Thursday, October 16, 2008

Four more to go

I'm not going to lie, it hasn't really sunk in yet. Sure, I watched the game. I saw the win. I watched grown men running around like kids after the last bell rings on the last day of school spraying expensive and delicious champagne on each other. I watched ceremonial trophies being given to an oft maligned, and yet highly respected manager and a 24 year old pitcher that through his play almost violently quieted many who up until a couple of weeks ago were accusing of not being able to perform in "big" games. So I do know what happened, but it really hasn't hit me yet. Maybe it's the calm before the storm, maybe it's guarded optimism that's keeping me from truly being able to let go and party like it's 1993, maybe it's fear of the unkown. Regardless of what it is, I do know this: THE PHILLIES ARE GOING TO THE WORLD SERIES.

I grew up in a house* in which it went unquestioned that actions taken within the living room, specifically in plain sight of the TV, were very, very capable of having a direct effect on the Phillies performance on the other side of that TV. If you were to walk into the room and shortly thereafter something detrimental occurred, you would be expected to evacuate the room in a very timely manner. Should something brilliant occur while you were not yet seated, standing was your destiny. And so on. The point of me giving you a window into what future therapists will likely refer to as the "root of my problems" is that I'm not trying to be self-absorbed or egotistical when I theorize that my celebration prior to an actual World Series victory would fall high atop the list of direct causes of a World Series loss. This is not to say that you should avoid celebration, by all means it is well deserved and I genuinely wish you the greatest of times while doing so. This one is squarely on me, and I will respond accordingly. After all, we still have four more wins left before we truly arrive in Mecca, and I can't allow myself to compromise that. Go phils.

* - It is important to note that the main perpetrators of this behavior in the house, my father and his ace rollie Mehmet, converted to being baseball hooligans after being lifelong rabid European soccer fans, and we all know they're fuckin nuts.


  1. World Series... Incredible. I am like a giddy schoolgirl (not so different than usual, but still).

    I feel you on not having digested this amazing occurrence yet.

    Go Phils.

    P.S. Wilbon from Pardon the Interruption is a falcon. He straight hated on the people of Philadelphia today. Fuck him.

  2. Happy birthday, sir flintskins. Dirty 30, but still Pretty Toney.

    In celebration of the big day, and my love of nicknames, here are some of Flintskins's (that's one):

    DJ Dirty Dollar
    Drunkleberry Fin
    Fin Diesel
    Falcon (Ho)Moloney
    R. Fintan
    Mick Jagov
    State Mega
    Eli's Prolapsed Anus

    There are many I am forgetting, so please feel free to add to the list.

  3. Muntin' Moloney.

    "Jesus, Cots."

  4. The stage is set.

    The World Series, game 1, on Wednesday:

    Phils vs. Blowjob Upton, Seth Garza, Evan Leary Longoria and the Devil Rays.

    Go fuckin' Phils!