It had the makin’s of an off day.
First, my son made me a custom card for Mother’s Day so on the way to the game I read it:
Roses are red
Violence is blue
I can’t wait to hit you.
One thing’s for certain: he’s acquired my skills as a poet.
Then while driving down interstate 95, the pre-game show reported that Jayson Werth wasn’t playing today.
What! He’s on the blanket! He can’t "not play"! I think that’s illegal. Can I get instant replay on that?
Then, just inside the gate, my world fell apart. The boxes of blankets were empty and they were handing out fliers to use for redemption at a later date. Say it ain’t so!
The blankets wouldn’t be available until July 24 because the manufacturer screwed up Jayson’s lips. That’s okay! I’ll just suck them off anyway! Doesn’t Phillies management understand there are no rain checks on sex appeal? This isn’t K-Mart Park. Gesh!
So the only things I had available to me today were my binoculars and my memories until late in the game when Jayson emerged from the dugout to go on deck. I thought all the world was right again, but alas, it got even worse. I was denied a hit and a blanket. Jayson struck out and so did I.
But Jayson must have tagged in Ryan Howard to have the most fun in a game. He hit two doubles and scored both our runs. And he doesn’t just field balls anymore, he pounces on them—like a cat.
And cats only succeed in one of three leaps; Ryan’s still error-less. That guy’s worth his weight in gold. And that’s some serious cash these days.
They said Brett Myer’s outing wasn’t half bad. Well, except the half that couldn’t get ahead in the count and used the batters as a ball return. Seriously though, it wasn’t bad. He just walked a few and sent a guy to first with a beating. It was Taschner who took home the loss.
How about Brad Lidge? He seemed like he was trying to throw first pitch fastballs for strikes but it was his slider that got him out of trouble again. It’s his landmark pitch and the one that won the World Series. Sooner or later, he’ll find his roots. I know this because my stylist has to address mine every six weeks.
And who is Casey Kotchman? Today he stepped up to bat like he’d been cloned. I swear there was two of him, and he hit like it too. Just as we were celebrating Chipper Jones’ elbow misfortune, Casey took the plate like the feel good sequel to Casey at Bat and hammered us three times. Curse him.
Everything else was pretty in pink. The sun was shining, Scott Eyre’s mom was interviewed to honor mommy’s everywhere, the Phanatic’s old woman was on hand to party, and the bats were garnished in red mellowed by white. Even Matt stepped off his stairs and slid into third like he’d forgotten he could get hurt.
But the most annoying thing about having so many women at the ball park is they don’t understand that it’s common courtesy to wait until the batter is through before you interrupt everyone in your row with your exit. Whether you need to empty your bladder, perk your girls, or fluff your do, remember there are other people than you.
Even while we were trying to watch Code Orange Moments on Phanavision a party of girls sauntered by with the velocity of tree sloths, each one of their Phillies-adorned noggins blocking out the punch line of each subsequent clip. No wonder American productivity is suffering.
So, we gave up two of three games in this series and now we’ve lost four in a row. Hmmm. The good news is we’re off Monday. It’s always good to have Monday off. Maybe I’ll take it off too.
Oh, that’s right, I’m a mom, I only get today off (she says as the “poet” yells, “What’s for dinner?”). Well, it was a brief stint, as brief as our stint as No. 1 in the NL East. Whoops, did I just say that? That was so mean.
For me it could be a long stretch until next May, but the good news is I’ll get a reprieve on July 24 when my blanket comes in. Unless the Phils make the playoffs. Then October will be Mother’s Month. But we have some winning to do.
Phillies are red
The series is done
Watch out Dodgers
Here we come
Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.
See you at the ballpark.