFORE BE DIFFICULT TO DO A SECOND TIME?  JUST DO IT.”  Then we’d lean back in our recliners and wait out the inevitable thrust into glory.

Well, it turns out that shouting at the TV and pretending to hear the Phillies respond to us is not all it takes to win a World Series.  And now, we will be lumped in there with the rest of history’s pitching-first squads who sure made ESPN analysts jabber on excitedly, but in the end, fell short of the purpose for their existence.

Winter Has Come Early.  Let us air our grievances before our breaths are stolen by the frigid grasp of our planet’s coldest season.

• Watching Tony La Russa appear on the dugout steps is like spotting an enemy ship on the horizon, only instead of manning the cannons, you just facepalm and shake your head.  He’s a vessel of uninteresting pirates, climbing aboard to swashbuckle you not with swords or pillaging, but with a rather lengthy power point presentation about pitching match-ups.
• Boy, did Ryan ever go from Image of Post Season Hero to Image of Post Season Failings in what retrospectively feels like 20 minutes.  One minute he’s skyrocketing our hopes and dreams into the second deck and the next he’s lying on the ground, writhing in pain while the Cardinals celebrate behind him.
• The offensive drought probably shouldn’t catch anyone off guard if we honestly had to turn to Ben Francisco for all of our runs in one of the games.
• Did you guys know hockey season started in the middle of all this?  Wow.
• If I’m an objective fan, I am ecstatic that the Red Sox and Braves didn’t sniff the playoffs and that the Yankees and Phils didn’t make it out of the NLDS alive.  I have an affinity for killing the protagonist in the first scene–it sort of creates a sense of panic and chaos for the remainder of the story.  Of course the subjective fan in me will be to bitter to watch the rest of the story, but hey.
• Last night a guy in a bar wearing a Chris Heisey jersey shouted at us, “Shame about what happened to the Phillies.”  “Why?  What happened?” I asked, immediately enough that it probably sounded way too bitter.  But he was an over-middle-aged guy in a Reds jersey sitting alone in a bar on a Saturday night, so he couldn’t have been much of a stranger to bitterness.
• I can’t believe I have to start missing baseball again.

I love the Phillies.  I love Ryan’s smile and Jimmy’s swag; Chase’s takeout slides and that old gym sock Raul’s always stuffing into the left side of his mouth and chewing on.  I live in the Delaware Valley, so by law I love Cliff, though I’d gladly do it anyway.  I love Cole’s dumb voice and Vance’s whirlwind strut and Shane’s manic pointing and Doc–oooooh, Doc.  The world doesn’t supply us with a lot of flawless humans.  I can’t believe we’re allowed to have one on the Phillies.

And I will keep on loving them, even after the numbing shock was worn off and all I have left are the raw, emotional scrapes; even if they didn’t win the stupid World Series.

I’ve heard its harder than it looks.