Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Shot And A Beer


Drunk on beer, Ryan Franklin served up fat pitches to The Brew Crew tonight in the ninth inning, threw the ball in a staggered direction beyond third base after fielding a hard-hit bunt, and allowed the game-winning run to score. For an encore, he ran into the clubhouse to wash down his butchery, swilling the rest of Rich Dubee’s moonshine.

It’s not anticipated he’ll make curfew.

Franklin, denuded of his steroid power after getting busted injecting the junk last season, hasn’t been all that bad this season. That is, until he saw all those breweries.

Tacony Lou was worried about the Phils in Milwaukee. Not that the team used to be owned (at least on paper) by the Man Who Stole the World Series, Bud Selig, but because The Fightins’ have a bunch of players with the drinking gene. Led by Baby Girl Burrell, who never saw a nightclub he didn’t like, the party boys looked like they were swinging at the “middle ball” tonight (to paraphrase Mickey Mantle). The difference is Mantle hit the middle ball.

Chris Capuano, a lefthanded late-bloomer who has recovered from Tommy John surgery to become a pitcher with a plan, held the offensively struggling Phils to six hits and two runs through seven innings. His bravo performance was matched by Corey Lidle, who recovered from the hangover and red cheeks of an ass-whipping by the Mets last Wednesday and allowed two runs and one less hit than his counterpart.

There have been heroic comebacks lately, and Phillies faithful had to have been believin’ again after watching Baby Girl nail a runner at the plate in the bottom of the eighth, with a little help by a roadblock named Sal Fasano. The burly catcher, who is seeing more time crouching and fingering his genitalia behind the plate, was inspired by The Italian Sausage’s seventh inning victory in The Sausage Race, which used to be the highlight of a game at the Brewer's home until they stopped sucking as bad as their alleged previous owner.

“I’m so proud of Italian Sausage,” Fasano moaned after the game as he dried a tear and sucked on a beer. “People think it’s a silly piece of fucking meat, but it’s more than that to me.”

How’s that Sal?

“It’s how my wife calls me, you know, when she’s hungry.”

Sentimentalities aside, Chollie wasn’t too jovial about a 3-2 loss which saw David Dellucci strand Shane Victorino at third base after a two-out triple in the ninth inning against Brewer closer Derrick Turnbow, an obvious bong-smoker. Not only would a hit have given the Phils the lead, it would have meant a pinch-hitter for Franklin, the next scheduled batter. So the question remains: Why wasn’t Franklin lifted anyhow?

“Hot Dog should have won the damn race,” Chollie told me after the game. “Arthur Rhodes is a hot dog eater, and that wudda been a sign from da sperits. That Eye-talian Link, he’s a greaseball, evil-smellin’ and such.”

2 Comments:

Anonymous ChuckM said...

I wonder who would win a foot race, Pat Burrell or Barry Bonds.

17/5/06 8:41 AM  
Blogger Tacony Lou said...

Put a beer at the finish line, and my money's on Burrell.

Put the syringe there, and...well, you bet the idea.

17/5/06 10:08 AM  

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