What, Followers? It's a fucking slow news day. The LawnMoyer Man goes 8 magical and heavy innings with 5Ks and gives up 2 lowly hits, one a solo shot at the hands of the bountiful Russell Branyan. A homer that tied Moyer with the late, great Robin Roberts in career homers allowed at 505. That's it. Nothing wild or out of the ordinary. Just Moyer doing is thing at age 47. Fooling every motherfucking hitter with his dancing 79 per fastball. A 2 runs lead against Tribe starter Jason Talbot was all the men could gather in a basket for Uncle Jamie to hold on to so this performance could've have come at a batter (wacka, wacka) time. My Aunt Donna use to have a dog name Talbot. I loved that fucking dog.
An early rally got the Phils started in the botton 1st. Polly singles up the middle and Chut walks for The Big Piece to knock in the first run with a rolling single through hole towards left due to the signature Shift.
The Fucking Rooster sac-flys a monster into deep center easily scoring Chut and giving us the monster lead we held all game. We would've had 3 run tally after an RBI fielder's choice by Victorino but Raul got called for interference. He blantantly slid right at Hernandez, their SS, and fucked up his throw. A for Affort, Raul.
Jimmy's return brought on not much of an offensive spectacle but a solid defensive outing from the man who my heart's been singing Bette Midler tunes too for the last 2 months. 13 games this year and counting for The Roll.
J.C.Romero got called in for the last frame but just could not get his shit together, allowing 2 walks and knocking down only one Indian. Who do they call in to save the day? Fuck, here comes Lidge. Not again.
Exactly not again. Motherfucker whiffs Austin Kearns and Johnny Peralta easily for the S. My wife is starting to get tired of how shitty I smell after this man takes mound. I just pace around sweating profusely, cursing under my breath until the game is either won or lost. I feel the years of my life just dripping away with every bead of sweat that falls from my pits. They double the passing seconds. But, I got no complaints today and wish Brad To The Bone a goodnight with lots of food and sex. Good show, Goatee!
End result. 2-1. Moyer's 8th win, Lidge's 5th save. Deece.
Phil sent 2008 champ and 2009-10 vamp Greg Dobbs packing. DFA. Dead Fucking Athlete. Love ya but gotta bounce ya, Dobbsey. We'll always remember the good times we had. Peace. I would rock a Dobbs jersey.
In other league news my pal The Cripple, who this year has the misfortune of watching the Orioles try to crack the 20 win mark every night, has informed me the fans have turned into slogan-happy shirt monsters like us in the PHL. The good people at freethebirds.org have issued these blunt but effective back-fat covers pleading for the immediate dismissal of Bird's owner Peter Angelos. Cute. This isn't the first time the downtrodden of Birdland have wanted his head but it's been my favorite tactic yet. Hey, I love a t-shirt. I'm gonna fucking buy one.
I couldn't agree more. Check out http://www.freethebirds.org/ if you've been drowning in Oriole shit for the last 3 months.
Tomorrow Kendrick tries to double-up on his previous performance of stalling the Yanks against Jake Westbrook. Let's keep it up and hope the White-hot-Sox keep spanking those trailer dwellers from Atlanta. Until next time, dear F's, fuck new york and GO CHI-SOX!