Posts Tagged ‘rdquo’

Roger Clemens Lied on Final Strike: No Sympathy Whatsoever

August 20th, 2010

What exactly was Roger Clemens thinking when he testified and told a fib to Congress in Capital Hill? As much as we want to believe that the Steroid Era has suddenly vanished, we’ll never forget all his rehearsed and inglorious lies, inexplicably and simply covering the truth and denied confessing of his wrongdoings.

With some serious explaining, now is the time Mr. Clemens may want to consider telling the truth and nothing but the truth, to avoid further dishonesty and public humiliation. Amid the most embarrassing twist, all we want is the truth, but apparently the feds and their grand jury uncovered the specifics. There’s no sympathy for the seven-time Cy Young winner who fabricated his accomplished career and, still to this day, lives a lie ever since juicing his level of performance for an advantage in a competitive sport.

What is exactly mind-blogging is that an infamous crisis is getting worse, epically for the endless dirtiness it displays, sabotaging the beauty of the game. The despicable crime labels Clemens as a fraud, a lying dumb-ass apathetic by a damaged legacy that smeared his credibility long before honesty surfaced. His steroid scandal, which ruptured the irreparable image of Clemens, who is perceived as a hopeless, unworthy right-hander, poses as a disgrace in a sport deteriorating and falling into oblivion.

It was 2½ years ago when Clemens declined in a congressional hearing as a national audience watched it nationwide on television, that he ever used performance-enhancing drugs. Huh! In the end, you were hoodwinked, cheated and fooled. How does it feel to be lied to? How does it feel to be betrayed? Trust me, I know how it feels.  

And to believe that Clemens never used an unlawful substance, or even advocating it’s acceptable to tatter the integrity of the sport in general is foolishness. It turns out that he’s the equivalent of my ex-girlfriend, a pseudo and betrayer for erroneously committing fraud on a game he truly relished and mastered before revelations manifested clear evidence of drug usage.

At this point, the man formerly known as the Rocket is unsurprisingly the Big Fat Liar, perhaps the biggest liar sports may have ever witnessed in this decade, if ever. If Clemens committed such a sickened crime, instead of being deceptive and secretive, he’d release much tension and guilt by unleashing the truth. That’d seem very rational to avoid further nonsense and clear his name of guilt. But this happens when someone is self-indulgent, arrogant or ignorant, subsequently for getting caught and accused furtive sins.

Any notion that baseball was tainted years ago, Clemens was considerably one of the best pitchers at the time, of course, taking the mound as a sham and failing to be purist or expose his artistic competitiveness without injecting himself with contaminated juice. I’ve never been so befuddled and disappointed. I’ve never felt so cheated and betrayed in my life, trusting in Clemens for pitching fiercely and performing with diligence in effortless outings.

What? He relied on juice all along. What appeared real was unreal. What seemed legit was dirty. No wonder the ball was usually covered with nasty dirt nearly following every pitch. He tried to hide the truth, a mistaken idea by Clemens, sadly adding horror and anxiety on Thursday indicted on six counts for lying under oath. All he simply had to tell the world is that he was guilty and wrongly opted to be a drug dealer, rather than a spotless pitcher. Now that he’s naïve and still acknowledged he never pumped his body with steroids or HGH, troubles are stemming from allegedly falsifying.

Clemens has taken a rapid fall from grace, and he’s a fallen star quicker than Tiger Woods or LeBron James, losing his claim to all-time greatness among elite pitchers. Didn’t he realize it’s risky and dumb to lie under oath? Didn’t he know that is perjury? Is he really that offended with the accusations and recent charges? Then, state the facts, Roger. No false statements, but the truth. It’s time he finally succumbs to reality, but ever since the Mitchell Report revealed Clemens’ name, he hasn’t spoke in clarity or helped his own cause for spinning the story.

According to the Big Fat Liar, he “Misremembers” ever been injected with the substances. Ummm! If he had sense and pride, Clemens in all likelihood wouldn’t be facing prison time, but at worse, would have only been tainted and portrayed as a fraud. For years, ultimately, we worshipped his longevity, talent and work ethic, blinded by the possibilities of cheating and the likelihood of lying. He was famously the best pitcher admired in a corrupted age of baseball, amid the rejuvenation of the game during the baseball-saving season, the summer of ’98 when the feats and incredible milestones of Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire were relevant.

For years, sadly, we believed in Clemens until he disappointed us, lied to us and tricked us. And to make matters worst, he never had the courage or audacity to admit to immorality. Let’s face it the performance-enhancing drugs helped him infamously win two World Series championships and 354 games. Common sense tells us that he took advantage of enhancing his game with the exception of drugs, obviously when his numbers suddenly ascended later in his career.

Ever seen a pitcher’s numbers improve late in his career? Not unless it was Clemens. More noticeably, his ERA skyrocketed greatly and he began pitching efficiently, having solid control of his command and velocity. And years later, he tried to prove his innocence and purity, which degenerated when baseball released the Mitchell Report. In the meantime, his legacy is smeared because of ignorance, and even his freedom is endangered because of lying.          

“Let me be clear. I have never taken steroids or HGH.”

Not even a fool believes Clemens.

In 23 major-league seasons, he was deemed as arguably the greatest power pitcher the game has ever seen, but in recent years has plunged and he likely faces 15 to 21 months in prison. This is no surprise, after all, we are living in the Steroid Era, a time when the horrid crisis is badly ruining and bruising the game, such as Barry Bonds, the arrogant slugger who ostensibly lied under oath as well. If there’s one player loathed more in this country for wrongly surpassing Hank Aaron’s home run record on a night he captured the tainted milestone, it’s a moody and overbearing Bonds.

As for Clemens, the grand jury is claiming that he lied 15 times under oath. If so, then he may jeopardize his lifestyle and may have to serve harsh time, based on the power of law enforcers. Sure, he has every right to claim his innocence, but the evidence revealed the explanation of a dubious situation.

In the aftermath of the release of the Mitchell Report, he’s still not confessing or apologizing for deceiving, not only the game, but congressional investigators and Congress. All along, I believed his former training Brain McNamee, who stated in the report that he injected Clemens on a cycle period with steroids and HGH between 1998 and 2001. Nevertheless, on Twitter, he’s refusing to unleash what really transpired in that time span. So apparently, he hasn’t learned or simply doesn’t care.

“I never took HGH or Steroids. And I did not lie to Congress,” Clemens wrote. “I look forward to challenging the Governments accusations, and hope people will keep an open mind until trail. I appreciate all the support I have been getting. I am happy to finally have my day in court.”

Why, so he can lie repeatedly? What support is he getting? Who is endorsing the Big Fat Liar? Oh, his attorney Rusty Harden.

“The problem is nobody ever talks about what he should have done if he didn’t do it,” Harden said. “And he didn’t do it and he’s adamant about that and always has been. Today is just another continuing part of that saga…Roger is looking forward to his day in court. He is happy this has finally happened. We have known for some time this was going to happen. We’ll let everything get taken care of in court.”

Between the PEDs headlines and extramarital affairs, including an alleged affair with country signer Mindy McCready, his clean image is pathetically damaged and his credibility is lost. As of recently, he’s delusional and continues to deny all reports or any negative news that unveils. If his name was mentioned 82 times in the Mitchell Report, what makes us think he’s not guilty, what makes us think he never endangered his image or chances of being enshrined into the Hall of Fame for falsification and lagging on issuing a statement when the accusations were publicized?

If he tried to publicly spin the story and former friend Andy Pettitte’s testimony, what makes us think he’s telling the truth? Come on, use common sense. In front of your eyes, he tricked the game of baseball and all populace, after vowing to be a power pitcher legitimately. When he appears in court, Clemens may wear his immaculate face again and try persuading the court system that he’s not guilty.

“The indictment of Roger Clemens comes as no surprise to me,” said Victor Conte, founder of BALCO. “In my opinion, the case against Clemens is far stronger than the case against Barry Bonds. Brain McNamee is an eyewitness who will testify against Clemens and there appears to be strong physical evidence against him as well. I believe Roger Clemens is in a lot of trouble.”

Yes, he is in much trouble.

He’s looking at prison time. I guess that means NO Cooperstown.

The Rocket has exploded, eternally.

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Roger Clemens’ Indictment: Did He Lie To Congress?

August 20th, 2010

When Roger Clemens stepped in front of a House committee on Capitol Hill in 2008 and said, “Let me be clear, I have never taken steroids or HGH,” he set himself up for a battle bigger than any he faced during his famed baseball career.

After being mentioned in the Mitchell Report, Clemens voluntarily spoke in front of Tom Davis, the top Republican on the House panel, and Henry Waxman, the committee’s chairman at the time, and potentially dug his own grave.

Davis and Waxman told Clemens before he spoke, “Whatever you do, don’t lie.” Whether there is truth in the subsequent response from Clemens is now anybody’s guess.

It’s a case that is now under investigation, as a federal grand jury indicted Clemens on Thursday for allegedly lying under oath. The jury indicted Clemens on six counts of obstructing a congressional inquiry.

The grand jury believes that Clemens made 15 dishonest statements under oath, including denying that he ever used steroids or human growth hormone.

 

“Self-Inflicted Wound”

The most shocking, or idiotic, part about all of this is that, if Clemens indeed lied to Congress, he did it voluntarily.

Clemens was not under subpoena when he raised his right hand and shunned the Fifth Amendment.

Clemens wanted to go to court in order to clear his name, as if he thought that would wipe his reputation clean.

He wanted to be accepted as a great pitcher, not as a guy who spent 13 seasons with the Boston Red Sox—more than a full career for most pitchers—and then went to the Toronto Blue Jays and mysteriously proceeded to put up the best numbers of his career and win back-to-back Cy Young awards in the process.

Davis and Waxman both believe that Clemens lied to them during his hearing. Given the fact that Clemens could have quietly walked away from it all and into a life without professional baseball, Davis called Clemens’ testimony a “self-inflicted wound.”

It’s a wound that could cut deeper than any positive steroid test ever could. Clemens could face up to 30 years in prison if convicted.

An indictment is far from a conviction, however, and Clemens would never face the max penalty if found guilty. Legal analysts say Clemens would probably face an imprisonment of six to 18 months.

A conclusion will not come for a few years if Barry Bonds’ indictment is any indication of the timetable for these proceedings. A grand jury indicted Bonds in 2007, and his court date isn’t scheduled until March.

But Clemens’ court date means little at this point, as the damage has been done.

He will never be seen as innocent in the eyes of baseball fans, regardless of what a grand jury finds. If nothing conclusive has been found since 2008, why is there any reason to believe that the dirt will come up now?

It’s Clemens’ word versus Brian McNamee’s, his estranged trainer and a former strength and conditioning coach of the New York Yankees, and neither side is going to fold.

McNamee said to a jury during his testimony, among other things, that he injected Clemens with steroids. McNamee gave the grand jury eight-year-old needles that he said he used on Clemens.

McNamee also said that he injected Clemens’ wife with HGH before she appeared in a Sports Illustrated photo shoot.

Clemens has continually denied all claims, and therefore the saga continues. The grand jury will have to wade through the alibis, and the outcome remains uncertain.

 

What about the Hall of Fame?

One outcome that is no longer uncertain is that of Clemens’ Hall of Fame candidacy.

The only players who fans and media members despise more than steroid users are those who lie about being steroid users.

Mark McGwire ended up being a phony on the field, but he chose not to speak about his steroid use under oath, before admitting all of it prior to this season as he prepared to become the hitting coach for the St. Louis Cardinals.

If McGwire can’t obtain the 75 percent of votes required for induction into the Hall of Fame, then there’s no way Clemens will.

Some say Clemens, and other alleged steroid users who haven’t admitted their use, should be inducted if his career merits such an honor. Unfortunately, athletes are not innocent until proven guilty. Perception and reputation are oftentimes far more important than the truth.

“In my opinion he’s a Hall of Famer, period,” Lance Berkman, a former teammate of Clemens, said. “Whatever you want to say about the guy, he belongs in the Hall of Fame. Legacy-wise, I mean 200 years from now, who cares?”

Berkman makes a valid point, but this isn’t about Clemens’ legacy. His legacy has already been trashed, and there’s no going back on that.

Because Clemens approaches all of this with such arrogance, he doesn’t have many, if any, fans in his corner. America has long made up its mind about Roger Clemens, and this investigation won’t change that.

Clemens could be found innocent by the grand jury, and it probably wouldn’t matter. Would anybody believe he never took steroids or HGH, not even once, if nothing came of this investigation? Doubt it.

Clemens can continue to post denials on Twitter and his attorney, Rusty Hardin, can continue to tell people, “how happy Roger is” that he’s finally “getting his day in court.”

Spare us.

Federal investigators need some more time to determine whether or not Clemens lied under oath.

Innocent or guilty, the rest of the country has already reached a conclusion on Clemens.

 

Follow Teddy Mitrosilis on Twitter. You can reach him at tm4000@yahoo.com.

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Roger Clemens Must Face Feds Without Any Bullpen Help

August 20th, 2010

Roger Clemens is going have to work out of this jam all by himself.

He can’t be pulled for a reliever. And he can’t just rear back and let loose with a 95 mile-per-hour fastball and try to blow the Feds away.

It’s going to take some finesse and nibbling around the corners. He needs to induce a harmless ground ball, that his lawyers can turn into an inning-ending double play.

Clemens is under Federal indictment. It’s the one thing you don’t want to be under, other than Refrigerator Perry.

The Feds say Clemens lied with his pants on fire back in 2008 when he testified before Congress, saying that he no way, no how, took performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs) as a big league pitcher.

The feds have six counts against Clemens. They say that Clemens, no less than 15 times, made knowingly false statements while under oath on Capitol Hill.

A Federal indictment ought to make the one under indictment soil his or her briefs. It’s a big deal, because lengthy prison time could be in the offing. And indictments aren’t brought lightly; usually the Feds feel they have a pretty good case.

It’s one thing to have a feeling that someone is lying to Congress. It’s quite another for that feeling to become an actual indictment. The Federal government usually only indicts when it thinks it can win, and win convincingly.

Clemens is still sticking to his story. He maintains that it’s not he who is lying, but rather his former trainer, Brian McNamee, who told Congress at the same time that Clemens was testifying that McNamee injected Clemens more than a dozen times with steroids and human growth hormone (HGH) between 1998 and 2001.

McNamee supposedly has syringes, vials, and other physical evidence—including even some of Clemens’s DNA—to support his claims.

Clemens and McNamee have since sued each other for defamation, with Clemens’s claims being essentially dismissed by federal courts. McNamee has a suit pending in federal court in New York.

Former Rep. Tom Davis of Virginia, the top Republican on the House panel at the time of Clemens’ testimony, called it “a self-inflicted wound.”

“Clemens was not under subpoena. He came voluntarily,” Davis said. “And I sat there in the office with [committee chairman] Henry Waxman and said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t lie.’ ”

Apparently, Clemens didn’t take that advice to heart. Now he has the bases juiced (so to speak) and no one warming up in the bullpen.

I believe that Clemens lied. The indictment speaks volumes, and why would McNamee lie, knowing the repercussions if he was proven to be making up tall tales?

All that, plus the physical evidence that McNamee says he has—which he kept for some 10 years, for just such an occasion as this one.

For what it’s worth, Clemens’s old teammates are standing by him, including Yankees catcher Jorge Posada and steroid user extraordinaire Jose Canseco.

Current Yankee Lance Berkman, a teammates of Clemens’s in Houston, said, “Whatever you want to say about the guy, he belongs in the Hall of Fame. In my opinion, legacy-wise, I guess that’s up to—I mean, 200 years from now, who cares?

“But in the short term, I guess, he may have some things to address,” Berkman conceded.

That’s one of the biggest understatements of the year.

Clemens is back on the mound, staring in at a federal indictment that stands menacingly at the plate. And the Feds don’t strike out that much when it comes to this kind of thing.

I have a feeling that Clemens is going to be taken deep.

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Bobby Thomson and Ralph Branca: Forever Linked by Sudden Immortality

August 20th, 2010

Bobby Thomson didn’t hit his famous home run off a tee, in case you were wondering.

Nor did he flip the ball into the air, fungo-style, and swat it over the left field wall at the Polo Grounds on October 3, 1951.

Most of the great history makers had sidekicks.

Charles Lindbergh had the Atlantic—and his plane. Dr. Jonas Salk had mold. Elvis Presley had his hips.

And Bobby Thomson had Ralph Branca.

Thomson, auteur of the biggest walk-off home run in baseball history, died this week at age 86.

It was Thomson who slammed Branca’s pitch into the Polo Grounds seats in the bottom of the ninth of the tiebreaker game between Thomson’s New York Giants and the Brooklyn Dodgers, lifting the Giants into the 1951 World Series.

With one swing, Thomson became as famous as Babe Ruth, even though he was one-tenth the player that Ruth was.

Such is the gravitational pull of the legendary singular moments that occur from time to time in baseball, a sport where nothing can happen until the pitcher hurls the ball toward the plate. After that, all bets are off.

Thomson’s three-run home run capped a furious second half charge by the Giants, who found themselves double digits in games behind the Dodgers at one point during the 1951 season.

The Giants chomped into the Dodgers’ lead like a Pac Man game until the two teams were in a dead heat by season’s end. Baseball rules at the time mandated a best-of-three playoff to determine the league champion.

The teams split the first two games of the playoff, and the Dodgers were ahead 4-2 when Branca was summoned from the bullpen in the ninth inning of Game Three.

Thomson had some power; he hit 264 home runs in his 15-year career. This wasn’t Bucky Dent/1978 at the plate.

You know what happened. Branca threw, Thomson swung, and Giants radio announcer Russ Hodges lost his mind.

“THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT”

A young whippersnapper on Bleacher Report suggested to me that Hodges’ call—long heralded as the most famous in sports history—was overrated.

“All he did was yell the same thing over and over,” the whippersnapper whined. “What was so special about that?”

If he’d been sitting next to me I would have backhanded him across his puss.

Instead, I took a deep breath and wrote back to him that Hodges’ call gained so much notoriety because it was basically the very first dramatic sports call captured on audio tape.

That, plus even many non-sports fans know what “The Giants Win the Pennant!” refers to.

Branca, by the way, is still alive, if anyone has cared to wonder.

He’s 84 and enjoying his retirement at the Westchester Country Club in Rye, New York.

What’s fascinating, to me, about the Branca/Thompson connection is that neither player was anything close to being a Hall of Famer. If they didn’t have the “Shot Heard ‘Round the World,” no one beyond their own families would know who they were after retirement.

Branca was 88-68 with a 3.79 ERA. He made three All-Star teams but he was no star, per se. Thomson had a career batting average of .270 and ended up becoming a journeyman, playing for five teams from 1946 to 1960. Thomson, too, made some All-Star teams but All-Star rosters throughout history are teeming with dogs who had their day.

Bobby Thomson and Ralph Branca were joined at the hip the moment that baseball soared into the seats at the Polo Grounds on 10/3/51.

Baseball’s Batman and Robin, forever.

Ironically, just months prior to his death, Thomson was finally showing signs of Branca fatigue.

For decades, Thomson had been haunted by accusations that sign-stealing engineered by Giants manager Leo Durocher enabled Durocher to somehow signal to Thomson what pitch was coming from Branca—specifically a fastball.

Thomson vehemently denied those charges.

In a Q&A with the New York Post’s Steve Serby published in May 2010, Thomson says those who accuse him of benefiting from sign-stealing are trying to take something away from him.

Among the accusers: Ralph Branca himself.

“Naturally I'm not happy about anyone who takes away from me the one thing that I've always thought, the one thing I can take credit for (that) I've earned in my baseball life,” Thomson told the Post.

So does Thomson have any hard feelings toward Branca regarding the sign stealing accusations?

“I just got a little tired of having that home run taken away from me. I was glad to get down here in Savannah (GA) and get away from it. In the last four years, (Branca’s) called twice, I guess to do a card show. I'm all through with card shows, and I wasn't going to come to New York. I've had enough of Ralph, and I'm sure he's had enough of Thomson.”

Thomson also hit a homer off Branca in Game One of the playoff. Funny how no one has cried about stealing signs when it comes to THAT dinger.

But a word about Ralph Branca.

On the day Jackie Robinson made his big league debut in 1947, the number of folks against the idea of a black man taking a Major League Baseball field included many of Robinson’s own Dodgers teammates.

In fact, only one of them had the temerity, the courage, and the sense of decency to stand alongside Robinson during the playing of the National Anthem prior to the game. The others refused.

That man was Ralph Branca.

Indeed, the sign stealing thing aside, Thomson calls Branca “A very decent person.”

Baseball immortality strikes like lightning—it shows no preference based on skill, stardom, or reputation. And it comes with no warning whatsoever.

The Tigers had a light-hitting shortstop named Cesar Gutierrez, a career .235 hitter. Yet on June 21, 1970, Gutierrez went 7-for-7 in an extra-innings game in Cleveland. He came into the contest hitting a robust .218.

Ty Cobb never went 7-for-7. Nor did Ted Williams or Rogers Hornsby or Tony Gwynn.

I love the suddenness of baseball fame and infamy. The sport has a propensity for it that makes it, in my mind, America’s greatest game.

“It's a funny thing with Ralph Branca and me ending up the way we did on the ballfield,” Thomson told the Post.

Indeed.

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Philadelphia Phillies: Speak Softly and Hope for a Big Stick (Satire)

August 19th, 2010

I woke up with a stiff neck. The problem is that it lasted more than four hours.

For a second, I thought my husband slipped me some Viagra.

Someone definitely slipped the Phillies something. They’ve taken the lead in the wild-card race and won twenty or so of their last bunch of games.

That was helpful information, wasn’t it? I would’ve looked up the facts but that interferes with worthwhile stuff like plucking chest hairs in my magnifying mirror so I can finally look at my breasts and see 36 double dees.

Or watching my dog sniff the cat’s butt for the zillionth time to ensure it’s the same pet he’s lived with for six years.

I named my dog Brett Farve—he’s never sure.

But I’m sure of one thing: the Phils looked great when we saw them in game one of the series against San Francisco.

A guy with a huge cranium and his totally bald friend who was wearing sunglasses on the back of his head took their seats between the plate and me. I felt like I was staring at Vin Diesel.

Then music started. I thought I heard a flute played by someone way too happy so I waited for the next break to confirm. Sure enough my husband turned to me and said, “It’s either merry music night or Irish Heritage Day.”

I’m Irish—I understand the connection. I’m living proof that everything in Ireland was conceived over whiskey.  I think there’s even a sheep joke in there somewhere. And someday someone will question the tradition of kissing a stone named for bullshit.

Pat Burrell was back. He whacked a two-run homer in his first at-bat to distract from the fact that "snug" is how he now likes to wear his pants.

Just another reason to question his move to the bay area.

As I scanned the fielders with my binoculars, I noticed that all the Giants’ pants seemed a little clingy, raising only more questions.

Like how that new Victoria’s Secret bra works. It claims it remembers your curves. I don’t want a bra that remembers my curves, I want one that fakes some.

You know, they asked Sarah Palin if she had breast implants. My friend Jimi said she was trying to avoid the flat tax.

Just once I wish someone would ask me if I got a boob job. My husband says I should stick with the magnifying mirror. Let me give it a try. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, can I buy boobies at the mall?”

No answer. Just like talking to my husband, I don’t know if that’s a "yes" or a "no."

So let’s talk shop.

Phillies pitcher Ryan Madson—like the emperor—has found his groove. I just wish he'd do it without clothes.

Roy Oswalt’s dead arm has found life. I’m now guaranteed the big O every five games whether or not I have a headache.

In game two against the Giants, Jimmy Rollins was 3 for 5, slammed a three-run homer, almost hit for the cycle, stole three bases, and scored twice. Like my name on the bathroom wall, Fanavision didn’t have room to list all his accomplishments.

Charlie Manuel has used his 1,380,956th lineup this season. I’m exaggerating. That’s what people do when they catch a scrawny fish or marry a short guy.

I think Pablo Sandoval got even bigger between games one and two. Or maybe the camera adds ten pounds a game.

Jayson Werth didn’t make the cover of Sports Illustrated but he’s somewhere in the center. The problem is he’s fully dressed. It’s not even a scratch and sniff.

Citizens Bank Park celebrated its 99th consecutive sellout. That’s impressive. I have yet to make it through that many bottles of beer on the wall.

Chase Utley returned from the DL and got a standing ovation. My sister gets those—when she walks into Neiman-Marcus.

And I see pistachios are now being sold at Citizens Bank Park. They’re tasty, but the pack is small and the price is high. I can’t pay a dollar a nut. The two I’m familiar with aren’t even worth that.

If they’re trying to sell healthier snacks they might want to reconsider training their sales force. A girl walked by in the sixth inning selling "pistachios."

I almost bought a pack to see what a gay nut tastes like.

On that note, if you’re a transvestite dressed as Lady Gaga, are you really a boy or a girl?

At one point in the game, the two guys in front of us left their seats. Two cute, young, shapely, blond squatters took their place, giggling with delight at upgrading their view. (Like a center field seat is so much closer. Where were they sitting, New Jersey?)

An inning later, the guys returned; Mr. Cranium led the way. I was curious to hear what a tall, handsome season ticket holder with a tray full of food, beer bottles tucked between the fingers of one hand, and no wedding band would say to a sweet pair of co-eds hoping to share.

How ‘bout, “You’re in my seat.”

I think he’s a closet Giants fan.

Celtic music started to play and the Phanatic jumped onto the Phillies dugout accompanied by a line of performers. My son said, “Look mom, it’s Lord of the Prance.”

“That’s Lord of the Dance.”

My husband said, “When did Pat Burrell’s pants get so tight?”

Then the vendor shuffled by, “Hey, get your 'postichios' here!”

Welcome to Irish Heritage Day.

See you at the ballpark.

 

Copyright 2010 Flattish Poe all rights reserved.

Catch life one-liner at a time on Twitter.

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