Friday, July 07, 2006

Korean Missile Finds Target, Hits Phillies

Did somebody serve up a heaping bowl of Castor Avenue kimchi with steroids to Chan Ho Park before last night’s game, or is this failure just too good for Team Vomit?

Park could have fed the starving mass of estranged relatives he has in North Korea for life or bought a few more missiles for its psychotic “Guardian Deity of the Planet” after he took advantage of Texas Rangers GM John Hart’s latent retardation and signed a contract worth $65 MILLION for five years in 2001, one of the costliest busts in baseball free agent history. He was perpetually injured and won a sparkling 26 games in four years. A seasoned cuttlefish in your local Korean grocery could have done better than that, and probably wouldn’t have demanded the same money as Roger Clemens or Randy Johnson, which is what Park’s agent, the Satanic Scott Boras, snookered the Rangers into doing.

Talk about fucking stupid.

But the Padres, starved for good pitching and no doubt seeking to engender the good will of SoCal’s large population of emigres from the Land of the Rising Sun, took an enormous chance on Park and dealt away Phil Nevins for him, a certified asshole, but a cheaper one. Park is collecting the last segment of Hart’s charity by proxy --$15.3 million – this season. But in contrast to Kim Il Jung, Park has weapons that really still work – at least against Philadelphia.

Park has been pedestrian this season, six wins, four losses and an ERA in the mid 4's -- but against the The Fightless, he was Tom Seaver. It was astounding he made it out of the first inning. I was listening to the game as I was driving back from the Shore, and the opening frame lasted until I passed through Hammonton on the White Horse Pike. Certainly the Padres would be trotting out as many pitchers as there are blueberries for sale at Jersey farmers markets. Or so I thought. Maybe I was having a flashback to my Shore trips in the late 70s, when the team I heard on the radio on the way home had a killer instinct in the early innings. As it turned out, Park would last as long as Lucy the Elephant. He pitched seven innings, threw 119 pitches, and allowed three earned runs. That’s about par this season against our alleged vaunted lineup. They were dead ducks against the Pod’s bullpen, and the final, boring result was a 5-3 loss.

Ryan Madson, who has come to epitomize the schizophrenic character of the Phils’ collection of uninspired losers, pitched the requisite shoddy performance five days after a winning effort, a maddening, alternating sequence that has left him with a deceiving 8-6 record but an outrageous 5.91 ERA. Ever the charmer, after his impressive win Sunday he refused to speak with reporters, one of the favorite scapegoats for the team’s dickless labors. He probably didn’t know how to explain his success anyhow. Last night, he spoke, clueless as to why he got battered. “I don’t know what it is,” said the pitcher. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

Hey Ryan? Fuck you. At least Silent Steve Carlton was a weirdo who knew how to pitch. Your butt buddy Brett Myers is so outta here. Maybe you should “out” yourself and go, too.

Amazingly, Madson is going to be permitted to stay in the rotation instead of up-and-comer Scott Mathieson, who flung eight innings of three-run ball the previous night, an effort wasted by the Phils insipid, clutchless offense and rapidly deteriorating bullpen – where Madson plainly is more suited to pitch. So many homers, so few timely RBIs, so many dollars for Arthur Rhodes to fuck up a lead. Sigh.

So let’s summarize where this rant is going: The Phillies lose their EIGHTH STRAIGHT SERIES, yank Cole Hamels out of the first game after a rain delay for a team effort by the bullpen (the only game they won), demote Mathieson, who merely had the team’s best starting effort in a week, and cleared a spot for fat Jon Lieber, who was raked in his rehab starts by Single A hitters.

Meanwhile, 21-year-old Fabio Castro, by all appearances fathered by a dwarf and who speaks only Espanol, will remain with the big club to be tutored by pitching coach Rich Dubee, who speaks a hillbilly English and whose Spanish is limited to asking for shots of tequila during spring training.

Now we’re getting places.


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12/8/06 2:09 PM  
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17/8/06 6:10 PM  

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