Not Yet Dead

Hi there! Are you still reading this blog? Thanks for that! I know it's been a while, but I have an excuse. Not a good excuse, of course. And not really an excuse, either. More of an explanation. Although it's not a good one, really. Mostly school. And work. And life. And some sort of vague depression-like thing that I am pretty sure is related to taking antihistamines non-stop since last August. Or something. Anyway.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AT THIS DIFFICULT TIME, is what I am trying to say.

While I was busy trying to remember what it was I was supposed to be doing this week, we found time to take in a Phillies game. A kind of combination gift for our anniversary (which was last week, even though I didn't write about it at the time, because of something) and my birthday (which is Friday, the Quatro de Mayo, so go on ahead and have a margarita or five, because some weirdo on the Internet told you it's okay). In what I imagine was a sign from the gods, it turned out to be the Phillie Phanatic's birthday celebration, although there was no cake, which is BULLSHIT.

SPOILER ALERT: The Phillies lost, because it's April, and they ALWAYS suck in April, no matter what the dodoheads I work with want to insist. Go ahead, read over the statistics. The Phillies are rarely, if ever, at .500 before May 1. I blame global warming, the Republican party, Hitler, polydactyl cats, and the fact that basically half the team always gets banged up during Spring Training. (I said BANGED UP, you guys, minds out of the gutter, okay?)

Anyway. Having a five-year-old at a baseball game is a lot different than having a 1½-year-old because toddlers understand the word "No." They don't like it, of course, but they understand it. And certainly they're not quite savvy (or TALL) enough to ferret out that if you wave your hat around and yell "OVER HERE!" at the cotton candy vendor then they'll stop and your parents will have no choice but to buy you some, just to avoid an Embarrassing Situation.

(I do not recommend buying cotton candy for a five-year-old at a Sunday afternoon game when the weather has been beautiful and you have been tailgating and she refused to eat anything except pickles and salsa and ice cubes. No good can come from that.)

And, I know I keep promising this, but I'm going to try to be more diligent about posting as we get closer to the summer and there are more pictures. Got a fancy new vibration reduction telephoto lens and a REALLY GOOD FEELING about the summer. Thanks for hanging in.

Back In Business

We're wearing a new Phillies shirt and we got our hair done did for the game tonight.

Oh, yes, we're ready for the continuation of Doc-tober. Go Phils!

Catch the Phever

So ... Wednesday's game was pretty exciting, huh? Sure, there was Roy "Doc-tober" Halladay's no-hitter, which I guess is kind of a big deal (snerk), but you know what's even more important than history? Shae's boy Shane Victorino got a double, a stolen base, and a run, all in the first inning.

All great moments start with just a single step, right? Or, in this case, a double.

Oh, yeah, baby, we're feeling the love in our house. And after what we saw on Wednesday? You better believe we'll be watching to see what happens now. It's a good time to be a Phillies phan. Be there tonight, 6:07 PM, TBS. We've all got high hopes up in this joint.

PS -- Still time to vote for Victorino for the 2010 Roberto Clemente Award. Do it now! Voting is the American way, you know ...

Let's Do This Thang

It's the playoffs, baby! Four-peat NL East Champion Philadelphia Phillies start their NL pennant defense tonight against the Reds. Game starts at 5:07 PM on TBS. It's on like Donkey Kong, and WE ARE READY.

And if you have a few spare minutes, why don't you vote for Shane Victorino, this year's Phillies nominee for the 2010 Roberto Clemente Award? Voting continues through October 8 -- the official online ballot is here. Every single one of the nominees is deserving, seriously -- but of course we want Shae's boy The Flyin' Hawaiian to win. Go and vote like a baby stoat!

Back in the Saddle Again

Sorry that blogging has been so light in the last few days: someone -- and I am not saying who because it might be me -- ran over the camera cord with the computer chair, and we just this morning got it fixed. We've also been wallowing in our depression over the end of the world the other day, and we're still kind of down in the dumps about it.

Oh, and there's that whole situation where I've been working on two calendars at the same time for Christmas. Boy howdy, what was I thinking with that? But I promise: we'll be back on track this week. Thanks for your patience.

WFC's No More (For Now)

These words are not mine -- they are all other people's. Because all I have to say is, "Meh." I'm sorry the Phillies lost, I'm more sorry that the Phillies lost to the damn Yankees, but I am not devastated. Losing at this point last year probably would have killed me dead, but now I'm in a place where I can accept this loss with the knowledge -- or perhaps it is the hope? -- that we have done it before, and we can sure as hell do it again. I'm not a "next year" kind of girl, not really, but there is always next year. I am one of the "Phaithful."

As for this year? It's been hella fun, and now I can get some sleep. It's been hard staying up all night and amusing myself with Facebook games while I didn't actually watch the games because I'm superstitious.

= = = = =

From The 700 Level: "This team has character, heart, and took us on one of the most amazing runs this city has ever seen. It was an awfully fun ride. While I'm sad to see it come to an end, I'm thankful for the fun it's been."

= = = = =

From The Fightins: "At first, this recap felt like an obituary. Here lies the 2009 Philadelphia Phillies, it started out with. That theme continued for about 50 or so words, until I realized something: It’s wrong.

"It’s wrong, and I’ll tell you why: 2009 wasn’t the death of something. These Phillies aren’t getting taken apart from a fire sale spurred on by cheap management. There are no pending free agents that anchor the team, and the owner doesn’t have a beef with the skipper."

= = = = =

From Beerleaguer: "2009 carried a different meaning ... one that mattered less about winning and more about the bonds the Phillies have created among us. Step back. Look around. What great pleasure, excitement and brotherhood the Phillies have stirred, at a time when unity and goodwill are in such short supply."

= = = = =

From Phillie Phanatics: "This team is filled with a unique group of guys, gathered together from the various nooks and crannies of our country, who have gelled together unlike any team I’ve ever seen. They are a giant family, they all get along, and manage to find a way to do the impossible, get through a Major League season."

= = = = =

There are some people I know, co-workers and friends and even some family members, who are going to gloat because their team won a World Series again. They have sent out bragging emails and posted smug Facebook status updates wherein they are waiting for excuses and begging for arguments. They'll get none from me, because I have none to give; their team won, and my team lost, and that's the way the cookie crumbles. It is what it is.

I refuse to tell them to take their 27 trophies and stick them sideways up their asses, because it's just not me. Not right now, anyway. And it's not what the late great Harry Kalas would want, I don't think. Let them be happy that their team won. Hooray for you! (Insert Monty Python-esque "great rejoicing" noises here.) Me? I'm happy that my TEAM -- all of them, barring unforeseen tragedy -- will be back together next year.

And I mean, really, what is one more loss, when we've already had 10,000 of them anyway? I feel the same way now that I did then: "Learn from the experience, but don't let it define you. 10,000 losses. Big whoop. Game over. Reset. Full steam ahead."

Next year, guys. We've got high-apple-pie-in-the-sky hopes.

Here We Go Again

image via Deadspin / Gawker Media

You might have noticed that I'm a baseball fan. Can't help it; it's a congenital defect that I get from my father. And maybe my grandfather on my mother's side, but mostly it's from my dad.

You might also have noticed that I haven't had much to say about baseball since we saw the giant inflatable hot dog. There is a reason for this: I am incredibly superstitious, and I didn't want to jinx anything.

There are big and small ways that the Phils have been part of our lives all summer long, but for the most part, I have tried not to focus on them too much, tried not to get fixated, tried not to know about all of Lidge's blown saves and Howard's late inning heroics and Ibañez's astounding season and Victorino's hot head and big mouth and Feliz's butt ...

... but of course these things are a part of me, part of my DNA, part of what makes me who I am, and so even though they've been at the back of my mind, they've always been on my mind. And they'll stay there. I might not be watching, but I'll know what's going on.

And, like always, I'll have high hopes. (Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.)

Shae & the Giant Inflatable Hot Dog

So, yeah, when we went to the Phillies game on Monday? Apparently I managed to take exactly one photograph. Fortunately it was not of my poor beleaguered stalking victim, but of Shae and G and the Giant Inflatable Hot Dog:

And even she, at the tender age of two, cannot believe what an unfathomable dork her mother is, as evidenced by this Cute-Overload-style enhancement:

She is all, "Bitch, please!" like she's Sasha Fierce or Tyra or something. Kids these days, honestly.

Sweet Caroline

Growing up in my parents' house, there were Rules, lower-case-C "commandments" that we would follow if we didn't want to get grounded or disowned: Don't eat the last cookie or take the last scoop of ice cream. Don't bring the car back with no gas left in the tank. Don't chase your sisters around the house with Cutco knives, what were you raised by wolves or something?

I have broken every single Rule my parents had, I think, or at least every single one I knew about, except for that which I considered to be The Big One: "Thou shalt not ever, under any threat or circumstance, become or date a NYC-metro-area sports fan. Ever. (And not Notre Dame, either, if you know what's good for you.)"

Obviously the Commandment of Lunatic Sports Fealty came from my father. My mom is a sports fan, too, but my father ... well, let's just say I now know which side of the family the gene that makes you yell obscene things at blind umpires, biased referees, and idiot wide receivers comes from. Not to mention my frothing insane hatred for the New York Yankees, which has only been compounded by ten years of marriage to a formerly closeted Vichy Boston baseball sympathizer.

So I suppose it will come as a shock to exactly no one that we are raising our daughter as a Red Sox fan:

We're working on the booing, the heckling, and the infield chatter, although I'm not sure how much progress we're making. And every time we try to get her to say "Go Sox!" she just starts examining her toes for fuzzies. And she kind of thinks Wally the Green Monster is the same guy as the Phillie Phanatic, which ... well, last time that didn't end very well. But we're getting there.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

We went to our first baseball game of the year the other night. Spring is probably my favorite time of year for baseball -- well, May and early June, actually, when there is a better chance of nice weather (read: not freezing your nuts off), but I am not adverse to April baseball if it is at least 15° above freezing and not actively raining.

Fortunately it was a great night for a ball game (until the middle of the 6th inning, anyway), so we took our free tickets and headed to Citizens Bank Park. Some days I miss the Vet and the rats and the mutant pigeons and the ever-pleasant smell of a giant public urinal, not to mention the judge in the basement, but now that we have Shae I am glad the Phillies play somewhere nice. Somewhere clean. Somewhere with the world's greatest ballpark sandwiches.

Our seats were in Section 134, right along the third baseline. The view was fantastic -- here, let me show you:

And what we could see of the field was even better:

On the mound here is Jamie Moyer who is maybe the only guy on this entire team who is older than I am. Oh, wait, I lied -- Chris Coste is older than I am. (And hey, there is an infielder who I never heard of who has my exact birthday!)

Oh -- have I mentioned that I love our new camera? With the "old" camera we would never have gotten that much detail in the "wide" shot, although we would have gotten amazing pictures of the back of the head of the person sitting in front of me:

It was a good game. The Phils won, 11-4, and Shae got to see what I believe is her first major league home run, hit by Pedro Feliz, who I believe must be my new favorite Phillie or something, because I took about 300 pictures of him, like this:

I just don't know. Makes me look like a stalker, which I don't think I am. He does have a nice butt, though, if that counts for anything.

We did NOT get our picture taken with the Phanatic, which was a huge disappointment: Shae declared him "not nice." Hopefully she'll get over it.

Shenanigans

We don't always allow Cupcake to have sweets, so when she gets them, it's kind of a big deal. Not to us -- I mean, we just don't let her have them. She gets Teddy Grahams and animal crackers and the occasional Ritz Bit, but her meals usually end with fruit of some kind or, if we're being really indulgent, some Jell-O. We're trying to teach good eating habits, you know?

So when she is around my parents and there is a special occasion, sometimes they let her overindulge a little bit. Or at least get up to no good.

Thrill of Victory

Yes.

Yes.

A thousand times, YES!

Photo Credit: New York Times

Oh my God, I LOVE YOU GUYS. Thanks for a great season. And congratulations on a well-deserved championship.

UPDATE FROM THE INTERNETS:

So when that final out comes, what it does is provide a single unified moment of pure, shared ecstasy. Everyone explodes together, in that one instant. And that’s what you saw last night. And that’s why that moment is forever. You REMEMBER that last out. You remember Orosco. You remember Wainwright. And now, you remember Lidge.

Say what you will about FOX, but after the game ended, the network was smart enough to simply replay the moment of Brad Lidge’s strikeout again and again and again. From every angle. We saw Ryan Howard react. We saw Jimmy Rollins react. We saw the dugout react. We saw Lidge react. We saw fans jump higher than a moon shot. We saw outfielders instantly break into a sprint towards the mound, hands raised. It was if they had isolated a camera on every single person in the stadium in order to capture them in that one fleeting second.

And God dammit, it was glorious.

Oh yes, it sure was.

Crazy Baseball Thought Of The Day

... brought to us by the letters P, H, L, and the numbers 0 and 8, and also our friends over at The 700 Level:

We're emotional wrecks. We have all at some point stated that we'd do unsanitary things to ourselves "if it meant a title." Some seven year olds have seen enough already to question if they'd witness a title in their lifetime. A recent trend seems to indicate that some fans are "trying not to get too hooked" on our teams just to "protect themselves." We lost our minds long ago. I'm tired of complaining about it. Tonight, a ball IS gonna fall our way. Literally. Right into section 145 in the bottom of the ninth to send us into Broad Street euphoria and a potential apocalypse. That fiasco on Monday night was the last straw. The final countdown. The seventh circle. We're here. We've made it out of the figurative and literal monsoon. It's time. We're up 3-1 in the World Series and we're crafting conspiracy theories following Tropical Storm Selig.

[Let's be] done with it. We're three innings from freedom. Free from sacrificing family members, serving prison sentences, and cleaning up vomit. Free from bad bounces, fallacious forecasts, and false hope. And for god's sake, we're three innings to freedom from "there's always next year."

There's always next year, but there's always tonight, too.

Let's go win a championship.

WORD.

Why Bud Selig Is Bad For Baseball -- Part #586,378

Yes, I stayed up to watch the game last night. All of it. Almost every single solitary minute. We missed a grand total of maybe 15 pitches on the night due to snack breaks, laundry room adventures, and TiVo conflicts.

Yes, I think that the right decision was made, suspending the game instead of calling it due to bad weather. Anybody who honestly believes that a clinching game of a World Series would ever, under any circumstances, be called early due to anything short of the Apocalypse is a nutbar of the highest order.

Yes, I want the Phillies to win, but I also want them to do it fair and square, the old-fashioned way: by playing 36 innings of winning baseball. Maybe there will be inclement weather sometimes. Maybe there will be plagues of flies. Maybe we have to rely on our bullpen and our bats to finish a game once in a while. So what?

But that doesn't mean that shit like this doesn't still annoy the piss out of me:

[W]hat, apparently, none of these players on either team knew -- was that Selig had already made his big decision.

If the rules weren't going to permit him to suspend this game, he was going to have to go to Plan B. He was just going to have to impose martial law -- or at least Selig's Law -- and, essentially, suspend it anyway. By simply declaring the world's longest rain delay. Whether that took 24 hours, 48 hours or all the way to Thanksgiving.

Selig vowed these teams were not going to finish this game "until we have decent weather conditions."

Gee, it's a shame he didn't have that same feeling before he allowed this game to start in the first place. (emphasis added)

Yes, we know people who were at the game last night. They reported that the weather wasn't too bad even up until 9:30 or so. Some drizzly mist, cold swirling winds, temperatures dropping, but nothing that we haven't seen before. Nothing unexpected for this part of the country at this time of year. Nothing that the Eagles haven't played in before.

Yes, conditions got ugly, and maybe even a little scary. Routine infield popups were difficult to field. Puddles were forming around home plate. The rubber on the pitcher's mound was sinking like it was on quicksand. Bases were getting stolen that never should have been, never would have been under normal circumstances.

Or, in other words, if the Phillies wanted to win this game, if they still want to win this game, they're going to have to earn it, which is what they really want, anyway: "'We've been playing for seven months," [second-baseman Chase] Utley said. "Another day or two is not going to hurt us.'"

Yes, I still believe. I'm a Philly girl. What else is there for me to do?

Cautiously Optimistic

It's been a while since I blogged about baseball, but that's because being a Phillies fan is like having a bad boyfriend: they're unpredictable sometimes, and they forget to make you happy, and your parents aren't always real crazy about them, and they're tattooed and hotheaded and not always really reliable, and sometimes they go away for your birthday and they don't bring you anything home except a losing streak, and they give you a hard time, and they do stupid shit that even they know they're not supposed to, but even through all that, you love them and you think they love you, and anyway they always manage to somehow come through in the clutch, and maybe one of these days they'll come home with a ring.

I mean, I could go on and on about all the good and the bad and the wacky and the zany and the heartbreaking and heart-stopping things that the Phillies have done this season, but right now, I just want to ... relax a little bit. Catch my breath. It gets exhausting while you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I need to settle down and get my bearings. I've been preparing for the worst while hoping for the best since April, and it's made me a little schizo. So I hope you understand that I am ecstatic, and also overwhelmed. An entire city is expecting 25 years of shattered hopes to be erased by a bunch of scrappy guys in baseball uniforms. And so is a little girl. That's a lot of pressure.

Update, from Beer*Leaguer: 'Here it is, the World Series of Blog Entries, the opportunity to swing for the fences instead of sac bunting with a line like “savor the moment.” With hands trembling, a simple “thank you” is all I wish I needed to write. It’s something that hasn’t been ... uttered in 15 years. Thank you, Phillies, for giving us this, with this being the part too wonderful for words, the hard part, the part I knew I must identify when Carlos Ruiz caught the foul pop that brought us to this. To me, this is an escape from past, a reminder that life is right under my nose. How strange it is to be in this place, where all the baggage, accumulated from fandom, and from life, are stripped away until we're left with the feeling of pure joy, and reminds us of the very moment that got us started down this road in the first place. A father, a man of 30, watches Schmitty, a man of 30, in his chair, while his young boy fondles baseball cards on the floor. Last night, that boy, now 30, sat in a chair of his own. Maybe that's why “savor the moment” is used so often, because it’s the very best lesson of all." (Emphasis mine.)

FURTHER UPDATE! Apparently Barack Obama has announced that he is rooting for the Phillies for this series!

Phillies Update

Sigh. That is all.

Miss Misery

No Smiles Here
Originally uploaded by r_ockle

Just to prove that Cupcake is an actual kid and not some kind of animatronic robot like one of those creepy dolls from the "It's A Small World" ride at Disney World*, here is a picture of her in a Very Bad Mood. Took this picture in the parking lot at Coca-Cola Park, the home of the (positively putrid) Lehigh Valley IronPigs, over Memorial Day weekend.

Gotta admit, though -- even when she's pitching a fit, my kid is pretty damned cute.

* I double-dog-dare you to get that song** out of your head now. Bwahahaha.

** It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all, it's a small world after all, it's a small small world.***

*** BOOM. This is where my head explodes.

A Totally Useless Poll ...

Which of these articles of clothing is cuter: this one? Or this one? And does it really matter, since Cupcake is going to look adorable in both of them anyway?

Congratulations to the new sexiest man in all of baseball: J-Roll. Way to win that MVP! Much deserved, indeed. Hardware is HOTT.

Tek 10:28-2007
"So it is written; and so it shall be. Amen."