I watched “Field of Dreams” last weekend, and the film led to thoughts of “Major League,” the 1980s’ other baseball movie masterpiece. Accept my apologies, “Bull Durham” fans. Charlie Sheen must have come to me in a dream, as I admit I owe this entry’s title to his declaration that he is winning at something or other.
So what is thinning? It is not my waistline, which has been somewhat svelte for more than a decade. It is not my hairline, either, as it has decided to host follicles that are as omnipresent as poor swings from Raul Ibanez.
My patience is what lost some size. I see no sense in complaining about the heat. Face it, when one lives in a city that natural disasters find unappealing, a few heat waves should serve as a reminder that the story that W. C. Fields wanted “All in all, I would rather be in Philadelphia” on his tombstone proves life here is not that wretched in some respects.
My tolerance has experienced a dip because the calendar says July 23, meaning that eight days, a semi-eternity, remain before the baseball trade deadline hits. I am so sick of hearing about which teams need to pick up a bat. I literally want to pick one up and smash teams’ phones to cause them to speed up their decisions. As for a literal interpretation of picking up an arm, I could pick up two and take out lines just as easily with an ax.
Make trades already! Houston and the Phillies have been such good trade partners that Hunter Pence should check to see how he looks in red high socks. The trade deadline countdown will always lose out to the Christmas version for me. In fact, I have a feeling that if Pence joins the Phillies and helps them to capture the World Series, he may just make fans let Santa, the elves and reindeer remain cozy at the North Pole. After all, Saint Nick could use some anatomical thinning that milk and cookies certainly would prevent.