Last week, we discussed “justice,” a little. This time, our theme takes a more sympathetic turn, as we put down our hammers and unclench our fists to offer a comforting, yet still frustrated, pat on the shoulder to our topics.
“I just wanted to watch the Top Ten,” I texted my roommate, “and now I can’t even turn on ESPN today because of Brett Favre’s stupid face.”
The guy is right on par with Lebron when it comes to whoring a thought process out to the highest bidder. The only consolation for the kidnapping of sports media for the next 72 hours was that it was a breaking story and ESPN anchor/snarky douche Josh Elliot showed off his TV journalist skills by stumbling, flatlining, and repeating himself all through the report.
At least WE live in Philly, where sports media doesn’t dwell on the unchangeable past or other team’s brightening futures.
If you thought the Phillies were being slaughtered player by player, then you should check out what is happening in the Eagles training camp. Guys are dropping left and right, with everybody from Stewart Bradley to Jeremy Maclin dropping off and making fans shriek and poop themselves.
On the defensive line, players are being moved around like ultra-violent chess pieces, but not like other places on the team (and other Philly teams) where crippling injury is the reason. Coordinator Sean McDermott is keen on making sure he’s getting a wide view of what he’s dealing with. For a team with the ghosts of all-stars haunting the locker room, he’s utilizing the utmost scrutiny in concocting a defensive line that can withstand NFC East offensive assaults.
Good luck, Sean. Good luck… to us all.
But the Phillies continue their wanton death march into August, as Ryan Howard rolls onto the DL with some kind of ankle sprain. A lot of people, including Charlie Manuel and Ryan Howard, told us that it was okay, and there was no breakage, and hell, he might even be back in the lineup by Thursday.
Yeah, that’s… that’s not going to happen. He had to be helped off the field and has been transporting himself on a pair of mountain-sized crutches.
Ryan’s war wound rounds out the Phillies starting infield to a 100% attendance rating on the DL this year, with Chase Utley still inhabiting it alongside CF Shane Victorino.
And yet, somehow, we are still 2.5 games back in contention behind the Braves. Ha, ha, baseball! It’s pure insanity.
As the midpoint of baseball season comes and goes and teams suckle desperately on the teats of blockbuster trades and free agency, other Philadelphia sports teams merely bow their heads and charge headlong into the gaping abyss of their second half.
The Union left their match against the New England Revolution with a 1-1 tie, which you’d think would mean they were drinking and swearing and burning down orphanages in a raucous orgy of violence and alcohol that’s supposed to go hand in hand with soccer. But no!
Coach Peter Nowak explains that a tie will only make his team hungrier for a win. But if you saw goalkeeper Chris Seitz’s abortion of a stop that allowed the match to be tied, I would, as a coach, assume my team was more “Totally furious with the goaltender” instead of “hungry.”
The Flyers are in no way afflicted with an absence of talented goaltending with Michael Leighton, Bobby Boucher, and Johan Backlund deep within their bowels. Their confidence in the trio was proven by their passing on the signing of Chicago’s Antti Niemi.
Again, as a coach, I might consider signing a player from the team who slit my throat in the Stanley Cup Finals, just to beat him up and leave him in a wheelbarrow outside the United Center. But that’s why I’m a dangerous alcoholic and not the coach of a professional sports team.
The Sixers watched newly acquired G/F Andres Nocioni go down with a left ankle sprain, but who cares? What’s important was that Evan Turner was at the Sixers Beach Bash last Saturday, tearing up Avalon with sexy dancing and wacky volleyball plays and all the other things I’m assuming at such a social event.
Yes, all across Philadelphia sports franchises, tragedy and sorrow are being force fed to players who do and don’t deserve it. The Eagles and Phillies and their injuries, the Flyers and their shattered memories of yester-finals, the Union and their final push to glory, the Sixers and their… sexy parties.
But we don’t watch sports unless we are prepared to swallow the cataclysmic misery that has every chance to occur as passionate glory. We watch and hope that should unthinkable catastrophe strike, we have the wisdom, patience, and depth to pull through.
Unless its the Union. Then nobody’s really watching at all.