Our long national nightmare has begun, again. My heart is as empty as this Lego Citizens Bank Park, which is, obviously, more sturdy than the Phillies’ pitching. Sure, the Phils lost their first game last year, and that team made the playoffs. Of course, they were 0-1 here, too (shucks), though not this year (double shucks), or this year (damn), though, terrifyingly, they did lose their first game this year.
Will the Phillies rebound tomorrow? No, no, they won’t. Because Major League Baseball is a prude, the Phillies have lost today, and will take tomorrow off so we, the wretched masses, can twist on our hooks for just a few hours more, before our team seeks out ways both ancient and novel to enthrall or disgust us. Super.
Will we keep tabs on the Phillies in this space this summer? It’s too early to tell whether the delights and defeats of the national pastime will lend themselves to this sort of storytelling, or if we’ll just take the sorrow of our meager expectations (prediction: the Phils will miss the playoffs) internally.
While sitting in the family abode watching the opening games with brother Goose (speaking of which, prediction #2: the Royals will win more games this season than the White Sox), I remembered the joy that comes with baseball. Sitting in that same abode several hours later, with no one but me and Tom Gordon, I remembered why I hate baseball with a sort of oozing, black, vulgar obsession, too.
Cole Hamels pitches on Wednesday. As always, I’m predicting (#3) a no-hitter.
(Hat tip to Home Run Derby for the pic)