This morning, the sign on the Methodist Church read, “Count your blessings, not your problems.”
Hell, I’m an equal opportunity sinner. I say we tally them both.
Let’s take affirmative action and also exaggerate some facts. How do you think rumors start anyway?
It’s a dirty job but someone has to do it.
Jamie Moyer spoke with Alex Rodriguez before game one of this interleague series. The two former teammates exchanged what bystanders are assuming were words regarding Jamie’s judgment of A-Rod’s steroid use some seven years ago. Jamie’s a God-fearing man and he doesn’t approve of A-Rod breaking the rules.
Judgment? God fearing? Did I hear a "cast the first stone" connotation in there somewhere?
Now from what I’ve read, Alex Rodriguez was one of 104 names on a super-secret list compiled of players who tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs in 2003. And somehow, mysteriously, A-Rod’s name slipped from the report and into the hands of stellar reporter, Selena Roberts.
I wonder how one name could flow from a top secret page straight into an article in Sports Illustrated. We could always blame the font. I never trusted Courier 12-point anyway.
From what I heard, Alex has slept with just about everyone. Maybe that’s how he got the “Rod” part of his nickname. On that note, maybe this is a case of a woman scorn. Maybe she was feeling as underappreciated as George W. Bush at a Mensa meeting. And hell hath no fury… We could only surmise.
Now I haven’t read the dirty truth because I'd rather pass around conjecture than read scandalous facts. And I know Selena can write inspirational pieces just as well as she condemns ballplayers, so I think I’ll wait and read her next piece of journalism.
The bottom line is, Alex Rodriguez is still playing ball because there were no penalties in effect when he injected.
I can only control what I do and how I react, so I’m not spending another moment worrying about anything other than the Phils denying Alex successful at-bats.
And Brett Myers did a damn good job trying.
Simply put, if Budweiser has drinkability, the Phillies had pitch-ability, hit-ability, and field-ability capped with win-ability.
Their 14 hits (including four homers) overshadowed Chase Utley’s error in the fifth, the same inning Brett Myers struck out two of his game total of five. And he pitched eight without walking a soul and gave up only three hits–all solo homers. You can’t fault the Yanks for efficiency.
Jimmy Rollins seemed happy and he should be. His first pitch home run was definitely a case for smile-ability. He went 2 for 5 with a walk and stolen base number 301. Guess whose stats were even better?
Nope, not Chase Utley… not Raul Ibanez… not Ryan Howard… not Shane Victorino… not even Pedro Feliz. You give?
It was Carlos Ruiz. Yes, Chooch made it look Ru-E-Z last night. He snuck a two-run dinger over the left field wall in the first inning that escaped a miscalculated leap by Johnny Damon.
Then in the bottom, Carlos denied Johnny a run by tagging him at the plate, so you can imagine Damon’s delight when Carlos miscalculated a fly ball in the fifth and was thrown out by Johnny while trying to get back to first.
Even so, Carlos finished the game 3 for 4 with two RBI and a stolen base. If Brett wouldn’t have pitched so stellar, I think Carlos would have earned “Player of the Game.”
And possibly a calendar page. Did I mention I’d love to volunteer for the photo shoot?
To sum it up… last night was a perfect culmination of game-ability. One where Jayson Werth ended his no-hit streak at 12.
Let’s talk about “the streak.” That’s a noun, not a verb.
I’m not talking about the one that waves your privates in the wind. I’m talking about the type ballplayers either worship or dread; the one that puts you on a high or haunts you for days.
Acknowledging a streak is as taboo as mentioning a no-hitter in the ninth. You’re not supposed to say anything, because as much as it affects men’s souls, talking about it neither lifts the hoax nor denies a jinx.
So when Jayson’s streak was mentioned over the last few days, the press spoke of it as if he had hiccupped instead of crapped his pants.
But I’ll help him out of those later.
As far as slumps go, there’s a whole bunch about baseball that falls into the category of “working it out.” And everyone will give you all the help you need until you can’t. Then management steps in.
Like with Chan Ho Park. He wanted to start–bad. He wanted his family in South Korea to watch him play every five games instead of waiting up until three in the morning hoping to see him step from the bullpen.
I feel bad for him, but there are powers that be that send us messages with greater reliance than Federal Express.
And they sent Park to the pen. They’ve also sent Jimmy Rollins to the bench, Brett Myers to the minors, and Adam Eaton packing.
Last night the Yankees were sent packing. One down, two to go.
I’m looking forward to this holiday weekend. Mine is six games long.
Maybe we can use the wins Thursday and Friday to start another streak. If not, maybe Jayson Werth will drop his drawers and sprint out across the field.
A girl can only hope.
See you at the ballpark.
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