On baseball

I am a fan of the Boston Red Sox, having found this particular, intense brand of religion after moving to New England from the NY metro area 24 years ago...I was never a fan of George Steinbrenner, so renouncing the Yankees was much easier than I expected, and I now hate them, their "mystique," and their fans with the heat of a thousand suns. Last year, needless to say, was sheer Nirvana, tempered only by the fact that I wasn't sitting in a bleacher seat at Fenway (which cost only $1.50 my first summer up there...sigh). Set me up with a game on radio, and the latest oeuvre from Roger Angell, and I'm happy.

However, having moved to the Philadelphia area about 10 years ago, I also follow the local entry, the Phillies, who have a long and rich tradition of losing. Usually by the Fourth of July, the Fightin' Phils have removed all the stress of a potential pennant race from our lives, and this year, early on, was looking like no exception. I had commented to a friend with whom I share partial season tickets, with reference to the Phillies' lack of improvement activity in the off-season, that it would be a relaxing year at the ballpark, watching the best players in the National League (who are on other teams' rosters), and enjoying Italian roast pork sandwiches (with sharp provolone and broccoli rabe, naturally) from Tony Luke's and the occasional beer or three.

Surprisingly, the Phils were in it until this week...I suppose statistically they still have a chance, but realistically, they're toast after coming up REALLY small in some big games. The capper was a three-game sweep at home, the worst being the game on Wednesday, when they wasted an 8th inning rally (courtesy of a truly Charlie Manuel-esque and uncharacteristic managerial blunder by Phil Garner, removing a lefthander with Chase Utley, Bobby Abreu, and Ryan Howard as three of the next five hitters) and totally blew the game in the 9th inning. Losses are bad enough, but most of the players simply don't appear to care. They show no emotion when they fail to hit in clutch situations, strike out, etc...it's simply walk back to the dugout and, well, whatever, we'll get 'em next time. Some of the players simply don't have a good grasp of the fundamental things you need to do...e.g. working the count when a pitcher is struggling...to win games. Columnist Frank Fitzpatrick in today's Inquirer puts it best:

Dear Phillies:

I've got a new nickname for you.

The Tin Woodsmen.

Oh, I know in the past others have suggested name changes. One owner briefly called you the Blue Jays. Another tried the Live Wires. And, frankly, I've called you much worse during a half-century when you've treated my psyche like a piñata.

But after watching you surrender to the Astros this week, I'm convinced Tin Woodsmen is perfect.

Perhaps you're too young to comprehend the reference. Let me explain: Back in 1939 - a year, by the way, in which your Phillies forebears went 45-106 and finished 501/2 games back - there was this movie called The Wizard of Oz.

One of its main characters was the Tin Woodsman. He lacked a heart.

See the connection yet?

He eventually traveled to Oz to get one.

Need directions?

Yes, Totos, it's clear you need a heart. How else could you remain so collectively meek as the Astros and Marlins continue to bedevil you like Flying Monkeys? If there were anything beating inside your chests, you'd have to fight back, throw a brushback pitch, knock over a shortstop, drop a house on Jack McKeon.

It's true you guys aren't the first Phillies team to be missing a heart. The 1976-78 Phils were more talented than you, but equally as inept under pressure.

They could win anytime they wanted - as long as it wasn't a big game against the Pirates, Reds or Dodgers. "Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my!"

So in 1979 they visited the Wizard. They came back with Pete Rose - which kind of suggests the Wizard must have had an office at the dog track in Oz.

Rose lent the Phillies a snarl. An attitude. A heart. (He has since asked for them back so he can autograph them at a forthcoming card show, but that's another story.)

Anyway, the Phillies got a heart. And a year later they won their first, and only, World Series.

If ever there was a time when heart was demanded, it was in those three excruciating losses to the Astros. Instead, you looked ready to lose. The curtain was pulled back on your character and we all were forced to pay attention to the unpleasant reality behind it.

And now, to paraphrase what the Munchkin Coroner said of the squashed Wicked Witch, you're not only merely dead, you're really most sincerely dead.

So you can follow that yellow brick road, my pretties, and click your spiked red slippers for as long as you want.

But until you find a heart, you're going to be stuck on this side of the rainbow, forever.

Baseball season is SO most sincerely dead in Philadelphia. I should just drive to Tony Luke's when I need my roast pork fix, and save the aggravation.