First, the big announcement: Chan Ho Park’s going to the bullpen and JA’s a Happ-y man. We knew there was a pow-wow on Monday and we knew Charlie would share the secret with us Tuesday. I love secrets. And I loved this one only because Park’s going to a much better place.
And Jamie Moyer’s moving up in the rotation to pitch on Wednesday so he doesn’t have to face the Yankees over the weekend.
Wondering why we coddle Jamie Moyer when we have other talent to develop is a lot like my cat wondering why I shower when I have a tongue.
Because of Rich Dubee, because of Charlie Manuel, because of Ruben Amaro, and because I can’t reach every part of my body with my tongue (although if I could, it would make me quite popular on YouTube). In all seriousness though, it’s about respect. Jamie’s earned it, Jamie gets it, and Charlie will give it to him.
Then Dr. Moyer will come back and pitch against Florida – a young team that’s historically been a win for the old-timer.
So who am I to talk about old-timers like that? Well, no one really. Not only are Jamie and I the same age, but during the slow times of Tuesday night’s game I threw the ball to my dog repeatedly but only managed to knock over a candle, dent the drywall, and hoist it into the trash twice over six innings.
I suck, so I can’t fault anyone for trying, and I’m not. I’m not even faulting management for trusting. I’m just hoping they’re right.
The series opener with the Reds was rather slow, so much so that over the first two innings my son gradually stripped off his clothing until he was walking around like the Buddha. The only reason I think he paraded around in his briefs was to show me that he’s growing hair on his legs and he’s quite comfortable with a wedgie. I didn’t say a thing.
But when he turned to walk away and showed us his self-made thong, my husband made the most loving comment.
“Get away from me, you freak.”
Speaking of briefs, isn’t it about time to resurrect that old debate about women reporters in the locker room? There are a few Phillies I’d love to debrief.
But to take my child’s mind off the boredom, I paused the game with my technologically advanced TiVo system and read him some books.
Then later we could fast forward through the commercials so I wouldn’t have to explain what erectile dysfunction was again or hear what to do with an erection that lasts more than four hours. I, for one, wouldn’t consider that my problem.
Then in the third inning my dad called and told me a story:
There was a wasp crawling up his kitchen window. The pest was just warming up so he considered him an easy target, and hoping to see him die a slow, painful death my dad grabbed a can of repellent and sprayed, grumbling, “Take that, ya little varmint.”
A few seconds later the wasp started his ascent again, shaking his body like a dog after a bath.
The old man picked up the can and sprayed again.
Yet a third time the wasp prevailed, buzzing wildly with irritation. As the little booger hooked its feet on the glass with each persistent step, my dad finally read the can – WATER REPELLENT.
He wasn’t taking its life; he was only making it mad.
That’s what it was like watching Cole Hamels pitch. When the Reds got a hit, Cole came back with a K. When the Reds drew a walk, Cole came back with a K. And when they hit two homers followed by hits, Cole came back with a K. He had seven K’s in all. Special. The Reds weren’t shaking his confidence; they were only making him mad.
Then Condrey, Madson, and Lidge pitched three scoreless innings.
But I will say Lidge has done more than just turn the lights out – he’s made it dark and scary. I don’t think I was the only one holding my breath and peeking out between my fingers.
Great American Park was the site of Brad’s first save for the Phils last year spawning 41 straight in 2008. When Tom said that, it brought back nightmares of Fox Sports beating Brad’s consecutive save record to death with every single game of the World Series – like they wanted to jinx him.
So the ninth was a typical Lidge nail-biter:
First batter – fly ball. Easy out. Take a breath.
Second batter – single on a J Ro bobble. OK, pay attention, base runner.
Third batter, 3-0 count. Whoops.
Then 3-1, then 3-2, then… Say it ain’t so! Base on balls.
Fourth batter, 3-2 count. Not again! Cover eyes.
Then foul ball, then foul ball, then… Strike.
Rung him up! That a boy! Take rapid, shallow breaths.
Hope for a happy ending.
High ball to the flyin’ Hawaiian - just what the doctor ordered.
Click off TV without even catching a glimpse of cute Ricky Bottalico.
Go to bed.
Ignore debriefed husband.
The offensive summary is easy. I think you’ll recognize the melody:
Chase and Jimmy got a hit, E-I-E-I-O.
Ryan hit one o’er the fence, E-I-E-I-O.
Shane looked fine; Raul sac flied,
Werth and Ruiz kept on tryin’,
But Pedro got two hits on by, E-I-E-I-O.
So that’s a wrap. Cole Hamels got the win and Brad Lidge got the save—just like old times. The Phillies have won their last five on the road and are still first in the NL East.
In other news, Alex Rodriguez hit a two-run homer for the Yankees to help beat the Orioles 9-1. Picking a target like Alex definitely made Selena Roberts’ book easier to sell, but A-Rod’s performance is making it harder to believe.
I guess you can’t knock a good wasp down.
See you at the ballpark.