The season went on, and the guy Cliff Lee was traded for (you might have heard of him before, Roy Halladay) quickly made us forget about that heart-break. However, questions about the team (particularly about pitching) still remained, and Cliff was always in the back of our minds.  I think Ruben sensed this, he sensed he might have made a mistake – so he made up for it.

"I'm not sure why I had to leave in the first place, but who cares? I'm back now!"

Amaro Jr. dealt J.A. Happ (and some minor-leaguers) for veteran ace pitcher Roy Oswalt.  Amaro Jr. made amends.  He put a band-aid on the cut in Philadelphia’s preverbal heart and everything seemed to be right again.  The trifecta of H20 was born.  With Halladay, Oswalt, and Cole Hamels, the Phillies rotation seemed unstoppable…until the playoffs.  Our three horses that carried us all season long suddenly looked human again, and our batting lineup looked non-existent.  The whole team seemed to be in a mega-slump, all at once, and the season ended before we knew what happened.

The offseason began with the abrupt, yet predictable, departure of Jayson Werth – who decided big money with the Washington Nationals was a better fit for him (and you can’t blame the guy, he isn’t worth the seven-year $126 million contract he got, but it was offered, so he took it).  The 2011 season looked grim before it even started with no right-handed bats, questions about the bullpen, and big name players (like Lee, Adam Dunn, Carl Crawford, and Adrian Gonzalez) moving all around the league.

With the Red Sox getting Crawford and Gonzalez, the White Sox getting Adam Dunn, and the Yankees throwing mountains of cash at Cliff Lee, it appeared the Phillies wouldn’t be making any waves in the free agent pool.  Then Amaro Jr. cannon-balled in, just like an older version of Hamilton “Ham” Porter, splashing the Yankees, Rangers, and Nationals right out of the water.  Amaro Jr. somehow managed to get Cliff Lee to come back to Philly, a feat no one thought was possible.  That clever S.O.B. quietly struck up a deal with Lee (while the Yankees and Rangers were in a bidding war) that only cost the team $120 million over five years.

Apparently, Lee loved it here and never wanted to leave in the first place.  He enjoyed his time here so much, that he was willing to give us a little bit of a break on the deal – leaving $30 million on the table at New York and Texas.  How often do you hear that from a pro athlete about playing in Philadelphia?  It’s a real credit to both of these men, and they deserve some recognition for reasons other than their efforts on the field or in the office.

"I'm sorry about all this Cliff...but hey, at least we didn't spit on your wife."

Lee gets commended for showing a love of the game, not the almighty dollar.  In sports today, too often players abuse free agency and abuse the system to get the maximum amount of money – often at the cost of success.  Lee did the exact opposite.  The guy chose less money with a team that could win now, a team that would be much better with his talents, and a team in a city that he and his family truly wanted to live in.  It’s not all about the money with this guy, it’s about winning – and that’s a rarity in modern-day professional sports.

And then Ruben.  Oh Ruben.  Ruben was like a dad who sold a kid’s favorite toy for what he thought was a much better toy.  Then realized he underestimated his kid’s feelings for the toy, felt bad, and got the kid a similar toy to help him cope.  Finally, just to make sure there were no hard feelings, he went out and recaptured the original toy.  So I ask, how happy are we with our new toys?

You have to admit, even though the guy might not have done it on purpose, it sure looks like he knew what he was doing.  We went from a Phillies team with Lee, Hamels, J.A. Happ, Jamie Moyer, and Kyle Kendrick, to a team with Halladay, Lee, Oswalt, Hamels, and then whoever we feel like pitching that fifth day.  We can pull fans out of the stands, or give the homeless a shot in return for a warm meal and hot shower – I mean who cares, the rotation is now stacked.

On paper, Amaro Jr. has assembled one of the greatest staffs ever; especially considering that rumors are our fifth starter might be Pedro Martinez.  The Phillies now have a three and four pitcher who are better than some teams one and twos – it’s almost like Amaro Jr. turned on “trades” in a video game, and just built the perfect staff…although it’s better because it’s real life.

It's like a dream come true...

For the naysayers, I know it’s early, and the baseball season is a long and tough one, and anything can happen – but come on, even Mets fans have to agree, we are now an elite team.  Just picture how good this squad will be when the bats come alive?  April can’t come quickly enough right now for the city of Philadelphia.  The Philadelphia Eagles are tied for the division with the New York Giants, playing them this week, and all anybody could talk about was “The Return of Cliff Lee.”  I am just glad he is finally back home, where he belongs.

As for you Ruben Amaro Jr., we officially forgive you, for everything…job well done, sir.  Now get Philadelphia another championship!

Don’t hate Brett Favre.

Hate yourselves.

Don't hate the playa! Hate the game...You know what? Hate the playa...

It’s not the narcissist’s fault when people gawk.  It’s not the narcissist’s fault when an entire cable network devotes itself to him.  It’s not the narcissist’s fault when people proclaim him savior, anoint him saint, crown him royalty.  And it’s not the narcissist’s fault that we care. 

Look, there are three things Favre wanted out of his trinity of “unretirements”: 

1. More money
2. More notoriety
3. More money

I don’t understand why people get so upset about one man’s self-reflective journey toward any mirror, microphone, or news camera any more than I understand why Bravo seems to take up residence on my television on a daily basis.  The reason my wife can watch an episode of Bethany Getting Married  three times in six hours is the same reason sports fans tune in to ESPN to tune Favre out.  We simply cannot get out of our way.

As a result, I don’t begrudge Favre for wanting to remain the lead story on every SportsCenter.  Nor do I feel like I missed out on anything by boycotting “The Decision.” And I’ll feel no remorse for missing LiLo’s post-prison, one million dollar interview.  I just detach myself from all things sensational in the media, grab a Flying Fish Farmhouse Summer Ale, Youtube live performances from my favorite bands, and fire off hilarious text messages to my long-since annoyed friends. I suggest you do the same because Favre is playing, he doesn’t like training camp, and the Vikes are now the second best team in the NFC (Saints).

 ******************************************************************************

Boo-hoo, Roger Clemens.  What did you think was going to happen? After watching fellow cheaters Rafael Palmeiro (he of the now ironically infamous index finger), Sammy Sosa, and Mark McGwire, each of whom quietly receded into the collective darkness until such time that slime was socially acceptable again, the Rocket decided to emulate OJ in hopes that the verdict would be the same. Sadly, the needle did fit and Congress did not acquit. 

What was I just saying? I misremember...

 Again, as a firm believer and fan of karma, Clemens’ inability to take a page out of his fellow cheater’s, Andy Pettite, handbook will earn him the most coveted of karmic symbols—the asterisk.

 *******************************************************************************

While I’m stuck in a Detroit airport en route to San Francisco with my wife, ten-month old daughter, and mother-in-law, I’ll assure all of our less traveled readers that the Midwest accent is as annoying as it sounds on television.

 ******************************************************************************

From the category of things I don’t get, here’s one: out-of-season-sports-represented-at-in-season-sporting-events.  Case in point—I’m at the Phils game with my buddy Lew, the first of Cole Hamels’ inexplicable two straight 1-0 losses to the Mets, when I saw a plethora of mismatched jersey decisions.  Simon Gagne alternate jersey? Check. Man U home jersey? You bet’cha. Charles Barkley retro, though now current again, red Sixers jersey sans any form of undershirt? Indeed.  I don’t subscribe to the theory that men over the age of 35 shouldn’t wear other men’s jerseys in public (largely because I’m about to turn 34, and I’m a proud owner of the original Favre jersey), but I’m curious how anyone peers into his closet during the dog days of summer on his way to a baseball game and says, ‘Yep, let’s go with the midnight green Todd Pinkston jersey because, hey, the Birds are in camp. E-A-G-L…” You get the point.

"Dammit! Now my baseball, and UFC, careers are ruined."

The New York Mets closer blew off some steam after a loss to the Rockies by grabbing his girlfriend’s father by the shirt, dragging him into the hallway of the “Family Lounge” in Citi Field, and whaling on him until security broke it up.  K-Rod was charged with third-degree assault and suspended by the team. As if that weren’t bad enough, he hurt himself while dishing out the beating, and is done for the year.

The torn ligament in this thumb resulted in him being put on the disqualified list for the rest of the season, and the Mets are now trying to get as much money back from him as they can.  Guess we won’t be seeing him jumping around and celebrating like he just won the World Series every time he closes a game out again.

Next up: Houston Texans reigning AP NFL Defensive Rookie of the Year Brian Cushing has finally been suspended for his steroid use.  Cushing, who won the aforementioned award despite being accused of using roids, tried to defend himself by saying the positive test results were a result of “Overtrained Athlete Syndrome.”  For those who aren’t familiar with OTS, it is a made up disease that – according to Cushing – results from athletes training intensely for a long period, with the possibility of a testosterone imbalance resulting when an athlete stops training.

Nope. No sign of steroid use here. Just an average guy who works too hard.

Nice try, Cush.  You just came off the best season of your entire career (odd that finally happened at the NFL level and not in college), you now have a box-head and no neck, and you have a jawline like Dolph Lundgren – just admit it, this way you don’t end up like Roger Clemens.

And finally, Tony Dungy.  I loved Tony Dungy as a coach.  Great football mind, first African American head coach to win a Super Bowl, and just great with players.  However, Tony Dungy as a mentor…eh, not so much.

First Dungy was disturbed with the Terrell Owens/Desperate Housewives promo, claiming it was demeaning and had racial undertones.  Huh!?! I guess maybe he saw a different commercial than the rest of the world.  Then he backed Philadelphia Eagles QB Mike Vick when he was trying to get re-instated for killing dogs and gambling.  That move really panned out for him when a year later when Vick hosted a “secret” (yet public) 30th birthday party.  At some point during the evening an ol’ pal of Vick’s who “snitched” on him about killing dogs showed up, so Vick had one of his entourage empty shoot him…allegedly.  However, Dungy rushed to his side again, claiming that this was just a bump on the road for Vick, who is on a “straight path” now and won’t have stuff like that happen again.  I bet.

Now he has spoken about New York Jets coach Rex Ryan (who I’m pretty sure everyone loves, if for no other reason than to laugh at him).  Apparently after watching an episode of the HBO series “Hard Knocks” featuring Ryan’s Jets, Dungy decided Ryan curses too much:

“If I were in charge, I wouldn’t hire somebody like that.  I don’t think our young people need to hear that that’s the way it’s done to be successful.  Because it doesn’t have to be that way.”

Now you’ve gone too far, Dungy.  First, the type of kids that would be impressionable to something like this shouldn’t be watching HBO.  Secondly, I think there are far worse things than profanity, sex, and violence that can corrupt our youth.  The guy has been successful so far, he is talking to his players on his team at his camp.  He doesn’t have to curse like that, but he does and that’s the way it is.  He shouldn’t be fined or corrected for using adult language while talking to adults.

"Physical harm is fine, it's cursing that really ruins the youth of America. These kids see pro athletes gamble on dog fights and beat each other up at training camp and thats fine, but hearing a coach curse...that's the real problem."

So Dungy, take it easy big guy.  Nobody criticized you when you decided to fill the void in your life left by the tragic loss of your son by coming to the aide of every “wayward” African American athlete, so relax.  I am sure that Rex Ryan is the devil for cursing, but Mike Vick stealing animals out of people’s backyards and making them fight to the death is just really misunderstood.

Maybe Dungy will take Tennessee Titans running back LeGarrette Blount under his wing next.  Blount was famous for missing almost all of his senior season at Oregon when he punched an opposing player in the face during the post game festivities, following a loss to Boise State.  Blount read the “sincere” apology that was written for him, and swore he was changed man.  So what did he do when he got a second chance and was drafted by the Titans?

You guessed it.  He punched a teammate in the face at training camp.  Apparently Blount was getting his helmet ripped off by the defense while running plays at practice.  So Blount did what any self-respecting man would do…he punched defensive end Eric Bakhtiari in the face (or helmet, since he still had his on – click here).  Now I know it is training camp, and this stuff happens, but wouldn’t you think if you were Blount and had that history you’d be avoiding instances where you had to “keep it real” and throw punches?  But, if we follow the teaching of Tony Dungy, it’s clear that Blount doesn’t curse, so no matter how much physical harm he causes to other human beings, he’s still a better man than Rex Ryan.

No, I meant stud with the ladies! Common mistake.

Alright, as much as I hate to admit it, my man crush, Jayson Werth, is not a big-time player.  Despite my t-shirt bearing his likeness and the slogan, “Werth is money,” despite my unnatural desire to invade Olde City with him for an evening, and despite my lackluster ability to grow a beard in his honor, he just can’t carry a team.  Instead of spitting stats that we all know are accurate and ominous, we can just agree that sometimes guys are good only because of other guys (an Utley-Howard opener makes his job as headliner much easier); however, elite players are those who are great in spite of other players, circumstances, or support. The bearded heartthrob has been catapulted into the cleanup spot because, and only because, of injury and has done nothing to make us stop putting X’s on each day that passes until the Big Piece gets back.

**********************************************************************************************************************************************************

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend in young athletes of every race, sport, and, above all, talent level.

Slow walking.

As a coach and official for 11 of our calendar’s 12 months, I am privy to all kinds of student athletes—born leaders, playing-because-dad-makes-me kids, guys who are unaware of how good, or bad, they really are, AAU lunatics, and disproportionate body shaped players in the wrong sport. No matter at what school, gym, or field I find myself, the slow walkers are taking over. You know the type. They wear open-toed Nike sandals with or without socks as they walk into the gym. They have a drawstring Under Armour backpack, which holds little more than their cell phones, strapped in place. They have two or three pairs of socks or shorts on for reasons that still escape me. They have half-opened eyelids as if looking and walking at the same time is taking every ounce of their athleticism. And they are invariably, unquestionably, unequivocally average players. I officiate a summer basketball league that features kids from 3-4 grade through the JV level. One JV player in particular embodies everything I just outlined about the slow walker. (1) He’s a junior on JV, which isn’t shameful at its surface depending on the school and program (2) It’s a summer league (3) He’s the fourth best player on his team though he’s the point guard and his father is the head coach (4) He’s a junior on JV.  As a result, I propose the following edict—athletes must walk at a rate that is in direct proportion to their actual skill level. So if you are an awful player, whether you know it or not, you should be sprinting to every position, every game, and every post game speech.  If you’re a blue-chip, division I, future pro, go ahead and drag your feet across the suburban high school gym while you convince yourself that people are watching you, which inspires you to walk even more slowly. Those of you athletes in the middle of these two extremes, I’ll race you to the other side of the field.

*************************************************************************************************************************************************************

While I didn’t listen to Eagle Corp.’s “state of the team address,” and never will, I did hear the speech’s Cliffs Notes, and I’ll only address what we all know is obvious.  Owner Jeff Lurie, much like the entire brass, just doesn’t get it.  Regarding Mike Vick’s 1,342^nd chance in the league, Lurie admitted that Vick shouldn’t have been at the now infamous party but, meh, he didn’t pull the trigger; plus, Vick is now the proud owner of the completely useless distinction of being the organization’s greatest first year player “in terms of the community.”

Alright, Michael. But one more time and you're in big trouble, mister. I mean it!

Um, what choice did he have? And what does this say about countless other Birds who worked in the community because they felt it a necessary part of their career? Or because they genuinely care about people and animals?  Furthermore, why are we spending so much time discussing the backup quarterback, ostensibly, of a team who is no better than 8^th in the NFC? Why is this ownership and front office so woefully disconnected from its fan base?  Why am I driving up my word count on this issue?

Thank God for fantasy football and survivor pools.

I think I may have dated Roy Oswalt. 

After college I ran into an old acquaintance named Mel at a bar in Philly. During college, she was nothing more than my girlfriend’s artsy, not-quite-hot tagalong. She was one of those girls who guys call “cool” to mask the fact that they really weren’t attracted to her.  Nice enough, pleasant, and available. A viable stopgap in the dating world. Worth a shot.

During our first date, we went for coffee at a little house in a posh part of a neighboring town. The conversation flowed well. We both felt comfortable with each other. We planned another date. But behind her eyes, I really didn’t see much of anything. No sex appeal. No fire. No passion. Just a high school art teacher with a neatly decorated apartment and a penchant for giggling unnecessarily.

Our second date took place at an upscale Italian restaurant complete with several menus, wondering minstrels, and an aromatic atmosphere. One of us was being wined and dined but I’m still not sure who was doing the wooing and for what purpose. Before drinks arrived, Mel confided that, at 25, she had a “five year plan,” which included marriage and kids. To that point, I had never experienced a cold sweat, but suffice it to say, my five year plan was still in the five day stages.  I dropped her off later that night, but she didn’t invite me in because I think we both knew our “plans” were different. I never saw or spoke to her again.

Look, Oswalt seems like a nice enough guy. He has won 143 major league games. He has proven he can get guys out. But like Mel, my wayward art teacher, I just don’t get a sense that he will offer us what we’re looking for. His “five year plan” is really only a two-year plan in baseball terms, and I’m sure his home isn’t decorated in frilly pastels like Mel’s was, but when you stare across your proverbial table at him, what do you see? A nasty “mutha” who will pitch inside and dare you to hit him? Nah. A mean old veteran who spits tobacco and venom while he’s making you look silly? Nope. A competitor who refuses to get lit up by the likes of the Nats? Negative.

"Shucks, this gum is good. Mind if I throw inside?"

So, the Roy Oswalt era has begun in Philly and to quote Lieutenant Vincent Hanna in Heat, “I am over[freaking]whelmed.”  I have never been one of these Cliff Lee shrine-building, memorial service holding, jilted lover fuming fans who can’t let go of the fact that he’s not here, and I’m still not.  We all know Lee is a horse, but he’s not on our team anymore, so let’s put the Ruben Amaro Jr. voodoo doll down and slowly back away.

Here’s the thing though—no matter where Cliff Lee is, he intimidates. Whether it’s through his dead sprint on and off the mound, the shadow windmill stretch and phantom pitch, or the bulldog look in his eyes, dudes just don’t want to face him.  

The look in Oswalt’s eyes reflects someone who would like to order a chocolate milk from “Lou” the surly diner owner before he professes that Lorraine Baines is his density, er, destiny. 

When the deal happened, I professed my praise because, ultimately, Amaro got Doc Halladay and George McFly Oswalt for J Happ and Cliff Lee. Not bad. From Facebook to text messages to long phone conversations, I didn’t see a downside of the deal.  After last night though, my reservations about the dude remain in tact. I don’t even fear this guy from my couch.

I’d love to be wrong about Lil’ Roy but after watching his post-game presser, I got the sinking feeling that I was listening to a mismatched girlfriend or to an underwhelming George McFly. I’m not sure Oswalt is our density or destiny.

Finally, I’d like to welcome ESPN self-promoter, self-aggrandizer, baseball analyst, Joe Morgan to my “list.” We all have a list. Those select few (or hundred in my case) who we abhor, at whom we cringe, who we’d love to punch square in the face. One of the few downsides of the Phils’ national attention over the last few years is the influx of Sunday Night Baseball games they are afforded.  Because of the spotlight, we are forced to listen to Morgan drop in completely unnecessary references to his playing days, his insistence on belittling partners Jon Miller (now a Hall of Famer himself) and Orel Hershiser, and a smugness rivaled only by the number one person on my list, Michael Jordan.

"Kiss the ring, Jon Miller!"

I guarantee that if it hadn’t dawned on you before, you’ll be forced to recognize the narcissism of which I speak. Get the iPod ready.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Cliff. I hope you understand why I did it...anyway, does that make up for it? Are we cool?"

The Phightin’s sent away young, stud-pitcher J.A. Happ (a runner-up for Rookie of the Year last season) and two prospects to the Astros for Houston ace Roy Oswalt (and some cash to help pay for Roy’s hefty contract).  While Amaro Jr. didn’t actually say it, this move might as well have been a public apology to Phillies fan who mourned the inexplicable loss of Cliff Lee.

Now first let me say I love the move – you did good, Rub.  It brings another team’s proven ace to be the Phillies number three pitcher in the rotation for almost nothing.  Not only that, but they managed to lock him up through next season (if they should pick up Oswalt’s option).  Happ is solid, don’t get me wrong, but I’d take Oswalt over him any day of the week – and the other two guys, outfielder Anthony Gose and shortstop Jonathan Villar, I have never heard of (so they can’t be that big of a deal to the Phillies).

Apparently the Astros agree since they have already traded Gose to the Blue Jays for first baseman Brett Wallace.  I just thought it was rather amusing that Amaro Jr. would give up prospects to get Cliff Lee, and then give up even more prospects to get Roy Halladay (great move).  Then turn around and trade Lee to get back some prospects, only to trade more prospects to get Roy Oswalt.  I just think he should come right out at the press conference and say “Hey, Phillies fans, I know I made a mistake, does this make up for it?” and shake Oswalt’s hand while he hands him a uniform.

"God...I gotta get outta Houston, I can't take this anymore."

I will give him this though, the whole time he has been wheelin’-and-dealin’ players and prospects like baseball cards, he never gave up outfielder Domonic Brown – and after watching his debut the other night against the D’backs (2-3 with 2 RBI and 2 R), I can clearly see why.  Smart decision.

Now, how about we discuss some wrong decisions?  Redskin’s D-Tackle/D-End/Pudgy-Cry-Baby Albert Haynesworth finally decided it was time to come to camp and give this whole playing football thing another try.  New Redskins coach Mike Shanahan was happy to have him back, but just wanted to make sure he was prepared mentally and physically.  Haynesworth passed the mental test, agreeing to buy into the system as long as he would get a shot at playing the D-End position.  The physical test, however, well that was a different story.

The over-paid – and overweight – Haynesworth could only complete two parts of the three part fitness test (despite losing 40 lbs).  Players and coaches were treated to a display of Haynesworth’s physical prowess as he completed one of the 300-yard shuttle sprints, barely finished the second, and ended up walking the third.  Believe me, I understand how difficult that must have been – especially for a D-Lineman, but come on.  You’re a pro athlete, a pro football player; physical fitness is kind of required and should be pretty high on your “To-Do” list.

"You want to me run what!?! Nah, I can't do that right now - cut me a break, man." (AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

The big fella’ was already in Shanahan’s dog-house for pretty much calling out the team and then not showing up to any voluntary workouts.  However, Shanahan was willing to give him a shot and put him with the backups, let him learn the new system, and then work his way up – if he could simply pass a fitness test.  It was tough, but he couldn’t.  I guess that’s what a seven-year, $100 million deal will do to you.  Why workout when you can simply dominate in Madden 2011, playing as yourself, while you lie on the bed eating Funyuns and drinking birch beer in one of the 19 bedrooms you have in one of your six houses?

• For any Philly sports fanatic, growing accustomed to the usual rotation of commercials during any game is just part of our fandom. As fans, we reserve the right to scratch our heads, throw objects at our television, or fire off hilarious text messages about these promos.  Enter the Chapman trio of idiots and the inane WB Mason mock reality show commercials.
  • Chapman—Let me get this straight. I’m supposed to be enticed to buy a car from (a) the leathery faced, smoke-stained teeth, permasmile older brother (b) the clearly strung out younger brother who chose to show off his classy forearm tattoo for the shoot or (c) the ghost of their father who suggests, on a break from his 900^th cigarette of the day, that if we don’t buy Chapman, we’re paying too much for our vehicle?
    

    What our father said 25 years ago, "You boys are winners!"

  • WB—I’m not really sure at whom this campaign is aimed? I get that reality television is huge right now, but are the same people who watch Jersey Shore or The Real World in the market for office supplies? Are they hoping that a campy premise and poor acting is going to move coffee and paper clips? I’m stumped.

• As a fan of mismatched, buddy-cop films like Point Break and Tango and Cash, I can appreciate the complexity of putting two seemingly antithetical partners together in hopes that they figure each other out by figuring themselves out in time to catch the bad guy (or in Johnny Utah’s case, letting the bad guy commit karmic suicide because said bad guy isn’t going to paddle to New Zealand!). However, I simply cannot take Comcast Sportsnet’s unlikely Phils’ post-game duo of Marshall Harris and Ricky (seriously, still using the “y?”) Botallico.  During a particularly uncomfortable tete a tete last week, Botallico was bemoaning the Phils’ offensive woes, which he is paid to do, when Harris chimed in with, “says the man with two lifetime hits in the big leagues.” Now, I understand what he’s trying to do, but that’s like the manager of your junior high basketball team yelling at the starting point guard to hit the boards more effectively. I can’t stand Botallico, but he shot Harris a nasty look before retorting with, “yeah, and how many hit do you have buddy?” Harris tried to laugh it off, but the damage to Botallico’s ego had been done.

• After the passing of Yanks’ fuehrer, George Steinbrenner this week, and Bobby Cox’s preseason proclamation that this season would be his last, is there any question the baseball gods will smile upon these two organizations and send them to the Fall Classic? If you don’t believe in the baseball gods, watch the frequency with which the baseball will find the guy who was just entered as a defensive replacement.  Obviously, this unholy union would go right up the collective nose of Phillies fans if they lose a chance at redemption against the evil empire at the hands of their very boring, very vanilla division rival from Hotlanta.

• Can someone explain how unfunnyman, Louis CK, keeps getting work? I have yet to laugh at anything he or his failed projects have elicited, yet I see he was given another shot by FX. It’s like seeing a coach or manager who has never won anything (Calipari?) keep getting opportunities to continue not winning. I guess the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, but why not give an up-and-coming comedian a shot at stardom instead of trotting out a guy whose stock has never really risen?
  

  Look, everyone! I'm pulling my shirt up and saying something funny! Yay!

• I know the Phils’ recent sweep of first place Cincinnati before the All-Star break was exciting and uplifting, but I think it might be time to accept this just isn’t their year. Injuries, the what-to-do-with-Jayson-Werth conundrum, having 2/5 of an effective starting rotation, a schizophrenic offense, and a GM with a lot of “’splainin’” to do all point toward an early off-season. Let me throw this out there too. Is Roy Halladay the Takeo Spikes of MLB? Neither has made the playoffs, both have sought teams who they thought would help get them there, and both came to Philly with that singular goal in mind. Maybe some guys are just playoff kryptonite.

**During one of my first ever Locker pieces, I talked about how, despite the enormous shoes he had to fill, Phils play-by-play announcer, Tom McCarthy, was dangerously close to being replaced by my iPod or the radio team of Scott Franzke and Larry Andersen. Now, a full year later, this completely vanilla robot has done nothing to change my mind. Now, I’ll admit to being partial to guys who actually played the game, but such logic doesn’t affect my appreciation for the other three major sports teams’ announcers—Merrill Reese (Eagles), Jim Jackson (Flyers), and Marc Zumoff (Sixers)—because they have some flair, some panache, some understanding of the tremendous job they have in bringing our city’s teams to our homes on a nightly basis.

While I watched yet another lackluster performance by the Phils during which they dropped three of four to those pesky Pirates, I couldn’t help but take mental notes of McCarthy’s performance.

"I have a microphone into which I speak about baseball!"

Exhibit A: He used the word towering four times during the telecast. Now, maybe we’re all a little spoiled by Doc Emrick’s ability to use approximately 4, 567 verbs during his call of any hockey game, but I don’t think it’s too much to ask for McCarthy to come up with just one more adjective for flyballs.

Exhibit B: I realize the phrase “Captain Obvious” gets bandied about regularly, and usually with at least mild audience chuckling, but McCarthy is doing everything he can to cement himself as the “Captain Obvious.” After the Phils coughed up a three-run lead in the bottom of the 7^th, he delivered this doozie: The complexion of this game really changed when it went from a one-run game to now a three-run deficit for the Phils. I don’t require my play-by-play guy to be a sabermetrics practitioner, but I also don’t need him to fill in elementary gaps like this one.

Exhibit C: His homerun calls absolutely stink. I’d rather pluck a drunken fraternity brother out of the stands and ask him to call, oh, let’s say, Jimmy Rollins’ walkoff last week instead of listening to McCarthy’s completely uninventive, He’s baaaaaaack, in reference to Rollins’ momentous return to the lineup.

**I had the misfortune of briefly flicking past the Competitive Eating Competition on ESPN, which got me thinking about our society. Let me get this straight—Americans can’t appreciate the FIFA World Cup, deemed a game for “foot fairies” by our most clever of wordsmiths, which has been nothing short of amazing for the better part of a month (if you missed the sick Paraguay-Spain quarterfinal because you were afraid you’d catch “footfairyitis” as a result, I’ll submit that it was the second best game of the tourney behind the US win in extra time against Algeria), but we can show up in droves to watch intestinal freaks of nature devour food quickly? And don’t think for a second that the arrival and “arrest” of former champ Kobayashi wasn’t staged for publicity.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay better than soccer. (By Theo Zierock, AFP/Getty Images)

As a result, I will not listen to those who suggest our country isn’t getting dumber. Or dumberer.

**Wait, Mike Vick didn’t see the light behind Tony Dungy’s shadow? It turns out he really isn’t a very good dude? The Eagles made a personnel mistake? The Wildcat Formation was effective for one year, four years ago? Now I’ve heard it all.

For my first post since my daughter was born in September, I thought I’d take things slowly, rail against the current goings-on in sports and pop culture that keep me up at night, and call it a day.

**Because I am a devoted fan of college basketball but equally as dedicated to my hatred of the NBA, I’m puzzled at what happens between the time sure-fire lottery picks sleep through the first semester of class (c’mon, you think DeMarcus Cousins is taking copious notes during College Comp 101?) during their freshman year and they walk up to the podium to accept the flat-brimmed hat of their new NBA team. My allegiance lies squarely with the ‘Cuse in the NCAA, but I couldn’t tell you what Jonny Flynn did this year in the NBA, and I’m certain the same will hold true for Wes Johnson. But, hey, at least they get to toil together as Timberwolves.

Now, as I watched the epic College World Series clincher by South Carolina last night, I had to wonder why baseball doesn’t suffer the same fate as its more athletic NBA counterpart. I mean these kids are going berserk after the third out of any inning, locking arms in the dugout during big at-bats, and donning rally caps while passing around superstitious Vanilla Wafers.

Put me in coach! I'm ready to give you 30% of what I got!

The answer really wasn’t that difficult—coaching. Without a self-aggrandizing John Calipari or Rick Pitino on the sidelines, these kids play for their coaches in college, so doing the same thing for the MLB managers isn’t a stretch. There is a respect for the game and for its elder statesmen in baseball that is conspicuously absent in the NBA. Again, does anyone think any of the players who just left Kentucky is going to miss Calipari or is amped for an opportunity to play for Stan Van Gundy? Doubt it.**

**When is Doc Halladay going to walk into the clubhouse after another start that only asked for three or four runs of support, which then resulted in a loss, and start cracking skulls? This guy does his job every fifth day and is rewarded with two runs, six hits, and twelve LOB. Blech.**

**Let me tell you what I think about this LBJ, Wade, Bosh “summit” in Miami last weekend—nothing. In fact, this bullet point is as much thought as I’ve devoted to anything NBA related in nine years. Go ahead, play together. Win together. Ride around on boats together. The NBA already has watered down 94% of itself (that’s right, I did the math), so creating a triumvirate of power in Miami means the other 5% can join in the irrelevant par-tay. Have at it, boys.**

**As a follow up to my months-old contribution to the Almost Punchable Celebrity

With a face like this...

column, I was just treated with a radio spot for 7UP voiced by none other than that lovable baritone, Brad Garrett. The commercial played on the dichotomy between Garrett’s surly exterior and his hidden love for the soft drink, so he’d grunt in his trademark voice and then take it up an octave to express his pleasure. If you’re bored by this bullet, you can join the six Garrett fans who feel the same way about his work.**

Oh no, Sosa found a way to even top cheating in the sport he played.  He bleached himself.  Sosa claimed his skin was feeling old and needed some “rejuvenation,” so he started bleaching his skin? To quote this Michael Jackson wannabe, “It’s a bleaching cream that I apply before going to bed…I use it to soften my skin, but has bleached me some,” he admitted.  Some!?! He resembles a Dominican-version of the kid who starred in Powder.

This doesn't even look like the same person. I guess "bleached me some" and "completely different" mean the same thing to Sammy.

What about taking vitamin D? Or rubbing some lotion on your skin? Then, Sosa managed to top that by adding green eyes to his new faded white skin.  What are you doing, Sosa? You went from being a super-slugger to a reject in the cast of Twilight.  He is now a faded has-been – literally – who just realized that he could buy contacts that change the color of his eye.  When I saw this, I was legitimately scared.  I am surprised there weren’t any stories about someone at the Latin Grammys just dropping their jaw, screaming, and running out because Sosa smiled at them.

Switching gears from complete stupidity to utter stupidity, we move to the Tennessee Volunteers.  Three of first-year head coach Lane Kiffin’s highly touted recruits were charged with attempted armed robbery.

Apparently, Janzen Jackson, a starting safety, and Nu’Keese Richardson, a starting wide-receiver, were among four people who decided a great Wednesday evening activity would be robbing a convenience store.  Defensive back Mike Edwards, and their “Wheel-man” Marie Montmarquet – a 22-year-old female – were charged with three counts of armed robbery at a gas station.

They held up three people in a parked car at gun-point while wearing masks.  The victims got the make and model of the car, a Toyota Prius, and get this – one of them was wearing Tennessee football gear and a victim caught a glimpse of it (apparently they had on either shorts or a t-shirt with the Tennessee football logo on it), the police haven’t said what it was yet).  When the police finally caught the suspects, they located the hoodies and masks, and an air-powered pellet gun (nice touch gentlemen).

"It was exciting holding those men at gun-point, I think next time though, we shouldn't wear our jerseys out to rob people." (AP Photo/Wade Payne)

So let me get this straight.  You get a full-scholarship to play football at the University of Tennessee – a program that is on the up-and-up right now – and you have a shot to play pro-football if you make the best of your time at this university (which is all free by the way), and you decide that’s not enough?  No, no, no, a better path is driving around in your “girlfriend’s” Prius and robbing people at gun point for what? $75-$100 at best?

Yeah, you won’t ever make that much in the NFL, or receive that as an allowance thanks to your free ride at Tennessee.  Even better, do all this while you’re wearing Tennessee football gear, great plan.  I read this and just thought to myself, “How dumb can you be?” I don’t by any means condone this plan, but if you are going to go through with this poorly thought-out scheme, and you have the ski mask on as well, wouldn’t taking off your Volunteers football gear be the next step?  I could only imagine the two of them wearing their jerseys and ski masks thinking “Let’s rob these people, they will never know who it is.”