If the eight position players had the guts of Doc Halladay, we’d have swept.
Hell, if two of the eight position players had the guts of Doc Halladay, we’d have swept.
If Cliff Lee hadn’t blown a 4-0 lead, we’d have swept.
If I’m Ryan Howard, I’m buying a pitcher in the offseason and having him throw me nothing but curves inside and sliders away, and I’m not allowing myself to eat that day until I succeed in laying off the balls and only swinging at the strikes 100 consecutive times, and for every two in a row I get wrong, I tack on 10 more I need to get right, and I’m doing that every day.
Well, after I get really, really drunk first, for, like, a month.
Unless I’m too busy rehabbing a torn Achilles.
The only guys who get a pass this postseason are Doc, Cole, Madson, and Ben Francisco. Jimmy and Utley get a semi-pass. The rest all came up microscopic.
Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. Run the damn ball out and then complain. (Though you were right, it was foul.) Goodbye, Jimmy. 2007 was an electric year. But it was a long time ago. Bring up the kid, Ruben, and let him learn.
It was a great game, from the connoisseur’s standpoint, but that’s like having your dearest one’s funeral meal catered by a five-star chef: sure, the food is superb, and the technique is flawless, but you can’t possibly appreciate it.
Goodbye, Raúl. It’s been fun, though I won’t miss seeing your head look like it’s about to fly off when you chase those balls off the plate. But you never dogged it, I’ll give you that.
Should be easier to get seats next year. I might even be able to go to a game. Will I want to?
Go Tigers!! (Hey, somebody, let me know how it ends.)
The worst part is it’s Tony F’in LaRussa. I hate Tony F’in LaRussa.
If Little Roy had held a 2-0 lead, we’d have won in four.
If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a helluva Christmas.
Goodbye, Little Roy.
Let’s see, we were eliminated in ’09 by the arrogant Yankees (did we become too much like them? the Calvinist in me worries); in ’10 by Cody Bleepin’ Ross, Juan Damn Uribe, and a clown with a beard; and in ’11 by Tony F’in LaRussa and Ryan for God’s sake Theriot. What’ll it be next year? The Marlins and Wes Helms? Sheesh.
No, go ahead and kick. Don’t worry about it. Feels fine.
Placido, I will never forgive you for not being willing to move to third base your first time through here because if you had, we’d have had you in your prime, and also we wouldn’t have had to suffer through Wes F’in Helms, who was a piece of crap, and every time Wes F’in Helms hits a homer off us for the Marlins, I wouldn’t have to think about how he has more RBIs against us since leaving than he hit for us playing as a regular. And now you’re just a shell of what you were. Last year your elbow. This year your back and a sports hernia. What will it be next year?
If I’m Dom Brown, I’m buying a pitcher in the offseason and having him throw me nothing but curves inside and sliders away, and I’m not allowing myself to eat that day until I succeed in laying off the balls and only swinging at the strikes 100 consecutive times, and for every two in a row I get wrong, I tack on 10 more I need to get right, and I’m doing that every day.
Should’ve let the Braves win one.
And their hopes and dreams lay crumpled on the ground, red lines tracing the blood ebbing from their aching hearts, memory flashes of joyful moments overshadowed by stormy skies that forebode nothing but winter’s cold and a cheerless hearth.
Once again, we are confronted by the fact that “on paper” doesn’t matter, the cruel truth and the great glory of sports.
Just so you know, I’m not making any predictions next year, because the three years I did were the years they were eliminated. It’s obviously my fault.
Thank God sports do not matter. That means this does not hurt.
Right?
Thank God for 2008.
Words © 2011 AtHome Pilgrim.
All Rights Reserved.
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Comments
r.
There is no pain like the pain suffered by a true sports fan whose team has fallen just short of perfection and I do feel for you my friend.
And yes, I'm one of the ones who flew home to my father's grave to tell him side by side that his Sox had finally won. He'd have understood your words here better than almost anyone. Except maybe Rita.
ok now I am DONE>
Go Tigers!