Greetings, fellow East Coasters. An earthquake and a hurricane gave Facebook ample traffic and newscasts fantastic ratings, but with what athletic treats did the latter natural disaster endow us? Too much time for journalists to ponder how well the Eagles will do!
I saw the Florida Marlins dump the Phillies Friday. The weather wiped out Thursday’s game and caused holders of tickets to yesterday’s doubleheader to be stuck rushing to supermarkets for bread, eggs, and milk (many homes must have enjoyed their French toast today); lamenting the fate of drenched newscasters; cleaning; and engaging in other activities that this PG blog can refer to only vaguely. Let me just say I would not be surprised if the tri-state area had an unusual number of births come late spring!
I hoped the Phillies would win for two reasons. My name is Joe, not Rich, so the expensive tickets certainly had me wishing for a win. Knowing they would not play Saturday, I felt a loss would have plenty of people wondering how rusty the homeboys would feel when they would trek to Cincinnati. Done! I have encountered a few folks who believe the batters will suddenly forget that the ball is supposed to elude the opposing fielders and the pitchers will grow leery of making sure fans in the outfield do not go home with souvenirs.
I have always been a reluctant Eagles fan, sensing that the Birds will be a perpetually lovable loser. The offseason moves gave me a giddy fit, but call it Philadelphia cynicism that sees a divisional playoff loss in their future. Though the defense should be fantastic, I suspect the offensive live will be offensive. Michael Vick may need to be more of a comedian than a quarterback, as improvisation will likely keep him from dying on hostile road stages.
I expect a parade for the Phillies and would love a celebration for their neighbors; however, I have to let my angry waters dash the hopes of the pigskin propellers. Consult the alphabet, everyone. Hurricane Irene has to yield to Hurricane Joseph.