The Sporting Philadelphian

Cole in They Stockings! Why Cole Hamels IS the Wizard of Oz

On the heels of yesterdays loving opus to my beloved Phillies, a man who has already given me so much sent me an early Christmas present. During an interview with a New York sports radio station, Cole Hamels was asked if he considered the Mets to be "choke artists," and he went right ahead and called a spade a spade. Cole's reply to the question: “For the past two years, they’ve been choke artists.” This answer has made some waves up there in the Big Apple. The idea that a team that was up 7 1/2 games and 3 1/2 games with just over two weeks left in back to back seasons and loses both times, as sure a definition of that art as any I've ever heard, is a team that has choked is too much for some Mets fans to swallow. The response to this little bit of thunder-stealing just hours after their acquisition of K-Rod has put a worm in the Big Apple.

Some dude named Chino has decided that them's fightin' words! Look for his comment on this article at 4:47 PM on December 11th. This typical specimen of a living, breathing, typing (but, as is sadly typical, not thinking) Mets fan is absolutely priceless. He's got an opinion and everything! What an animal! Among his views: "you guys arent great and i still dont respect your team! Yes you guys have potential,but no way in hell you guys would of won against the yankees or the redsox!" and then this: "

So please, if you go head to head with good teams you guys will lose,you sure damn lost 11 games against us! so i have no idea how are you guys better than us,lol idiots!" "

so please you know if you would of lost lidge, you guys wouldnt of made it!" "DEBUNKED," he says. [sic, all of this is as I found it in its primal habitat, I swear.]

I mean, this guy is for real. He really means it. He does not respect the Phillies because Lidge could have been injured, and because he doubts that we would have beaten the Red Sox, the Yankees, his beer league team, etc. Oh boy. The reason that I am mentioning this idiot’s rambling, panicked, angry post is that I think it speaks volumes about where the Mets and their fanbase are now. The Mets, as I alluded to yesterday, have spent four years trying to buy a championship by building around 2 very good farm-raised players, Wright and Reyes, by going out and acquiring top-tier free agents, or trading for people like Delgado and Santana who were either a financial drain on their older teams, were injury/erratic performance problems, or were just a year away from free agency. This four –year shopping spree represents a concerted financial effort to win a World Series of the sort most fans can only dream about. In their exuberance, the Mets fans and roster seem to have anointed themselves the World’s Rightful Champions.

Evidence of this attitude abounds. The mood of the crowd as the Mets were denied their trip to the 2006 World Series in Game 7 of the NLCS was one of shocked disbelief; by the time the Mets got around to collapsing down the stretch in ’07 and ’08, that attitude had gained steam, grown teeth, mutated a bit to where it sits now, which is at the emotional confluence of despair and self-righteousness. The Mets are operating on a similar plane to the Yankees, spending a ton of money and unable to outrun their team’s fundamental lack of heart, courage and brains. What they need to do, right now, is to go back to the yellow brick road drawing board.

These truths in mind, the raw panic and rage of the Mets fan is a perfectly rational and sensible response to the simmering truth that his team is wanting in the fundamental qualities inherent to championship-caliber ballclubs. When they have, needed to win the most, they have played their worst.  The Mets, right now, are over-hyped, over-wrought and over the hill. Their window is closing, not opening. They have run themselves into the ground searching for ways around this truth, but their chickens are coming home to roost on a place called Citifield, a fine-looking, hugely expensive ballyard in the middle of an asphalt swamp. Cole Hamels, when asked, simply reminded them of the facts, speaking from his eminent position as the reigning World Series MVP, a champion who has displayed the heart, courage, talent and brains to be the most important player on the best team in the world. And that, my friends, is why he is the Wizard of Oz.

TKO-Rod?

            Well, they did it. I thought they’d do it, I felt sure that they’d do it and sure enough they did. Francisco Rodriquez signed a three-year deal with those New York Metropolitans, and was soon joined by JJ Putz, who was traded from the Mariners. My first reaction to this bit of overkill was to write a panicked, angry email to one of my best friends that consisted of a four-letter word that rhymes with “suck” and isn't "duck," but that was so much more appropriate, under the circumstances.

            Upon further reflection, though, I have begun to feel much less upset than I was when I first heard the news. This might sound strange, but after I had walked under raindrops, considered the moon, and digested this signing and trade a bit more, I actually felt more proud to be a Phillies’ fan, even more so than I did a couple of days ago. In trying to look at this healthily, as a more distressing than usual reminder of just what it means to love the team I love, I came to a few conclusions, some of which might interest you:

 

1)    This sort of signing is just the sort of thing that really, really makes us hate the Mets. Their bullpen was a disastrous catastrophe last season, so they went out and got possibly the best closer in the world, certainly the best closer on the market this offseason. Some of us hoped that the Mets would go out and get someone like Brian Fuentes, but that was never going to happen. Omar Minaya is a big, splashy guy, and he went out and got a big, splashy player, just a year after he acquired the best pitcher on the planet. Really, this should not be all that surprising in the first place. This approach to problems is just classic Mets, through and through. And you know what? It hasn’t worked very well in the past, and it won’t work well now. Great baseball teams are very seldom bought.

 

2)    With the Mets moving into their new ballpark, the inconveniently-named Citifield, (insert economy/oversight joke) the team has wisely decided that it makes sense to go the extra mile so that they do not have a third (arguably a fourth) disastrous and embarrassing season. The Mets are still a flawed team, with a shaky rotation. Johan Santana is great, but he is followed by John Maine, who was disappointing last year, Mike Pelfrey who had a good season but is a little low on experience to be a #3, and question marks such as Pedro and his sore/strained/torn/pulled whateveritis, Jonathan Niese, Jason Vargas and Bobby Parnell. After dealing Endy Chavez in the Putz deal, their outfielders consist of Carlos Beltran, Ryan Church, Angel Pagan and Marlon Anderson, who you might fondly remember. Yep, that guy. Brian Schneider still sucks. The fact that they felt that they needed to make one of the top-5 signings this offseason is more than a coincidence. The Mets needed to go out and spend $37 million to make this happen, money that was spent more to avoid embarrassment than to ice the cake of a winning ballclub. There is an important distinction here. Holes remain, and I like holes on the Mets’ roser.

 

3)    Remember what happened the last time the Mets signed a hotshot closer? Call me crazy, but I thing we made out pretty well for ourselves with the Lights Out.

 

4)    Bullpens are the single most-unpredictable facet of baseball. While I could see Putz and K-Rod forming a very good duo at the back end of the pen, I could just as easily see that not happening, should one or both get injured, or melt under the pressure of those jerks in New York. Even assuming that Putz and K-Rod are healthy and effective, the Mets would have what amounts to those two studs on top of a lot of filler. You have to get to the 8^th.  This could be a tough bridge for them.

 

5)    Last I checked, the Mets were a bunch of entitled, whining, sniveling, wheedling little rats with no heart, who fold as soon as the cards are down. Jose Reyes is still an erratically exciting player, David Wright is still a meek Scott Rolen protégé, and Carlos Delgado will be even older than he was before. Just thought I’d mention it.

 

6)    Remember just 4 years ago when the Mets were busy signing Carlos Beltran and Pedro Martinez, simultaneously, waiting a year then trading for Carlos Delgado, all while Tom Glavine (who had seemed signed, sealed and delivered to the Phillies) was still an ace for the club, they had a highly-touted group of young players in the farm system, and they had new TV money to burn? Remember that? Well, look who’s talking now. The Mets are playing catch up.

 

I’ll tell you what. The 2009 season is still five months away, but I can’t wait to get is started. I can’t wait to hear Jimmy talk about how we’re the team to beat again, to watch Shane jog out to center and his adoring harem screaming his name, to watch Howard take K-Rod deep, to hear the fat lady sing. I’ve got hiiiigh hopes. I’ve got hiiiigh hopes…

Location, Location Location

You know what? There’s really a lot going on in the Philly sports scene, just now. The Eagles are about to square off against those smelly, ugly, awful G-Men right up I-95, in a titanic clash to determine whether or not they are still a relevant team, a team that should not be dismantled. There’s a lot at stake here. If the birds can pull out a win there, is it not plausible that the Eagles get on a horse and win a playoff spot, that they ride that momentum as they did under Jeff Garcia two years ago, that the city becomes once more enamored of the Reid and McNabb marriage, and that in spite of, or perhaps to make light of, Prop 8, Lurie allows them one more shot to patch things up and take another shot at the title next year? This is compelling, I think.
I am similarly compelled by what can only be described as the oddity of the Sixers’ attempt to rein themselves in, become a half-court team and make their ballgames feel less like orchestrated oeuvres to Elton Brand’s personal bailout plan and more like an efficient and methodical attempt to share the ball and have constructive possessions that result in open shots that find the basket. Watching Igloo-dollar’s jump shot is, at this stage, akin to watching the door and waiting for someone to move their bowels in a public restroom. It’s agonizing, it stinks, you can’t believe they’re taking so long to get going, but you don’t dare say anything, and the overriding truth of the thing is that you’d much rather be almost any place else. This is compelling, too. In a sick, depressing, Hindenburgian, oh my god I hope Elton Brand won’t kill the franchise sort of a way, but compelling nonetheless.
The Phillies, too, are surprisingly exciting for having made no major acquisitions since hoisting the long-awaited championship trophy. As with high school, summer camp and anything having to do with Al Davis, most of the real action during a typical Phillies offseason consists of rumor. This time around, things are no different, with speculation rampant about the left field situation, the rotation, whether or not to retain Moyer, what to do about Utley’s absence at the start of the year. The Phillies’ decision not to offer Moyer or Burrell arbitration merely adds to the rumor mill, a cautious move that does little to clear the smoke on the water. But you know what? That smoke is from fireworks, they just won, baby, and the Philadelphia Phillies are, as the man said, “World fuckin’ champions.”
And so it is, my friends and loyal readers, that I sit down with you all to talk about… soccer! And the charming borough of Chester, PA! Yay! Balloons! This is exactly what is on the forefront of your minds, I think, right? We all pine for Chester on a night-and-daily basis, hoping against hope that there will emerge some excellent reason to take a drive past the airport but not quite to Delaware and its evil tollbooths. (Are those tax-free as well?) Well, perhaps not. But, as you may or may not have known, the as-yet-unnamed Chesterdelphian MLS franchise just broke ground on a $115 million, state-of-the art, soccer specific stadium that officialdom has proclaimed to be the glowing centerpiece of an as yet to be funded, designed and committed to riverside development project to bring investment, jobs, hope, glory and other much-needed buzzwords to what is perhaps Pennsylvania’s most-beleaguered town.
Surely, there are reasons for optimism here. The MLS, after enduring some early struggles during which only ESPN TV contracts saved the league from going under, has become an expanding league, with gradually increasing attendance and revenues, and an announced goal of profitability by 2010. This is impressive, as the sports market in the US is already saturated, and there is no other major sports league in the US that cannot be honestly said to embody the pinnacle of its sport. I grew up playing soccer in Philadelphia, and I know from firsthand experience that Philadelphia needs no introduction to playing soccer. Soccer has long been a thriving youth sport throughout the region, and the new franchise will find it unnecessary to explain the difference between a striker and a midfielder to quite a lot of people.
I believe that there is a genuine appetite for quality soccer in the Delaware Valley as a whole. As the last thing I did in Philly before going to college, I went to the exhibition game between Manchester United and Barcelona that served as the Linc’s introduction to the world. The house was packed with local fans who were knowledgeable about the game, applauded the young Ronaldinho’s creative and artful passes, jeered at Ruud van Nistelrooy’s awkward effort, and generally oohed and aahed at the spectacle of the thing. This was back before Ronaldinho was a big name, a run-up to his first season at Barcalona, having just transferred over the summer from Paris Saint-Germain. My point is that a Philadelphian audience, having been presented with a quality game of soccer in a properly-hyped context, were entirely capable of enjoying the game, even though it was a sloppily-played exhibition match.
Signs abound that this was not an anomaly. There has, for years, been a grassroots group called the Sons of Ben who have been very active in trying to get a team for the area. Already, 6,000 people have put down ticket deposits, before the team has a name, more than a year away from the first game. I think that this is more than a little bit encouraging.
Having said all that, there are, as ever, things that give me pause. The grit of my objections hang around the site of and funding of the stadium. There is no polite way of saying this, but it must be said. Chester is a shithole. I mean this as no offense to the battered residents of the town, but the place is a dump. As I said earlier, a quarter of the residents are impoverished. In an uncharacteristically scathing article, Karen Heller, who is in my opinion just the sort of professional, suburban (soccer) mother the league is going after for its ticket sales, decries this attempt to revive the failing town, suggests that the city could use a supermarket much more than a soccer stadium, and generally wails in horror at the $77 million worth of tax dollars that are being thrown at the stadium. This coming from a woman who says that she “like[s] soccer.” Her concerns merit serious consideration.
To an extent, I agree with her further point that stadiums are rarely as helpful as they are made out to be in the effort to get them built with taxpayer money. My father, who taught in the Landscape Architecture and Regional Planning department at Penn, who loved baseball, and who instilled in me an abiding love for all things urbane, was always in continuous ecstasy over Camden Yards, for several different reasons, the most salient of which had little to do with the fantastic architectural qualities of the place. Camden Yards’ construction was, beyond all possible doubt, controversy or prevarication, the seminal event in the revival of Baltimore’s inner harbor area. Denver’s downtown, in the wake of the construction of Coors Field, has undergone and extensive redevelopment, and property values have risen dramatically.
But these success stories have other characteristics that are absent from Chester’s bid for revivification. (My girlfriend swears that’s a word synonymous with “revival.” She’s prolly right.) These stadiums were baseball stadiums, with capacities in the 40,000 range, with 81 home games a year, that were built in conjunction with extensive private development coinciding with the public financing of the stadiums. These ingredients are absent from Chester’s 10,000-seat stadium, which will host 15 home games a year, with playoffs and cup matches, so call it 20. The development next door is “proposed,” (read: hoped for) and will in all likelihood remain that way for the foreseeable future.
Add to this problem the character of Philadelphia as a sports town. I said before that Philadelphia will be receptive to soccer, which I think is true, but this team is destined to be a niche team for one simple reason. Call it the Billy Elliot problem. Philadelphia is a hard-nosed, gritty place. We love effort, hustle, grime and those Broad Street Bullies. We LOVE this stuff. Remember that time your girlfriend made you watch “Billy Elliot,” which you had to pretend not to enjoy? Well, I know you really did enjoy it (or you are an uncultured twat) and I KNOW that you remember the scene where his father catches him dancing. Billy’s father takes him by the scruff of the neck, drags him home, and sits him down to have a little talk about the facts of life. “Lads,” he says with an incredible look of alarmed dismay “do boxing, football… not ballet!” Indeed, most boys do not do ballet, and in this country soccer has gained an unfortunate reputation that unfairly equates the manhood of its practitioners with those who dance for a living.
That this state of affairs is so is distinctly odd. Though the game can move slowly, it produces moments of incredible excitement. Throughout the rest of the world, soccer is the sport of the working class, and has become so deservedly, with its mix of coarse, rough play between tough, hard men and startling displays of dazzling skill. Think hockey, only hockey players need pansy little touches like frequent substitutions and skates.
For this reason, I think that the sport has a chance to take off in Philadelphia. We cannot get enough of men behaving badly. This chance to capture our attention would only be enhanced by the opportunity to play in a state-of-the art facility that has 60,000 or so seats, and is only in use somewhere between 15 and 30 days of the year, the preponderance of which are an the wintertime in the first place. Where am I talking about? All expense paid trip to Chester for those of you who guessed Lincoln Financial Field. Think about it. This behemoth of a stadium just cost over $500 million to build, a large proportion of which was public money. Temple plays their football games there already, paying the Eagles a million bucks a year in rent. Could the $115 million in construction costs not be spent on a very long lease to play games there around the Eagles schedule? Wouldn’t you rather see a game in Philly than in Chester? (Note: if you answered “no” to this last question, you are clearly mistaken.)
Chester does not need this stadium. Delaware County either is or will soon be broke; if it has $30 million to spend, it ought to be spent on something that will benefit its citizens with more than the 100 or so seasonal, part-time jobs that the stadium will provide. You cannot raise a family on an usher’s salary.
Despite all of these concerns of mine, I remain hopeful about the prospect of watching a soccer time in my home, um, region. It’s about time Philly was on par with the likes of Kansas City, Columbus, and San Jose is it not? I think so.

Call Me Adam, On This Eve of Giant-Killing

It's been two whole days since those Iggles gave me the wiggles and sent those silly Cardinal people packing back on the 6:10 to Yuma, but I can still scarcely believe it happened. I have spent these two days mostly silence, wandering throughout the garden, surveying the flora and fauna, naming things. That erstwhile lumbering quarterback, the one who was yanked around by the fat man's disciples, call him "Phoenix." (Wait, that's kind of awkward. Britney Spears will have to do.) The offensive line that looked more like a sieve than a seawall? "The Rock of Ages," perhaps? Westbrook even gets to chip in, as the Holy Ghost. NOTE: The demoted Reggie Brown gets no biblical reference. He must therefore make do with Patrick Ewing.
More seriously, I have struggled with what to make of the Eagles' shocker. I'm really not sure. But i have thoughts, voluminous thoughts, which tends to be a commonplace condition among those who spend two days in the garden, naming things that already have names. My first thought is that this game was plainly a sea-change game. The Eagles have shown that they can square off against a playoff-caliber team and beat them soundly with a ton of negativity swirling around nearly every key player on the roster.
This performance is obviously a great sign, as it takes considerable skill, poise and self-confidence to beat a winning team in the NFL as convincingly as the Eagles did. We have known that this team has ample talent, which is what has made watching this team fail to translate that talent into wins so frustrating. Now, these Eagles have proven to themselves that they are capable of playing well, something that they have not done since Jeff Garcia's great run a couple of years ago. That much is good, solid and unassailable.
So, Reid's relief in the wake of the game that potentially salvaged his job, at least for now, was warranted. But there are still things that concern me, here, given that the fat man's radiance seems to be newly bereft of any hint that they still have some tough games ahead of them, probably none tougher than next weekend in New York.
Namely, I believe that that Cardinals are a paper tiger. First, they lead the worst division in football, with the Ninest in second place at 3-8, the Rams in third at 2-9, and the Seahawks at 2-10. Second, the Cardinals' 7-5 record is extremely soft, with their only win against a team that doesn't stink coming over the Cowboys at home, in overtime, three days before the Cowboys' panic trade for Roy Williams. In that game, the Cowboys out-gained the Cardinals 374 yards to 276 yards, committed 1 turnover to the Cardinals' 3, possessed the ball longer than the Cardinals and still managed to avoid winning. Write this down: the Cowboys are a dysfunctional football team.
The Eagles did do several things very well, and could not have played a better football game. McNabb was great. Westbrook had one of the better games I've seen him play. The offensive line looked fantastic, except for Jean-Gilles getting maxed out, which looked awful by the way. But I think that the significance of these things starts to unravel a bit when placed under further scrutiny.
Ray Parillo, in a fond, gentle, grateful piece, attempts to invoke the Shakespearean "less is more" clause, in order to explain the welcome spike in production from the receivers. But I'm not buying it, and neither should you. The Cardinals looked flat as hell. They came out against a struggling quarterback and a besieged offensive line, a team begging to be absolutely blitzkrieged, and proceeded to play in soft coverage schemes that tended to avoid blitzing at all costs. They didn't put a spy on McNabb, who made them pay for it with a series of dandy little scampers, and nifty little scrambles. (It's so cute when he does that!) When the finally started to blitz, they made groan-worthy mistakes like leaving Westbrook completely uncovered, allowing him to score his second receiving touchdown in truly dopey style.
On the flip side of the ball, Kurt Warner looked every bit the bumble puss he did before the ninny took over, hurrying, then holding on too long, then forcing the ball to Anquan Boldin, who was clearly off his game, but who had a better excuse for this than anyone ever ought to have. If you're drinking right now, please do him a favor and drink to Anquan Boldin. The man deserves it.
Next week, the Eagles face a team with none of these weaknesses. The Giants, or at least Steve Spagnuolo, have clearly read the Greatest Hits of Heinz Guderian, and will really test the birds' offensive line. Eli Manning, though he is a ninny, is a very intelligent and able ninny, and he doesn't hand the ball off; he goes bowling with Brandon Jacobs. They could always shoot themselves in the foot leg, but ever since they won that Stuporbowl thingy, they've really been looking like a good football team. (As a side note, no one ever seems to think this joke is funny. I told my girlfriend's stepfather, and he just looked at me, thoughtfully, then said: "yeah, they really have looked pretty good." Not even a chuckle. And I thought it was really funny. Sent me into paroxysms of self-doubt and self-loathing. As in: "gees, Rob, that's the best you got?" But I still think it was funny. So I'm asking you: was this a funny joke? Let me know. Please? My sanity and wellbeing is at stake here. And you can have the satisfaction that you either saved a good joke or killed a bad joke, dead in it's tracks. 'Cause really, the Giants didn't really look that great going into... )
Anyway. the Giants are defending champs. They've got the swagger. They had a big win at the Linc earlier this year, and they're going to be hungry for more. But we could be heroes, if just for one day. I don't know who the Eagles are right now, and God is my witness I have no idea what will happen in those meadowed lands, but I do know this: by the end of the day next Sunday, we will know more. And knowledge is power. I guess.

P.S. In the course of my research for this piece, I came across this little bit of wonderful on youtube. Fans of awkward things English, check this out. This kid is out of control. After you do that, proceed with your life, knowing that if this guy said something, the opposite is true.

And Now For Something Completely Different

Well, first of all let me fess up to being more or less completely wrong about those Eagles. McNabb apparently wanted to send me a message. No that I've received that message, I must confess to 3 things:

1) The reports of Donovan's entry into witness protection were greatly exaggerated.
2) For once in my life, being wrong has filled me with rapturous glee, the likes of which you ain't never seen.
3) I'm back to my drawing board, and I have no idea what this all means. Completely struck dumb. So I'm going to talk about the Phillies. Firmer footing, and all.

As with most things to to with the Phillies, Chase Utley is the subject of greatest importance. There are those who would quibble with this assessment, would argue that Hamels has cemented himself as the studmuffin extraordinaire, or that the team goes as Howard's bat does. You should run from these people. They will tell you that they can submit proof. That Hamels was the World Series MVP, that his numbers down the stretch were somewhere between sublime and ethereal, and that he has just edged out Ron Burgundy as the biggest deal in San Diego, but these are the same people who believed Colin Powell and his "photographs" of WMD sites at the United Nations oh so many years ago. There are those who would point to Ryan Howard's impressive power numbers, to his imposing physique, to his MVP award, to any number of awesome things. But you should think for yourself and believe what I tell you to believe. Because I know.
I know that Howard plays first base, and one would notice little difference in his defensive value if he sat on a folding chair downing sunflower seeds and occasionally glancing at the plate. This was apparently surprisingly effective in Little League, and he just kinda stuck with it. Utley plays second base, a place more difficult to field, a place that several doubted he could stay while he was coming up. Chase does it with flair, panache and daring, he rarely makes an error and he comes up HUGE when you need it. Remember this? Biggest stage imaginable, makes a huge play pegging Bartlett at home in the World Series? Faked the throw, got the aggressively pressing Bartlett to bolt for home, then gunned him down. Pure instinct. Who else makes that play in baseball now? I'll tell you who: nobody. Watch this clip. Goosebumps indeed.
While it's really tough to compare the value of a pitcher and a position player, there's a couple of overlooked metrics I'll deploy here. The first: after Myers continued his incredibly shaky pitching, Moyer had been lit up in each of his 2 postseason starts, with the uncertain outcome of Heavy B to follow, when we needed our ace the most, Hamels would not/could not pitch on short rest. This actually made sense, and in retrospect looks like a genius move on Manuel's part, but it highlights the one glaring on-field problem for Hamels. He's always been hanging by a thread, like if Superman had a chronic bad back. Thing is, Chase was the one who was playing hurt, and if he hadn't done that, Lidge wouldn't have done this. Point is, when you haven't won a title in 28 years, the future is now. The second reason Chase Utley is of greater value? Chase married his college sweetheart. Cole married the blonde girl from "Survivor" who, I have been informed, also appeared in Playboy.
The reason I mention all this, of course, is to highlight the fact that the Phillies' most valuable player will be out for some time. (As a side note, is that not the creepiest picture you've seen all day?) It will only be for a month, maybe more, but the Phils will need to fill in. There seem to be different schools of thought on this, so lets roll our sleeves up and try to look as handsome as Ruben Amaro.
There are those who think it makes sense to go out and get a second baseman. The Phillies need a right-handed outfield bat, another bullpen arm, and... well that's about it. Isn't it? After trying (and failing) to sign Cole and Howard to long-term deals, and agreeing to terms with them, they ought to have some cash left over to go after a short-term fixit guy at second, who could occasionally fill in at third, as needed, then either come off the bench, or be flipped for a part down the road. Seems that simple, right? I think so. We just won a championship with a nucleus that is young, has great chemistry, is a joy to watch, and now... we're inquiring about Derek Lowe and AJ Myarmburnsnett? Really? What for? Is Moyer really dragging his feet that much? Is this a massive conspiracy theory to scare Moyer into resigning ASAP? Smells funny to me.
The Inquirer ran a poll, though, about this possibility, and an overwhelming majority of people wanted to sign Burnett/Lowe, AND Moyer. I'll tell you this much: we don't need to anymore. We have, right now, Hamels, Myers, Heavy B and the rebounding Kendrick, along with the overlooked Happ, who I felt pitched very well in some big spots. Carrasco is waiting in the wings, too. That's already six viable options. What do we need with eight? The money can be better spent elsewhere. If we give Moyer what will probably be a modest contract, invest in a quality righthanded outfield bat, and perhaps take on a second baseman, we'll be all set.
There are a bunch of options. The upper tiers of free agent second basemen are occupied by Orlando Hudson and Felipe Lopez. Hudson we don't need, but Lopez is intriguing. He's just 27, he's a decent hitter, a switch hitter, and he'd probably be available for the right price. On the debit side, he was one of the Nationals' best players, and they cut him, and he apparently wore out his welcome in St. Louis by hitting .385 with 4 homers in a month and a half. Which says "attitude problem" loud and clear. Other names include Juan Uribe, Mark Loretta, Ray Durham mark Grudzielanek and Damion Easley. So, there's a lot out there.
There is also the thought that Jason Donald might be ready, in order to plug the hole from within. From what I saw of him in the Olympics, which is to say not much, he seems like a steady, smart and motivated young player who has the ability to do so. He's a college player, and is 24 years old, hit .308 with 14 home runs at Reading this past year. He looks like a ballplayer. To be honest, this route intrigues me the most. It's cheap, it has the biggest upside, and I'd really rather watch this kid than dome depressing retread like Felipe Lopez or Damion Easley.
We will miss our Utley. But we might be pleasantly surprised at what we find in his absence, and I, for one, cannot wait for it.

The Eagle Has Landed

We know, all of us do, of the poor, impossibly impoverished, impossible plight of our poor beautiful boys. Oh, but what to call it? What to say? The birds were... flightless, incapable, pitiable and pathetic. And we know it will get worse, before all is said and done. And so I write to you all, to reassure you that this passage of time, as painful, as low and nearly un-watchable as it is, will pass. And I have a plan. Not for the Eagles, mind you, but for something nearly as important. I have a plan for your souls, through this winter of our discontent.
In the minutes, hours and days following this new debacle, people felt a lot of things; people said a lot of things too. 5 himself, in a rare spate of verbose honesty, said “wow.” Phil Sheridan makes the case that Reid was classless, tasking an underling with telling Mcnabb that he was being pulled from what was, at that point a winnable ballgame. He goes on to assert that there has been, for the first time in their history together, a fundamental break between them to the point that Donovan was benched “not because of injury, but because of his performance,” a “line that cannot be uncrossed.” Sheridan is exactly right. But he doesn't go on to spell out the writing that is right up there on the wall.
That's my job, so here we go: McNabb is done in this city. There are athletes, it is true, who have overcome the breach of trust of the sort that exists between towns and their franchise quarterback, athletes who have gone on to prove their worth on supreme stages. Paul Pierce comes immediately to mind, as does Manny Ramirez. But not that will not happen in this town, and it will not happen with this athlete. We care too much, and he has given too much of himself.
It happened ten years ago. Ten years ago, a fat man no one had ever heard of came to town, drafted a fair-haired boy no one in this city approved of, and then set our division ablaze behind an exciting, aggressive defense and a offense that rumbled ahead with all the pizzazz, excitement and risky behavior of a toothbrush. Throughout what has been the single most successful run in the history of the Eagles' franchise, there has existed a strange duality, this risk-leveraged defense and the offense you knew would run the ball only on third and eight, that has been difficult to grow fully comfortable with.
You watch Reid in the best of times, and in the worst of times, and he is consistently and deliberately un-insightful. Then, one giggled with glee, delighted at this stonewalling approach to the usual business of beating up on the G-men, the big D-men, and those adorable Native Americans, knowing that with this captain, our captain, the ship could never sink. You trusted him. Now, you almost wonder if he ever knew what made the thing tick.
The eagle has landed, and the other shoes have dropped. You look at tape of the Nova Care Complex, and you are unsure if it is a state of the art, multimillion-dollar orgasmo of a football facility, or if it is simply an exclusive geriatrics center. One never knows. The real focus of the Eagles, now, must be on the long-term future. The short term has become increasingly irrelevant. It probably makes sense to fire the most successful coach this franchise has ever had. Kevin Kolb really is the heir apparent, apparently. All of this means that we must go back to the drawing board.
I can't tell you what they ought to draw. I couldn't have told you that FredEx wouldn't be able to run a route on the ground, in the air or on railroad tracks, but I told you that I have a blueprint for your souls. And I'd never lie. So, have you heard the good news?

1) We will never ever ever ever ever have to watch Rodney Peete, Bobby Hoying, Koy/Ty Detmer ever again. I guarantee it.

2) There is the prospect of interesting interviews. The decade-long phenomenon of McNabb and his sensei tag-teaming to frustrate everyone has gotten old. Reid has brainwashed McNabb to the extent that his passing (and very true) comment that we needed "more weopons" a while back was shocking in the extreme. A travesty, through and through. Could Charlie Manuel be persuaded to translate for Reid in his lame-duckhood? Can't you see this: Reid whispering in Charlie's ear, while he sits there looking confused, gamely trying to string together coherent sentences? I would do nearly anything to see this happen.

3) In an overlooked story: "THE PHILLIES ARE THE 2008 WORLD CHAMPIONS OF BASEBALL!!!" I mean, I'm still fired up about this.

4) Saint Samuel

5) There are good memories. Sweet memories. We owe our boys an honest and forthright trip through memory lane. I'm serious about this. Sports are a supreme proof of the Buddhist idea that all of life is suffering. The only things you have are: anticipating the good times, enjoying the good times, and remembering them after they are long gone. The third step is important.

6) When all else fails, remember that Eli Manning is a ninny.

7) Even Modrak cannot outsmart Newton. Every action does have an equal and opposite reaction. Modrak found an edge in understanding the salary cap before everyone else did. This was important, because he was able to spend money at the right positions, with guys like Runyan and (the good) TO, and to find good deals at other positions (the Jeremiah Trotter experience, part 2) in a manner that the Eagles did a better job with this than any team other than the Patriots. It was when other teams figured the cap out, the Eagles miss with some picks, they overreached on some free agents, the (bad) TO thing happened, and McNabb and Dawkins got old and beat up at the same time, that things got out of hand. That was a mouthful, no? Point is, it's hard to overcome some of these things, let alone all of them. And few of these decisions were unpopular at the time.

8) Last I checked, Darfur would love your old Mike Mamula, Freddie Mitchell, Jerome McDougle, Winston Justice, Quinton Caver, Jevon Kearse, TO, Duce Staley, and so forth jerseys. Charity is a wonderful thing.

9) Westbrook.

10) At least you're not one of these idiots.

11) Speaking of those idiots, can we all bear in mind that the Cowboys haven't won a playoff game since 1996? Probably won't this year, either. Yeeeeeha! Its beautiful, isn't it?

12) Parity in the NFL is so out of control now that any team, if compentent and a little lucky, can emerge from a dark place to a playoff team in just a couple of years. Food for thought.

So, if you can't bear to watch tomorrow, if you are in despair, one can understand. But there is a pot of gold down the rainbow. I think. Probably. Possibly... but wear a warm coat. It's gonna be a long winter.