Thursday, April 27, 2006

Flash Gordon, Savior Of The Alpacas


When Billy Wagner bullshitted his way out of Philly and into the cesspool in Flushing, Queens that the Mets call home, we cheesesteakers were left to wonder why he shucked and jived our sylvan populace since the middle of last season, considering that’s when he began to say he would be happy to stay here so long as the team gave him the security to raise a family fat with an infusion of tens of millions in cash and the freedom to fill his alpacas with his ten-millimeter cock in the offseason.

No problem, said the Phils management. We want you. We need you. You got alpacas? Sure, bring ‘em along for the ride. Dick ‘em all you want. Just throw that fastball in the ninth inning and we’ll ship ‘em hay or whatever the hell they eat down to West Virginny.

Like my Old Man used to say, “Don’t trust any bastard in the world.”

If only Pat Gillick was fathered by the same guy.

Let’s face it: Gillick, no youngster, was gamed by Wagner, and I’m sure he’s going to remember it well. After all, when he took the job in Philly the Hillbilly Issue was at the top of the agenda. He really didn’t have a lot of leverage. Billy took his little balls to the Mets, and New York celebrated another in a long line of coups dating back to its assumption of the mantle of the nation’s capital from Billy Penn’s green country towne.

Come we now to Tom “Flash” Gordon and his outstanding April showing in Philadelphia.

Gillick signed Flash in a pinch, having had his closer abscond to the bluer pastures of Shea, and knowing what Gordon could do in the late innings – at least eight years ago in the 90s. Fans were skeptical. Gordon was too old. Gordon hadn’t closed since 1998. Gordon was…what else?

He wasn’t Wagner, for whom Idiot Ed Wade had traded a couple gleaming prospects to bring to the new ballpark. One of them, Taylor Buchholz, is now in the starting rotation in Houston, a team already flush with good pitching.

Tonight, as he has done before in seven of eight tries (six of six were saves, one a win against one loss), Gordon closed out the upstart Rockies easily in order to end the game and seal the deal for the Fightins’. Gillick, who tried like hell to trade for a frontline starter in the offseason, can at least be happy he signed a serviceable closer, and, if Gordon can hold true to form, one that might be able to close a game when it really counts, unlike rich Billy the Hillbilly, who got a giggle when he surrendered a game-winning homer to his old pal Craig Biggio last September when the chips were down and cost the Phillies a wild-card spot.

As for tonight, getting there proved easier than most contests this month.

We headed into the top of the 5th up, 7-1, and yet, that sinking feeling overtook fandom in Philly. Were we gonna blow it again? After starter Ryan Madson surrendered three more runs to make it 7-4 by the end of the frame (and inflate his ERA to an unseemly 8.05), Cholly brought on the middle relief, introducing Clay Condrey (who dat?) to begin the sixth.

Condrey, called up in lieu of Julio Santana’s possession by Satan, proved righteous and pitched a flawless sixth consisting of nine pitches. Five were strikes. So far, so good. Praise the alpaca…er…Lord.

De-steroided Ryan Franklin, solid so far, survived unscathed in the seventh. Light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Arthur Rhodes, somewhat shaky, allowed just one run in the eighth, and in the bottom half of the inning, “Clown Boy” Bobby Abreu and Ryan “The Howitzer” Howard knocked in two more, leaving the game at a most winnable 9-5.

Notable in the offensive onslaught tonight – and last night – was the re-animation of the stiffs at the bottom of the lineup, our beloved David Fucking Bell (the Comcast “Player of the Game”) and Mike “Don’t Fuck With Bubby” Lieberthal, a combined 5-for-8 with four RBIs.

Just goes to show you that when somebody knows their job is on the line, they might show up for work.

Meanwhile, fans should be gratified to know Billy the Alpaca Fucker surrendered a game-tying homer to Barry “Shoot That Cattle-Fattener In My Black Ass” Bonds tonight, although his shithead team bailed him out and won the game in the 11th inning, no thanks to him.

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