Let's take a page from the peerless Fire Joe Morgan, and dissect Bill Conlin's column (at least the first half of it) this morning.
Bill Conlin: On a rainy night in Philly, MLB drops the ball
By Bill Conlin Philadelphia Daily News
Daily News Sports Columnist
'ONE DAY it started raining, and it didn't quit for four months. We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain . . . and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath.'' - Forrest Gump, describing Vietnam rain
Yes sir. Very timely reference there. Continue, please.
It began during Rays batting practice, a fine mist with the texture used to moisten indoor plants wilting from low humidity.
These plants wouldn’t happen to be in your living room, where you’re currently typing, would they?
Then it increased - in dribs and drabs, so to speak - to what I fondly call "Chub Feeney Rain."
I’ve already got a Chub Feeney for this column.
It is rain substantial enough to cause umbrellas to pop open in the stands.
Spontaneously, and on their own. I for one welcome our new umbrella overlords.
And play they did. Or at least they got in five and a half disgrace-tainted innings. It was in the low 40s when Cole Hamels delivered his first pitch to Rays leadoff hitter Akinori Iwamura. A keening wind hammered at his well-stretched back.
Bill Conlin has a Chub Feeney for Cole Hamels.
Before the game went totally to watery hell, Shane Victorino ripped a bases-loaded single in the first for a 2-0 lead off lefthander Scott Kazmir.
I picture watery hell as kind of like a sewer, only crowded. Your boatman is Tim McCarver.
Rays first baseman Carlos Pena arose from his profound lumber slumber with a fourth-inning double off the fence in right high enough to bring rain - were it not already raining.
When lumber slumber strikes, ask your doctor about Cialis.
Fellow slumper Evan Longoria sliced the Phils' lead in half with a single to left that raised a rooster tail of spray aquaplaning to Pat Burrell.
WTF?
And by the bottom of the inning and with the KPHL Doppler radar showing that South Philly was on the edge of a curtain of moderate rain - stinging rain, thanks to the blustery wind pushing it - half the crowd was waving rally towels, half was drying their faces with them. Not even Forrest Gump himself would play in that kind of weather.
Forrest Gump, however, was not a baseball player. He was a soldier. And soldiers don’t really get to choose the conditions in which they “play”. Hence the term, “soldier on”, which is precisely what the players, the umps, and the fans did. Also… “curtain of moderate rain”? That’s one hell of an oxymoron there. If, someday, I find myself in “watery hell”, I’m gonna be one disappointed damned soul if the rain is only moderate.
Kazmir walked Ryan Howard and Burrell, then left with a pitch count of 103. Longoria stood uncomfortably in a growing puddle behind third base.
Like a child, abandoned by his father at the tender age of 9, waiting for a school bus that he has already missed.
The basepaths were turning into glop. The mound was a skating rink.
Rain + dirt = glop ≠ ice. Try again.
An army of ground-crew ants scurried out with bags of quick-dry clay and tried to stem Mother Nature's onslaught.
Wait, this is Mother Nature’s fault? I thought it was Chub Feeney’s? I’m so confused.
Phillies fan and climatologist extraordinary (sic) Joe Bastardi
Yes, this is actually the guy’s name. In a world of Storm Phoenixes and Hurricane Schwartz, Joe Bastardi stands alone.
had fired off an angry 6:30 p.m. update to his blog on AccuWeather's professional site under the headline: "Cancel the Game Tonight."
Bastardi wrote there was no way in hell or Sea World the rain would let up.
Apparently, Sea World is now some sort of weather control machine. At last, we can harvest the arcane power of dolphins to mist our houseplants! Bwa-hahahaha!
Indeed, a rapidly developing coastal storm off the Mid-Atlantic States had slowed the progress of a massive upper low funneling cold air across the Great Lakes.
I am 100% certain that this sentence is directly plagiarized from some online weather reportage site.
Result: The worst weather fiasco in World Series history and another stain on the boobs who run the cash-obsessed national pastime.
I’m not so sure… the midge game in the 2007 ALDS might have this one beat. Or, you know, the 1989 world series, if earthquakes and insect infestations count as weather.
Bastardi's take: "Cancel the game tonight, and even tomorrow, and then play this when it's warmer, less windy and there is not precip in the air. It's the World Series, for goodness sakes . . . "
Um, like when, May? This is Philly. Rain, 40 degrees, and windy is the best we’re gonna do for the next six months.
Tell that to the used-car salesman running baseball and a Fox network paranoid over the prospect of being forced to play a Friday night makeup game, when America is off watching high school football in thousands of towns.
High school football: ruining America’s pastime one Friday at a time. Look, when you’re this concerned about the effect that a high school sport will have on your sport’s championship, your sport has already lost.
With two outs in the sixth, a trained seal named Hamels was pitching while surrounded by an infield closer to an Everglade than major league.
Now Conlin has a Chub Feeney for seals. Someone alert PETA.
Bill Conlin: On a rainy night in Philly, MLB drops the ball
By Bill Conlin Philadelphia Daily News
Daily News Sports Columnist
'ONE DAY it started raining, and it didn't quit for four months. We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain . . . and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath.'' - Forrest Gump, describing Vietnam rain
Yes sir. Very timely reference there. Continue, please.
It began during Rays batting practice, a fine mist with the texture used to moisten indoor plants wilting from low humidity.
These plants wouldn’t happen to be in your living room, where you’re currently typing, would they?
Then it increased - in dribs and drabs, so to speak - to what I fondly call "Chub Feeney Rain."
I’ve already got a Chub Feeney for this column.
It is rain substantial enough to cause umbrellas to pop open in the stands.
Spontaneously, and on their own. I for one welcome our new umbrella overlords.
And play they did. Or at least they got in five and a half disgrace-tainted innings. It was in the low 40s when Cole Hamels delivered his first pitch to Rays leadoff hitter Akinori Iwamura. A keening wind hammered at his well-stretched back.
Bill Conlin has a Chub Feeney for Cole Hamels.
Before the game went totally to watery hell, Shane Victorino ripped a bases-loaded single in the first for a 2-0 lead off lefthander Scott Kazmir.
I picture watery hell as kind of like a sewer, only crowded. Your boatman is Tim McCarver.
Rays first baseman Carlos Pena arose from his profound lumber slumber with a fourth-inning double off the fence in right high enough to bring rain - were it not already raining.
When lumber slumber strikes, ask your doctor about Cialis.
Fellow slumper Evan Longoria sliced the Phils' lead in half with a single to left that raised a rooster tail of spray aquaplaning to Pat Burrell.
WTF?
And by the bottom of the inning and with the KPHL Doppler radar showing that South Philly was on the edge of a curtain of moderate rain - stinging rain, thanks to the blustery wind pushing it - half the crowd was waving rally towels, half was drying their faces with them. Not even Forrest Gump himself would play in that kind of weather.
Forrest Gump, however, was not a baseball player. He was a soldier. And soldiers don’t really get to choose the conditions in which they “play”. Hence the term, “soldier on”, which is precisely what the players, the umps, and the fans did. Also… “curtain of moderate rain”? That’s one hell of an oxymoron there. If, someday, I find myself in “watery hell”, I’m gonna be one disappointed damned soul if the rain is only moderate.
Kazmir walked Ryan Howard and Burrell, then left with a pitch count of 103. Longoria stood uncomfortably in a growing puddle behind third base.
Like a child, abandoned by his father at the tender age of 9, waiting for a school bus that he has already missed.
The basepaths were turning into glop. The mound was a skating rink.
Rain + dirt = glop ≠ ice. Try again.
An army of ground-crew ants scurried out with bags of quick-dry clay and tried to stem Mother Nature's onslaught.
Wait, this is Mother Nature’s fault? I thought it was Chub Feeney’s? I’m so confused.
Phillies fan and climatologist extraordinary (sic) Joe Bastardi
Yes, this is actually the guy’s name. In a world of Storm Phoenixes and Hurricane Schwartz, Joe Bastardi stands alone.
had fired off an angry 6:30 p.m. update to his blog on AccuWeather's professional site under the headline: "Cancel the Game Tonight."
Bastardi wrote there was no way in hell or Sea World the rain would let up.
Apparently, Sea World is now some sort of weather control machine. At last, we can harvest the arcane power of dolphins to mist our houseplants! Bwa-hahahaha!
Indeed, a rapidly developing coastal storm off the Mid-Atlantic States had slowed the progress of a massive upper low funneling cold air across the Great Lakes.
I am 100% certain that this sentence is directly plagiarized from some online weather reportage site.
Result: The worst weather fiasco in World Series history and another stain on the boobs who run the cash-obsessed national pastime.
I’m not so sure… the midge game in the 2007 ALDS might have this one beat. Or, you know, the 1989 world series, if earthquakes and insect infestations count as weather.
Bastardi's take: "Cancel the game tonight, and even tomorrow, and then play this when it's warmer, less windy and there is not precip in the air. It's the World Series, for goodness sakes . . . "
Um, like when, May? This is Philly. Rain, 40 degrees, and windy is the best we’re gonna do for the next six months.
Tell that to the used-car salesman running baseball and a Fox network paranoid over the prospect of being forced to play a Friday night makeup game, when America is off watching high school football in thousands of towns.
High school football: ruining America’s pastime one Friday at a time. Look, when you’re this concerned about the effect that a high school sport will have on your sport’s championship, your sport has already lost.
With two outs in the sixth, a trained seal named Hamels was pitching while surrounded by an infield closer to an Everglade than major league.
Now Conlin has a Chub Feeney for seals. Someone alert PETA.
Labels: Chub Feeney, FJM, what made you think you could work in the world of men, World Series
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