Archives
Thursday, September 25, 2008
A Groaning Board of
Talent
From
the City of Brotherly Love Handles: The Phatty Phils.
METS-PHILS ROUND 2. I'm not going to name names, but Phillies pitcher Brett Myers is the size of a house. When he waddles to the mound, the whole ballpark shakes. The same goes for most of the rest of the staff. The pictures in the video don't do them justice. They were probably taken before the long season these guys have spent gorging out of sight in the bullpen. I can only imagine the cornucopia of food behind the screen -- like some medieval mead hall, no doubt, every trencherman with his own leg of mutton and brace of turkeys washed down with a hogshead of ale, every scraggly beard matted with grease and crumbs.
The banquet hall in the Phillies bullpen.
It's a wonder anyone can hear the phone ring when Manager Charlie Manuel calls from the dugout to ask one or more of them to push themselves away from the table. Watching them warm up is like witnessing a pod of whales stranded on some beach, heaving and snorting with painful effort.
Of course, eating yourself into a coma is a grand Philly tradition. Every year, the city celebrates the bitter end of yet another failed Eagles season with an event called the Wing Bowl, which features the same combination of massive food intake and bevies of buxom wenches. And only in Philadelphia could a major league game be threatened with cancellation because of concerns about the supply of hot dogs. So I'm not dismissing the whole gluttony thing out of hand. It has its place. But is that place really in the final stretch of a breakneck pennant race?
Is it really an accident that the three best pitchers on the team actually look like athletes?
Cole Hamels (14-10), Jamie Moyer (15-7), and Brad Lidge (40 saves).
Sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything. Maybe I'm just jealous. Wouldn't it be great to spend just one night feasting with the titans of the Phillies bullpen? You bet it would.
