G-G-G-G-G-G-GHOSTS! Holy shit! Run, Scoob!

I heard a theory that “Coste’s Ghosts” are actually the disembodied spirits of those who used to be “Sal’s Pals.” If so, it’s comforting to know that the afterlife has been much, much kinder to them.

Still, it seems like a dick move on the part of the Phillies organization to keep charging them for tickets. Do you know how hard it is to earn money when you can’t actually touch anything? Forget about it.

Photo courtesy of the extraordinary Flickr page of Harpo42

Far be it from us to goof on an ad banner, particular one which shows up at random on our page, but this baby stood out, and with good reason…

Trump University: Now featured in Radar Magazine’s list of “America’s Worst Colleges!”

I just want to congratulate Gregg Doyel (spellchecked: “Greg Doyle”) for picking up on this story eight days after it happened. That’s quality journalism. Wait until he finds out that Gene Upshaw died!

In one of his latest shovelfuls of hypertexcrement, “Philly’s boo babies bark, can’t take Rollins’ bite,” Gregg agrees with Jimmy Rollins’ public assessment of Phillies fans as front-runners. Also, it would appear that Doyel has never heard boos before. These noises must frighten and confuse him, compelling him to write a column about it. Now, here’s what this genius postulates about us “babies”:

“Look, Philly fans, you can’t have it both ways. If you’re going to dish it, you have to be able to take it. Flick a player in the nose all you want, but when one of them flicks you back, you have to smirk and let him know it didn’t hurt. Otherwise, you’re nothing but a schoolyard bully — strong because you have all that size, but weak as soon as someone fights back.”

Oh, my, where to begin dissecting this brilliant editorial deduction? OK, here’s what Doyel believes:
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So says Charlie Manuel and pitching coach Rich Dubee “You Be?” to the floundering Kyle Kendrick. Tonight’s game, the first in a four-game rematch against the Los Angeles Dodgers, is Double-K’s first start since returning from a disastrous road trip to the West Coast.

Earlier this month, against L.A. and then the Padres in San Diego, Kendrick was lit up for at least six runs in both starts. The dugout diagnosis is that he is reluctant to throw strikes early on, preferring to have the batter take swings at pitches that fall everywhere but over the plate.

Knowing this, however, smart batters will choose to wait until Kendrick puts himself in a 2-0 hole and is forced to throw a strike. Then the fireworks begin, and it’s another short night for Kyle.

Sooner or later, everyone goes through a slump. (Right, Chase/Ryan/Jimmy?) With pitchers, who only work once every five games, these downward trends stand out more conspicuously, and a couple of bad starts in a row can really mess with the confidence of even the best pitchers (see Sabathia, C.C.). The only person on Earth who can restore Kendrick’s confidence is Kyle himself.

As if to mess with us, the Padres traded Greg Maddux to L.A., just in time for him to make his second appearance of the season in Dodger Blue. Maddux does quite well against Philly, in case you haven’t heard. This means not only does Kendrick need to focus on the strike zone, but the slumbering offense needs to wake up and supply him with some crucial run support.

Game time is at 7:05 PM. The Mets are hosting the mediocre Astros this weekend. Santana’s on the mound for New York tonight. Now is not the time to lose any further ground. Last season was fun but that kind of thing happens rarely… even more so for the Phillies.

ROOT ‘EM IN!

Rollins’ First Law of Emotion: “…for every action, there’s a reaction.”

A noble experiment though it was, “Campaign Cheer” failed in its quest to persuade the faithful at Citizens Bank Park to refrain from making all but the most supportive noises. The urge to boo Jimmy Rollins was too great to resist, and watching the shortstop go hitless again did little to soothe the savage beasts.

“If they want to boo me, that’s fine. Boo me. Just keep it off everyone else. . . . You had some cheers, you had some boos. Like I said, when you get the win, they’ll cheer you.”

Cheering after a victory? Typical Philadelphia fan mentality. I’ll bet they’re unhappy when the team loses, too, the ungrateful bastards.

If nothing else, the outpouring of Rollins’ soul brought forth what may be my favorite J-Roll quote, ever:

That should be on a T-shirt, you say? Consider it done!

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a “front-runner” is:

1 : a contestant who runs best when in the lead

2 : a leading contestant in or as if in a rivalry or competition <e.g., a political front–runner>

According to the sports community, a “front-runner” is:

1 : a fan who shifts their loyalty to whichever team has had the most recent success, or the best chance of success. For example…

This guy, 1994: “WOOOO! COWBOYS RULE!”

Same guy, 1998: “BRONCOS, BABY!”

Same guy, 2004: “THE PATS ARE GOIN’ ALL THE WAY!”

According to Jimmy Rollins, however, a “front-runner” is:

1 : a fan who’s on his side when the team is doing well

2 : a fan who’s completely against him when the team is doing poorly

What this tells me is that J-Roll doesn’t quite understand the term he used to describe his own fan base. If in fact I was, as Rollins said, a “front-runner” then I’d be rooting for the Mets right now. I would sooner chew tin foil laced with hydrochloric acid.

Tonight marks the return home of Rollins and his merry band of misfits, fresh off a 2-5 disaster of a West Coast road trip, which included a four-game sweep by the resurgent Dodgers and an 8-3 shellacking from the 48-75 San Diego “Who Wants Greg Maddux? Anyone?” Padres.

(That loss was Kyle Kendrick’s second god-awful outing in a row; maybe 32pitch’s comment wasn’t that stupid after all.)

Thanks to merciful scheduling, the Phightin’s get to kick off a nine-game home stand by hosting the 44-81 Washington Doormats. Meanwhile, the Mets – currently in first place by 1.5 games – are home to face Atlanta, against whom they are 2-7 this season. We need that trend to continue, since it would appear that beating the Mets by themselves has proven a difficult task for the Phillies.

The big question on many minds today is: What kind of reception can our outspoken lame-duck MVP expect from the masses? GM-Carson, one of the great minds over at We Should Be GM’s, proposes a unique, rather un-Phillyesque tactic. He calls it, “Campaign Cheer.” We call it friggin’ ingenious.

Blanton faces Bergmann tonight. Who will suck worse? Gosh, I hope it’s their guy! GO PHILS!

A brief word of advice when engaging someone at a party in conversation: If what you’re about to say is prefaced by the phrase, “Now I know this might sound a bit racist, but…” Guess what? It’s going to sound more than a little bit racist. It’s going to sound really fucking racist. (e.g., “Now I know this might sound a bit racist, but I wish black people had a stronger work ethic.”)

If I’m a friend of yours and I’m standing next to you when you utter this non-disclaimer disclaimer, I no longer know who you are, and I’m abandoning you in search of wherever they’re packing the bong.

I’m a strong advocate of free speech (one of those wacko “libertarians” you may have been warned about), but that doesn’t excuse the speaker from any well-deserved chastisement by his audience over the inherent stupidity of his comments. When Thomas Jefferson and his colleagues drafted the Bill of Rights, the First Amendment did not include the emphasized addendum:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances. Unless, of course, those people happen to be blithering assholes.

Jefferson took it on good faith that people would rarely, if ever, abuse their right to free speech in order to say or write something so utterly contemptible that it would make him think twice about the matter. Of course, Tommy Boy never got to read the Comments section over at Philly.com.

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“Good afternoon. First of all, I’d like to thank those members of the media who assembled here today. It feels like I’ve had to give more than a few of these recently. I’ve been in front of your faces so often, in a way I’ve become your chinbeard, too! [reporters laugh]

“As for why I’ve called this latest in a long line of press conferences — well, I don’t need to explain that to a room full of journalists. My owner has publicly embarrassed himself yet again.

“I’d like to think that his outburst against manager Charlie Manuel was rooted in a healthy spirit of competitiveness, a burning desire to stay out on that pitcher’s mound and get the job done. I really would.

“But I think we all know the real reason for his brief tirade against Charlie is that, regrettably speaking, my owner, Brett Myers, is an asshole. A giant, flaming, concrete-headed colon with legs.

“There’s just no other way to say it, I’m afraid. For me to stand here before you, again, and try to explain away his behavior as youthful indiscretion would amount to nothing more than giving this cretin a ‘Get Out Of Responsibility For Your Actions, Fuckface’ card.

“I know there are some of you out there in the press — Mr. Carchidi comes to mind — with whom Brett has instigated a rather antagonistic relationship. Please rest assured that this is not your fault. You chose to ask questions that require Brett to contemplate and answer for his poor pitching performances, and for that simple act you have incurred the wrath of a rampaging douchenozzle.

“I want you to know that, while Brett has undergone anger management counseling after the incident two years ago when he reportedly struck his wife on a Boston street, he’s still a mean-spirited, self-absorbed nutsucker. If you think what he’s attempted against you qualifies as intimidation, I’ve got you beat.

“I lost track of exactly how many times that queef-inhaling hothead has threatened to wipe me off his smug little bastardly face. Sometimes, just for kicks, he’ll stand in front of his bathroom mirror, with an electric razor in one hand and a large glob of Nair in the other, look me square in the beard, and say, ‘Choose.’ Sadistic jagoff.

“I guess what I’m saying is, I know how difficult it can be to tolerate this dickhead. The ugly truth is that if he continues to pitch well, my owner may be our only hope of bolstering a rotation that is in desperate need of playoff-caliber arms. If that statement made you taste a little bile, by all means welcome to the club.

“It’s a hard life being Brett Myers’ chinbeard. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t resigned my position as Kim Kardashian’s pubic hair. Thank you and good day.”

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