the dwfma blog.

Remember the Cole Hamels comments from earlier this World Series?  They make for wonderful leftovers when you are trying to cook up a decent story.  Mike & Mike In the Morning were the first to first tune me in about this Yahoo! Sports report, attributed to Tim Brown:

PHILADELPHIA – Phillies pitchers Brett Myers and Cole Hamels had a short but tense confrontation in the team’s clubhouse following Game 5 of the World Series, according to one witness, words that stemmed from Hamels’ recent statement that he was eager for his season to end.

As Myers walked past Hamels near Hamels’ locker he said, mocking, “What are you doing here? I thought you quit.”

Hamels, the witness said, responded with an expletive.

Before the situation escalated, Myers was guided away by a team official.

Trouble is, in the past 12 hours (an eternity in Internet news), there has been exactly zero confirmation of the story.  Instead, we have hometown beat writers posting results to the contrary.  Andy Martino weighs in via philly.com:

Brett Myers and Cole Hamels are friends. They ride together to the ballpark nearly every day. And they did not have a confrontation last night, according to Myers and another team official who was present.
…
“There was no confrontation whatsoever,” Myers told me when reached by telephone this morning.

The version related in separate conversations with Myers and Phillies director of baseball communications Greg Casterioto was this: Myers was ready to leave last night, and was looking for Hamels in the locker room. A common inside joke when a Phillie is looking for a teammate is to say, “He quit,” (as in, “where’s so and so?” “Oh, he quit,” or “hey, there you are. I thought you quit”) and Myers dropped the line on Hamels when he saw the lefty at his locker. Hamels responded with a lighthearted expletive.

But the question is, who is doing the phantom reporting?  Is Brown running down an anonymous lead and turning it into a legitimate news story, leading Martino to call Myers and ask for a clean friendly explanation?  Or is Brown off creating news out of thin air, and Martino is nipping the story before it passes as legitimate.

It is tough to put credence into a quick Yahoo! Sports report, since any of us can be caught making snide remarks or pained faces a few seconds each day, but Martino’s retort is just as quick and electronic. Myers has a history of temper problems (the man was accused of beating his wife, with good evidence), but Hamels, already a shy loner, has been a ghost of his former self this past year.

Mike (the athletic one) mentioned that regardless of fact, this story should not exist.  If Yahoo! had some plant inside the clubhouse, or had decent information from someone who belongs there, the news should still be treated with a Las Vegas dateline: what happens in the clubhouse stays in the clubhouse.

Nothing flaps this guy.

“As far as my availability,” [Cliff] Lee said, “I’m available. I’ll be ready to pitch whenever they want me to. If it will help the team win, I’m in.”

I managed to post the first two days of this month before finding out about National Blog Posting Month (aka “nablopomo”).  Future posts will be more than witty Cliff Lee posts.

“Cole’s pretty good, man,” Manuel said with his own touch of Cali-cool.
“I’m glad he’s pitching for us.”
100 wins down.  3 more to go, Phil Sheridan.

Go Phillies!

So sayeth Chris Coste, the off-the-bench hero of last night’s marathon 8-7 Phillie victory against the visiting Mets.

A lap around the ballpark in the middle innings revealed nothing really outrageous, nothing and everything. Mets fans, like nuns and Cub Scouts, traveled safely in groups. Phillies fans nonetheless razzed and reminded about the 7-0 Mets lead that was evaporating through the humid night.

The congregation lining the railing above the Mets’ bullpen - who knew an Achilles’ heel could be 80 feet long? - was placid enough. Allied in inebriation, Mets and Phillies fans coexisted with the assistance of at least three uniformed Philadelphia police officers and a handful of walkie-talkie-toting stadium security people.

Hours and hours later, they were still there. And the Phillies’ grand flashback, turned out to be worth the wait.

“We’ve come to learn in this clubhouse that one game can make you miss the playoffs or make the playoffs,” Coste said, trying to explain the urgency of it all. “Plus, it was the Mets.”

Rich Hofmann - philly.com

The NL East lead — a slim one at 0.5 games — has returned to Philadelphia.

I didn’t want to bother him, you know?
I mean, you don’t just walk up to Willie Mays.

 - Aaron Rowand, San Francisco Giants outfielder,
as quoted in Willie Mays: An American Giant.

A Baltimore apartment, ESPN blaring. Shea Stadium, June 6, 2007. Bottom of the fourth, one out, runners on second (Wright) and third (Delgado), Gotay at the bat. The Mets have the only run of the game, a Carlos Beltran solo home run. Phillies pitcher Adam Eaton delivers. Gotay lifts a high lazy ball to right field. Shane Victorino settles under and makes the easy catch. Delgado tags, and in typical Met fashion, decides to lolly-gag his way home against the best arm in the National League.

The result? Even with a double-clutch (something along the lines of, “You are kidding, right?”) Victorino guns Delgado down by a step. The Phillies go on to take the game, the series, and eventually, the East.

One random play in a randomer June game so quickly shows the two different hearts of two different teams (or perhaps, in the one case, the lack of a heart). The difference between expecting to win, and earning the win.

Go Phillies.

(Posted Wednesday, June 6.)

The little man turns 24. After breakfast on South Street, we headed back to “The Bank”. Shane Victorino Day, replete with a figurine. This game moved almost as quickly as last night’s; an immediate 2-0 hole, followed by a brief 3-2 lead, then a trail of 5-3. We had plans to preempt the seventh inning stretch with some food, but after the Giants continued hammering the middle relief, we gave up on our seats and walked around for food early. (Standing around had worked the night before, aye?)

The Phillies entered their half of seventh inning with the score now a bloated 7-3. Wes Helms stepped to the plate with two runners and doubled in both. When his chance came, Utley drew a walk. First and third, two outs, down 7-5. Ryan Howard — remember him? — stepped to the plate, 0-fer, and quickly Sheffielded himself into a hole:

The 1-2 to Howard … High drive, deep center field … It’s got a chance … IT’S OUTTA HERE! … Three. Run. Home. Run. Ryan Howard! And the Phillies have taken an 8-7 lead!

Citizens Bank Park has something that no other baseball stadium can match. In center field sits a giant neon sign in the shape of the Liberty Bell. Each time a Phillie homers — as well as at the end of each Phillie victory — the bell comes to life and warms the soul of every dark-hearted Philadelphian in the stadium. We missed seeing any home team home runs the night before, but after Utley, Rowand, and now Howard had gone the distance … goosebumps indeed.

In the top of the ninth, the bullpen warmups became a reality and the Phillies brought in Antonio Alfonseca, the kiss of death. My brother warned me that this was the end of the Phillies lead, and one batter later, that was the case. Big Al managed to escape the inning without allowing anything more than a tie.

At the hotel after the Saturday night game, I told these two about an Orioles game I had been to early in the 2000 season. This was the Albert Belle Era, and I was signed accordingly — big black posterboard with “PHAT ALBERT” in vibrant orange construction paper. In the middle of the game, he doubled the Orioles out of a hole and tied the score. A cameraman near our section swung right over to us and showed us and our sign on the big screen. Until last year, I once described that day, that moment, as one of the last times I ever felt, good or bad. I spent the better half of the next five years numb, quiet, and efficient.

Speaking athletically, ridiculously … I have been to my share of events over the years … but nothing compares to what came in the Phillies’ half of the ninth. An 8-8 tie, with bad relief pitching and struggling offense looming worse than the clouds and pouring rain. Rollins stepped to the plate and prompty struck out. Next was the man of the day, Shane Victorino. 0-fer himself, he took the first pitch for a ball and settled in:

High fly ball, deep to left … Could it be? … VICTORINO! … No Ka Oi! … Shane Victorino — on Victorino Figurine Day! — has won the ball game with an opposite field home run! Phillies win it 9-8! You couldn’t've scripted it any better!

I missed the home run trot. I missed the Liberty Bell. I missed the crowd, the cheers, the high fives, the spilled beers. The only thing I had, and held, was my brother, as our twin six-plus frames hugged and jumped up and down, and up, and down, and up again, until we nearly fell over. My eyes were soaked and my voice was hoarse. One of the greatest moments of my life, easily. His birthday last year — “Nitro? Fucking ridiculous!” — was the beginning of the end of the numbness; this birthday, any last bits were shattered into obscurity for good. Between these two years, with Sophie in between, I should look into having my birthday shifted to June, too.

A meaningless game, during a meaningless season, in a meaningless time … but for three hours (twice), our minds wandered and our batteries were charged.

And we still had the Les Claypool show.