Placido Polanco Begins Rehab for Ultra-Fun Month of Careful Platooning


“Back inflammation” does not mean someone’s spine is on fire.

That’s probably the most critical aspect of all this.  So if you’ve been sitting around, wondering why they didn’t just put Placido Polanco out instead of just letting him sit there on the disabled list, burning alive, you can rest easy.  And you should.

Because the rest of this is pretty grim.

The Phillies take pristine care while cultivating some positions.  Obviously, they take pride in growing and acquiring top pitching.  The past few years have been a legacy of quality catching as well.  But third base has been problematic, to say the least.  Actually, it’s been “David Bell” to say the least.

Today, Polanco travels to begin a rehab stint in Clearwater so that he can play Thursday-Saturday, and return to the team for the final month of the season, platoon with Kevin Frandsen, and then be released, probably.  It’s a funereal process that still counts as news, no matter how sad it is.

So, with everybody going absolutely mental over Darin Ruf, it’s only fair to ask/assume there is a third base equivalent down there in the farm system that is putting up huge numbers, but being ignored for some reason.  As usual, it’s up to us, the fans, to point out the glaring oversight, because obviously the Phillies front office is too busy.

According to this analysis written by some guy, Cody Asche is that fellow.  Currently hitting a spot above Darin Ruf (yes, the Darin Ruf), some guy reports that Asche doesn’t possess the skills or statistics to play at the Major League level yet, but his intangibles could theoretically be threw the roof.  He’s had some good games–he homered twice on July 25–but there isn’t an echoing fervor emitted by his accomplishments, just yet.

There is no real indication that Asche is the third baseman, or even the trade chip, of the future.  But as we watch Polanco suit up for what will most likely be his midnight ride through Philadelphia, his brittle bones and sore muscles creaking like the brakes on the Broad Street line, and with no real plan in sight, we can theorize wildly all we want.