On One Night, There Was Baseball

At my 10-year college reunion at the University of Scranton this weekend, a few of my sports junkie friends admonished me for the collapse of this blog back at the beginning of March. I made the typical excuses most would-be writers would make, and by would-be writer I mean, "I would be a writer if someone paid me enough to live on to do so." I said work responsibilities have kept me away from the computer screen. I whined about how the blog I wrote for before this paid me a few bucks a post and that added up to decent extra cash every month. This one unfortunately does not. I moped about not wanting to spend more time on a computer after 10-hour days, especially during the summer.

Then yesterday I received an e-mail from Monster and MLB.com inviting me to enter this random drawing for a free trip for two to the All-Star game in Pittsburgh and a chance to blog it on MLB.com. You get field passes and your choice of All-Star to interview. Plus, they chuck you two grand to throw around. Now, I probably have a better chance of mlb.com reading this and picking me up as a full-time writer, but I figured what the hell, because if I fixed the blog and threw an ad up for the contest, they were going to send me a new hat (see banner to the right). So, for the sake of new hats, and for the fact that I figured out what was making the site look weird, I am back.

It doesn't hurt that right about now my Phillies are teetering on driving me to do drugs (I already drink enough) and the New York Yankees, the pantheon of sports evil and eminence, are in town for a rare appearance at Citizen's Bank Park this week. It doesn't hurt that for the first time in about three weeks, I sat down in the yard with the grill fired up and watched a well played baseball game. The well played baseball game was the part that hadn't happened in a while.

It's no secret to Phils fans that this team is an anomaly. That's a strange sentence. It would make sense that if they were an anomaly there would be a secret behind that, but no, year after year, we look at this crew of supposed talent and wonder why they can't get over the hump. Well, I have your answer. It's starting to leak from the Bank like water used to leak from the rafters of the old Vet. Here it is, in grandiose form. Ready? They are not good enough. Plain and simple. And no amount of numbers from this supposed juggernaut of a lineup is ever going to change that. They aren't good enough from 1 through 8, and they are sensationally subpar on the mound. So, what we are left with is nights like last night when these prickly little players who don the red pinstripes summon up enough testicular fortitude to play like men. Makes you ask yourself why they can't do it every night, doesn't it?

Perhaps it's got something to do with the competition. Do the Yankees bring out the best in people? Does an aging Randy Johnson help fire up the furnace? Does Derek Jeter inspire Abraham Nunez? Does A-Rod put a spark in Pat Burrell? Last night, baseball was played the way it should be played at the Bank. Brett Myers and Randy Johnson battled how pros do, popping spots when they absolutely need to on a hazy and humid sauna-like night in South Philly. Hitters came through in clutch spots on tough pitches, and leather flashed like Mike Mamula in an Allentown bar.

Was it the crowd? Did 45,000 ignite a fire under a team who's nucleus has been together for 5 years now, talking about playing to their potential? There's been crowds before.

Was it the prospect of impressing the Boss and Joe Torre? Are there free agent years on the horizon for some players who may want to head north up the turnpike?

I'm not sure what makes a man bring it at one level one day and another the next. I know I have days at work that I "write it in." Most everyone does. It takes the extraordinary man not to. There aren't many extraordinary men on the Phillies roster. And Philly fans know the few that flirt with extraordinary. They are there every night. Their names are Utley and Rowand.

With that in mind, we can only hope that for a few nights a summer our boys hit the diamond, body and mind, and give us a few moments in the yard with our feet up and the grill firing, where even in our town, good baseball is played, and for at least one night, the losingest team in sports history lived up to 26 World Championships.

I'm back but probably not daily...I may kick out two, maybe three blogs a week. Thanks for your patience.