Phillies Musings

(The Philadelphia Tribune will periodically invite guest columnists to give their opinions on the Philadelphia Phillies. Today's guest is veteran reporter Percival "Scoop" Goodchild III.)

Well, hello base-ball fans!

First allow me to tell you a bit about myself. I've long been a fan of news-papers like these, starting from my days as a field reporter in Europe as our doughboys took on the Teutonic onslaught of the Kaiser's Germany. After the Great War, I returned home where I reported on the comings and goings of base-ball players (don't tell anyone, but I heard from a bellhop in Boston that one Mr. Rabbit Maranville was a bit of a bonnet-doffer, if you get my drift!) afterward until once again I was called into Uncle Sam's service. I was forced to retire after a horribly distended sciatica suffered at the hands of Tojo at the Battle of Guadalcanal, as well as a crippling laudanum addiction. So when the Tribune asked me to return to the press-box to describe this mighty Phillies team, I readily said "verily!" I put on my finest tweed, made sure my press pass was firmly tucked into the band on the fedora that Ernest Hemingway himself once glanced at in the store, and headed to the ball-park.

Here are my observations from the past fortnight:

* The Philadelphians certainly made a bold move in their recent swap of first-baseman Freddy Freeman for second sacker Aaron Hill. They say this Freeman fellow might have the potential to someday smack as many as FIFTY home-runs in a calendar year, which would be unrivaled in the history of base-ball. And this Hill character ... he has glovework that would make the great Nap Lajoie need a cold shower and perhaps an arsenic bath.

* I was viewing some of this "World-Cup" on the moving picture box this morning while I awaited my soft-boiled egg, and I must say, I am surprised they held this event in Africa. Rommel's forces must be licking their chops. Also, I believe something is wrong with my ear trumpet ... there is a strange buzzing. To boot, does French Indochina no longer have a team?

* Oh, my, can this Roy "Doc" Halladay pitch! He allowed just seven base-hits in a twelve runs to zero victory over the Rays of Tampa Bay on the 20th of June. However, given his youthful looks, I have my suspicions that this man is not a real doctor.

* Vance Worley certainly received both ends of the proverbial stick in his first two starts in the major-leagues. In his first, he struck-out ten of these Rays in six frames, but inexplicably was removed from the game for something called a "relief pitcher" and the Phillies were to lose, two runs to one. Then he was batted hard before exiting once again after taking the horsehide right off his ungloved paw! The team physician told me that Mr. Worley would be placed on the "disabled list," which makes me fear that the young man may have contracted polio.

* I am a little disconcerted that they allow women to enter the ball-park without a male escort.

* Oh, how the flashbulbs pop when this young Mr. Logan Morrison comes to the plate! He's hitting a remarkable three-seventy eight in his last 10 games, and the bartender at the Philadelphia Royale (Sinatra stayed at this hotel!) told me that these wily Philadelphia owners plan on keeping him in the City of Brotherly Love for a long time! With the reserve clause, this should not be difficult.

* The recent three-game trip to Baltimore reminds me of the time that myself and one Mr. Babe Ruth went on a barnstorming tour out west. We went through Kansas, Missouri ... my, we might have even reached Iowa before I finished my first bottle of gin and the Babe himself was knee-deep in prostitutes. I had to cut the trip short due to a horribly irritated coccyx suffered when I fell off the back of the train during a randy game of spot-the-garter. I believe Mr. Ruth contracted syphillis. I also do not think he spoke to me.

* This Jimmy Rollins is something else. Batting at the top of the Phillies line-up, he's stolen a base all eight times he's tried! I haven't seen an Irishman run this fast since Tommy O'Flaherty stole a 10-cent gallon of milk from Mrs. Sugarbush's dairy farm during my young days growing up in Bedford-Stuyvesant.

Well, my nursemaid is here for my nightly spongebath and nightcap of bitters. Keep enjoying the base-ball games!