Saturday, October 9, 2010
NLDS PHI v CIN Game 2. Aroldis Schmaroldis, An Experience Regaled
Since I have a wedding to go in an hour I'm just gonna kinda ramble free-form. You don't come to me for reliability anyway. I was there, though and most of you weren't.
First before I tell you of my experience attending possibly the greatest live sporting event of my 28-and-a-half year (like a fucking 6 year old) I'd like you to take a look at this photo:
This is my fucking dad, JS jr. That's right, Followers, I was born from human seed and all of my years of hard work and fortuitous masturbation have finally culminated in my finest artisitc offering to the world. This photo. This is Philly Phan joy captured forever.
This photo was taken right after Jimmy Rollins sent the fly ball that Jay Bruce would've caught had he not been a cocky shit, telling the crowd an inning previous that they would "see us on Sunday with a 1-1 lead in Cinci!" This photo is what instant Karma looks like in relation to a sporting crowd. You dropped a ball "in the lights"? That's yer excuse? Really? You're a professional baseball player and your dropping fly-balls in the lights. Pairless, you are my friend. That dropped ball lost your team the game. By no means did we not win the game but you certainly tucked in your our teammates to bed a little too early. Your little dingleberry mistake coupled with the best 2nd basemen in the game's equally as cocked-up bobble let Utley and Werth score for basically our dugout. It's teams like the Phillies that will capitalize on the mistakes of those not seasoned for play-off ball. Just be happy you're here, reds.
Nevermind that Roy Oswalt had the heebee-jeebees from pitch one, it happens. Obviously. You've given him trouble all year and we all in the back of our minds kinda saw that coming. It doesn't fucking matter though. The bullpen backed him up. They got paid for getting the motherfucker done.
Chad Durbin picking off Drew Stubbs in the 6th was amazing, by the way. I was chilling with my boy Chuck, having my occasional fag when that shit went down. Hetero-man embrace ensued.
I caught some flack for my Philadelphia Weekly column this week. A random homosexual man named Chuck D. (I'm sure not the Chuck D. from the band Ice Cube) sent me an email stating that I should "cut out the Phobic shit, the Phils have plenty of gay fans, too!"
Look Chuck, I got nothing but love for the LGBT community but where you got the idea that my article was promoting some sort of malice towards alternative lifestyles is beyond me. If it was the fact that I used "hetero-embrace" in a sentence it was because I was trying to illustrate that this is a time when men, who would more likely punch you for enjoying Top Chef, find it appropriate to drop the whole "you're a fag" shit and get real with his Phillies Brethren.
Whatever, back to my little story. Being in the house last night was pretty special, I must say. Watching Cuban Missile Station, Aroldis Chapman--who's claim to fame is that he throws 100-105 fastballs--get fucking beat around a bit. When he hit Chutley I thought the fucking sky was going to fall. Fucker got his though. He was on the mound for Jay Bruce's little tampon befuddlement. 3 unearned runs for the flame throwing Cubano. Welcome to Philadelphia, Aroldis. Now go fucking rethink a straight fastball with no movement in out house.
I'm surpirsed none of the reds got their fucking heads taken off after 3 of our boys got drilled. You fucking throw at Choochie and at Ben Francisco's head when I'm at the helm and your fucking mothers are getting drilled.
Now the Philles head to fucking Cinci with a 2-0 lead in this fucking series, Jay, and Cole Hamels hasn't been beaten by yous guys....ever!
I can't even speak today because my voice is so roached. I've never felt that way at a sporting event bedfore. I wanted pure war. The entire house did. It was complete and utter unity through bloodlust. Please come and enjoy the Phillies live if you ever have the chance, rest of the world. You'll never think of us the same. Phuck everyone else though, really.
Time to get in my stupid SUV and drive to Washington D.C to watch our friend THE CRIPPLE get married! I got themk a card and drew a walker in the dudes hands on the front of it and wrote the word "HOLE" as in the band on the woman's dress. It's fitting.
Fuck new york and watch your mouth, you could talk shit about our boy Roy Halladay and then get taken out of the next game with an oblique strain in the 2nd inning. More karma.