What a shitshow of a four-game series. I don’t intend to analyze performance, or statistics, or argue bullpen management philosophy; I would rather be wrong about something I know something about. But what a shitshow, man. And for the first time in a long time, I was just enjoying it.
I drove the John Deere through the woods at a steady 3.0 mph, dragging a heavy blade, smoothing the sandy road past Lake Oswego as heavy raindrops beat down on my (enclosed and air-conditioned!) cab from dark blue clouds, listening to the first four innings, trying to ignore Kevin Frandsen as Scott Franzke told me about each of the first 7 runs the Phillies were sure to fritter away. By the bottom of the fourth, the Cubs were cubbing. I was mentally preparing for my Phillies to limp into that disgusting shithole (Wisconsin) Friday, clinging to a half-game lead in the NL East, ready to lose their fourth in a row.
Commuting home, WIP on in the car, my rodent-like attention span started to get the better of me and I considered saying “to hell with this” and calling Pete, as I often do during my drive home. But Pat Neshek was actually going to take the mound so my curiosity got the better of me and I refocused on the game. I couldn’t see his pitches but I could hear those bats beating the piss out of the rawhide, and again my instinct was to turn off the game and have an interesting conversation instead of listening to them lose again.
It’s just one game out of 162. This isn’t football season (though you wouldn’t know it listening to Philly sports talk radio). And it’s Pat fucking Neshek. The guy wears #93, and he throws weird. He shakes off the manager, argues with Glen Macnow on Twitter about it, burns the bullpen in the process, and when he stinks, he stiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinks. Like he stunk today.
Then it happened. I achieved midseason form. I guess it’s not so early since we just started the beginning of the middle of the season, but it’s way earlier than I normally hit that stride, which is never, by the way. I realized that I didn’t give a fuck if they lost, in fact, I was hoping they’d give up 23 more if they weren’t going to win. It’s way more enjoyable to be a fan when you can turn down the emotion for a May game.