Good Grief!

Do not be afraid. This Bobby Abreu collectible figurine cannot hurt you.

I must express shock and dismay that the Phillies blogs have fallen short in their coverage of the team’s disappointing Labor Day loss. There’s been talk of poor Endy Chavez and pinch runners who don’t run, but why hasn’t anyone exposed the disappointing performance of the Phillie Phanatic?

First phaux pas: the Phanatic skipped the traditional 8th inning Phanatic dance. Instead, there was video of his appearance at the recent Jimmy Buffet concert. Please. Not only were the phans cheated out of a live Phanatic dance, they were subjected to footage of the Phanatic dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and matching shorts that made his butt look huuuuuge.

Even worse, however, was what the Phanatic did during the bottom of the ninth, when the Phillies were valiantly trying to score a few runs and win the game. He did nothing. Didn’t see him anywhere. Phanatic, you let the team them down. Who knows how the game would have ended if you had been pacing on the dugout roof and hexing the Astros.

Back to Bobby: This lugi-hocker is banned from sharing a spot with Schmidt and Carlton.

Saturday’s Phillies versus Red Sox outing was bittersweet. Not because the Phillies lost, but because one of my favorite baseball players officially retired. Just as we got to our seats, Doug Glanville, the outfielder with the stunning smile, threw out the first pitch. Glanville has ties to the area and grew up as a Phan, so his home team worked up a minor league contract that allowed him to retire as a Phillie (the Yankees cut Glanville earlier this year).

Even those rowdy Sox fans kept their yaps shut long enough to let Glanville have his farewell moment.

In other news, I can now confirm that Bobby Abreu’s butt does not compare to Pat Burrell’s. I don’t hold Bobby’s inferior posterior against him—after all, Burrell sets a high standard—but after Saturday’s game, I am no longer an Abreu fan.

Somewhere around the fourth or fifth inning, when everyone else was watching a long, fly ball to left field, I looked down from my right field seat and saw something shocking. Bobby Abreu hocked a big, fat lugi into the beautiful, beautiful grass of Citizen’s Bank Park. He obviously thought that no one was looking, but little does he know that bloggers are everywhere, waiting to expose the misdeeds of celebrities. Gross.

Thankfully, the afternoon had a happy ending:

Because of the upcoming home purchase, break between jobs, and trip to Maine, I am in extreme cheapskate mode. Just ask the poor bastard who had to help me at the Verizon Wireless store. I gave him the business about mail-in rebates (which I always forget to send in) versus instant rebates and marched out the door in a huff. Sadly, I know I’ll end up with the phone anyway, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna show my face back in that store.

One fun cheapskate activity is a trip to Camden’s Campbell field, home of the Riversharks. The tickets are inexpensive, the stadium is beautiful, with views of the Ben Franklin Bridge and the Philadelphia skyline, and the baseball is, uh, well, it’s baseball. Yeah, the team looked pretty amateur last night. At one point, three people hustled towards a fly ball in left field, which somehow landed on the ground. Comical. The Riversharks were trounced 14-2, but that’s okay because….

they lost to the brand new Lancaster Barnstormers! That’s right, Lancaster got itself a baseball team, complete with a fancy stadium. Although the team is currently in last place (hey, expansion teams never do well in the first year), the Barnstormers looked great last night. The only thing missing was Cylo, their mascot. Cylo as in Cy Young, but also silo as in traditional Lancaster County. Get it?

More baseball on Saturday, when the Phillies play the Red Sox. Those tickets were procured prior to me being a cheapskate, so it’s okay.

UPDATE: I bought the phone (with camera!) on the Internet and got an instant online rebate. Mail-in rebates are so twentieth century. Attention Sassy J: my new number is 215-555-1234.

This summer will be all about getting out of the gym and getting back to nature. And by nature, I mean a lodge with indoor plumbing. In three short days, a Poconos rafting and hiking weekend commences, and later in the summer there are plans to learn about kayaking in the Jersey Pine Barrens*.

This surge of sportiness can only mean one thing: wardrobe crisis! Time to hit REI for some water-friendly shorts and shoes. The shoe part of this story is a success, since the Keen Newport H2 waterproof sandals were on sale**. The search for shorts, however, was a complete disaster.

First of all, note to retailers: your customers will buy less stuff if the dressing room mirrors make them look short and dumpy.

Secondly, it’s a twisted, counterintuitive truth that athletic shorts make your butt look big. Why no back pockets? Why? Also, the flimsy material used for quick-drying attire is less than flattering, clinging to every lump and bump, and control top nylons, the usual workaround for this problem, are impractical for outdoor activities.

Finally, why are all the clothes at REI marked “UV blocking?” Regular clothes don’t block the sun? Has this dastardly UV penetration been going on all along, or is it a new problem, caused by low-rise pants and the shrinking ozone? What about those who haven’t invested in UV blocking garments? Are we destined to age prematurely and spend our retirement savings on cosmetic surgery?

*Unfortunately, I recently discovered that I have to sit in my own personal kayak. WTF? I had visions of a two-seater, i.e., taking someone down with me when the inevitable capsizing occurs.

**True, the colors on the clearance rack were a little, uh, strange.

I guess Jim Thome got bored on the disabled list, because today he paid a visit to the soulless office park. It’s National Hospital Week, you know.

Buttwise, Thome is no Pat Burrell. No offense, Jim.

I just ate the last kosher, low-cal, low-carb vanilla Passover meringue. There’s really nothing else to write, so I’ll leave you with some eye candy.

Eye candy #1 is a picture of Pat Burrell’s butt. Clair*, don’t say anything—I took this shot before the choir started singing The Star-Spangled Banner, so there’s nothing unpatriotic going on.

Eye candy #2 is The Dessert, last week’s main culinary accomplishment.

The Dessert has many layers:

• A crust made of homemade chocolate chip cookie crumbs
• A coating of dark chocolate espresso fudge sauce
• One pint of Ben and Jerry’s vanilla ice cream
• One pint of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate therapy ice cream
• Another pint of Ben and Jerry’s vanilla ice cream
• More cookie crumbs
• More dark chocolate espresso fudge sauce.

Prolonged exposure to The Dessert will make your butt look big.

*Clair’s season tickets provide an excellent view of Pat Burrell.

Are Fairmount residents protesting the high price of gas? Nope. This procession can mean only one thing—opening day for the Fairmount Sports Association’s baseball and softball leagues. Every year, team members and coaches don their uniforms and march through Fairmount to the tune of bagpipes, ending up at Von Colln Field for the first game of the season.

Luckily, I was in the process of going blonde at the Beehive Hair Salon when the parade came by. The kind staff fetched me out from under the dryer just in time to take a few pictures.

Another perfect moment in a perfect Philadelphia weekend filled with films and walks and concerts and arboretums and clean air races and wonderful company. God I love this city.

With the exception of one problem client*, my life coaching experiment is going well. As promised, I have feedback for those who took advantage of the free special.

Viggo Mortensen can’t get a date with his favorite blogger. Sorry, Viggo, but you are yesterday’s news. I’ve moved on.

Yoko wants advice on how to become a shepherd. Yoko, it is essential to forge a strong connection with your future charges. You wouldn’t become a nanny without first meeting the kids, right? I recommend a pilgrimage to the 9th Street DiBruno Brothers, where you can ask one of the hot male cheese experts to let you sample the sheep’s milk wares. Because I’m a life coach who goes the extra mile, I will accompany you on this journey.

Very metal needs clarification on the infield fly rule. Very metal, you seem like an intelligent guy who is perfectly capable of using the many Internet resources at your disposal. Obviously, a psychological barrier prevents you from fully absorbing the infield fly rule, so technical elaborations are useless. Instead, you need to look within yourself. Do you have residual trauma from being forced to play uber-left field in little league? Did your childhood pet get hit by a car when chasing a baseball? Find the barrier that prevents enlightenment, and you will understand the infield fly rule!

Scott wonders what can go up a chimney down but can’t go down a chimney up. An umbrella! It’s a good thing this is a free trial, Scott; otherwise, that answer would’ve cost you a buck and a half.

Finally, Jen, who graduates from law school in May, wants a job. Jen, your timing is excellent. Hang out a shingle and milk the red-hot living will market!

*The problem client is Type E (aka Wade Bloggs), who is trying to get off coffee. I don’t know if I can help him.

Ah, the soulless office park seemed a million miles away. Welcome back, Phillies! I’m still pissed about Doug Glanville, but Citizen’s Bank Park sells veggie burgers now, so the universe is back in balance. Thanks to Blankbaby Scott for the exta ticket!

UPDATE: Overall, I’d rather be a bad dancer than have a nasally voice. See the Blankbaby perspective on the home opener.

Just a few short weeks until Phillie Phanatic blogging commences! To get ready, I’m recycling my Philly Future post from yesterday (with a few minor changes).

Now that the Grapefruit League is in full swing, Phillies weblogs everywhere are coming out of hibernation. A new addition to the group is Phreakin’ Phils: another freaking Phillies blog.

The site is less than a week old, but proprietor Wade Bloggs has already offered innovative ideas to improve our beloved and beleaguered baseball team. For example, after comparing General Manager Ed Wade to Mayor Street, claiming that “they have each taken old, marginally successful franchises and made them a laughing stock in other cities,” Bloggs suggests that full control of the Phillies should be given to the Phanatic.

Though Phreakin’ Phils has a negative spin on the team, the commentary so far is fun and a welcome diversion from sports sites that focus mainly on recaps and statistics.

One sad note as we get ready to begin the 2005 season: Doug Glanville is no longer with us. Doug, I’ll miss your smiling face beaming down from the Phanavision.

UPDATE: Those under 18 or those who believe that the Phillie Phanatic is all about good, clean, phamily phun, should not view the picture below. Imagine my poor, virgin eyes when opening an e-mail only to find this shocking image (thanks, Type E).

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