I really do. I've been leaving work via 95 South on the nights I stay at Rach's... and I keep seeing these cars pass me at 100 mph filled to the gills with pre-game drunk teenage Phillies fans, heading to a night game. I hate them too. There's this assinine exuberance for the Phillies every season even though they continue to be avearage at best. Their first base phenom is in his sophmore slump. Members of the pitching staff, minus stud muffin Hamels, should be the creative consultants for the next "Major League" movie. The left fielder reminds me of AJ from the Sopranos, in that both he (the actor) and Pat Burrell (the real person) are a complete waste of life. Their shortstop is balding, which makes him look like a real life bobble head. Their skipper uses pogs to determine the batting order. I hate them all. I hate how the fans explode whenever the Phillies make contact with a ball. It could be the most blatant pop fly the world has ever seen, but they'll cheer and scream until that ball hits the glove of the opposition. Nobody knows what's going on. And they just keep buying tickets and going to see this inconsistent mess of a team. Phew! For really great photos of the amazing time I had at the game last Tuesday (11-5 loss), click Read More! or the Header of the post... THANKS!
Taking the elevator up to our seats, seeing Phil's brain, and Awwwwwwww.
The View, sans Rosie O'Donnel.
Connie Mac bar.
Two Testies, a lot of balls, and someone's mommy.
"We are the memmmmbers of, the all american league... we come from citiiiiies... near or far..."
"I think I can feel it swaying..." after the game and not paying for tickets ($45) or parking ($10) softened the(y) blow.
Proof that Joe's apartment likes other apartments of the same sex.
A muntant Newcastle on the back patio rounded out the night.