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Editor's note: We are ultra-thrilled today to have received a playoff-special dispatch from TGP Special Correspondent Pat the Bat. We are indebted to Pat's representatives, Mike and The Guy, who arranged a session with Pat and our digital tape recorder late yesterday afternoon in San Francisco. Links to previous episodes of Veteran Clubhouse Presence can be found at the end of this NLCS feature.
I'm in a giving mood, blogalogadingdongs, and some sick combination of I-told-you-so/stuff-it-in-Amaro's-tight-Stanford-ass and, hell, I'll admit it, a little soft spot for those coupla weeks in May when you were there to fill some time and help me do some thinking brings me back to squawking at this little recorder. Who the hell knows - it may have done me some good. Not a bad year, either, since we last met. And boy, what a shame it would be if the Rays needed just a bit more offense to have won that series, huh? [Ed. note - this was recorded prior to the conclusion of last night's ALDS Rangers-Rays Game 5, won by the Texas Rangers.] I've been on this Internet thing too, more than just the boner jams Vic sends me, too. Some of it's still an endless source of stiff sick stuff, so you can't fool me that you pervert nerds are just looking at stats all the time. But goddamn - if I find out any of you jackwipes had anything to do with this, so help me God, I will club you to death and serve you to Elvis.
Anyways, last time I yapped at you fools I told you I hope you'd see me in the playoffs. You chanted during the '08 parade for me to come back to Philly. Well, spread 'em wide open, South Philadelphia, you are about to find out about a Bat that lasts longer than 7 games, so get ready to call your doctor. Here's my playoff pervue. (Oh, and spoiler alert: GIANTS WIN. Guess who murders you? Don't pretend you won't enjoy it, neither. It just makes me hotter.)
Over the weekend, as we had SuperGirl lined up for game 5 and felt we could win the thing on Monday in Atlanta, The Bouche and Spaghetti called me into their office. I get there and some of the Giants scouts are there. So they start grilling me. You've been with that club, Pat, lay it out for us, it's time to know everything - tendencies, habits, what do we need to know?
I smile back. They have no idea. But hey, for the most part I'm an open book, so I start in with my preamble:
It's been a couple of years, fellas, but when we were back there in August, Delilah's was all touristy and ex-frat boy bachelor partied out, kind of sad really, even the upstairs VIP area where I rolled. Vic was telling me Christine's is what's up these days, and I'll admit it was pretty hot, but I'm pretty sure he was pimping it because of his UFC fanboy stuff which they're into there. It is a nicer distance away from the park than Cheerleaders - I'm honestly at a point in my career where I want to relax and see a nice pair after a game without all that fan bullcrap. Jeezus, I have enough trouble with foul balls giving me shiners, I don't need some guy who thinks he's Larry F'n Bowa drunk on Bushmills and taking swings at me. Now around the cages I was talking to their young guys, and they told me this place has had some juice this summer. I don't know if that means there's any tension in the clubhouse or not, you know, contracted versus cost-controlled guys. It happens to the best teams sometimes. I then ask if we're planning to leave Thursday or Friday.
Pat, they say, that's good, but let's go through the lineup. They ask me to do that thing I do where they give me a name and I say what pops in my mind. I don't know that I have this exact, so I'll reconstruct.
Jimmy Rollins - Just let our pitchers know he doesn't last long. And his leg needs rest probably. Just don't throw him anything stupid. I don't know how, but the guy's magical. You might as well walk him if you get to 3-1 even with the the way he's going now. Don't get him started on his little pixie dust runs.
Placido Polanco - Damn, I hated to play hurt. Guys walk around like they're dead and they don't know they're dead, like that spooky movie that was set in Philly when I played there. I like him, but his elbow's shot man, he's done for this year. I feel kind of bad for him.
Chase Utley -One time right after I got Elvis Utley was over and he was talking to me, real intense, about a dog's anal glands, and how you gotta relieve them every once in a while. And he just grabs Elvis from the rear and shows me, no gloves neither. And once he puts his hands on Elvis' ass the dog doesn't even whimper, I mean, he just sat there and took it. The guy's crazy, but I'll tell you, even I can't touch Elvis' paws without it being a damn half an hour of yapping. Next time he comes over, Elvis just takes a look at Utley and pees like a little bitch. It was hilarious, but scary.
Ryan Howard - He's strong, but this year and against Cincy he's been flaring some stuff into left. I don't need no effing fielding adventures Piece, just put it in the upper deck or strike out.
Jayson Werth - His situation's a little different business wise for sure, but I see so much of myself a couple of years ago. I'm kind of worried that he'll come up bigger as each stage of the playoffs go on. You have no idea how much that no-talent big shot daddy's boy MBA makes you want to just murder the ball.
Raul Ibanez - You just can't ever tell me, ever, that I couldn't have performed as well as this guy did and for half the damn money too. Have you seen his throws? I mean, shit! Tell our pitchers to bean him.
Shane Victorino - I just gotta remember not to look at him when he's in the box or especially if either one of us is on the basepaths. We just know too damn much about each other. I'm afraid I might get laughing and I'll get punked like how Myers did Werth earlier this season.
Carlos Ruiz - Chooch is the glue. He makes Lieberthal look like a pimp in an A-ball town.
Roy Halladay - I can actually hit this guy. Seriously, I don't get what the fuss is about. He throws strikes and I hit them.
Roy Oswalt - Gives me some fits. He's in my book but I have a hard time picking up that low ball. Most short guys kind of bother me that way.
Cole Hamels - He's a punk with serious stuff, but he's totally bitch-ass. I just have this feeling I'm going yard on him.
Joe Blanton - Please oh please oh please
J. C. Romero - One time I face this guy, I strike out. I will right this great wrong and get a walk like everybody else and their goddamned minor league mother this time around.
Ryan Madson - I just hope I avoid this cat.
Brad Lidge - He's a man, but I can own him. Oh yes yes.
With that, I gotta run. Wife is texting me wanting to know when she should fly up to join the team. In no rush to answer that one, but her little partner Mrs. Moyer is bound to spill the beans, so I just gotta get those reunion fantasies out of my head. It's all business this time around, anyways, it's not mid-August, there's not much time. I text Vic: TOLD SUPERGIRL TO THROW AT UR HEAD & THAT U LIKE IT LIKE THAT. SPREAD UR PINEAPPLE CHEEKS, PAT THE BAT IS CUMING 2 TOWN.
Oh yeah, one last thing, dorkists: Last night I had a dream, and I'm telling you, it was a Halloween Parade-Meets-Gay-Pride-Day-Meets-Critical-Mass and it all culminated with everybody running down naked and cold down Lombard Street, and everybody was beautiful, and everybody's nipples stood out in the cold Frisco air, and they all chanted my name as I log-rolled a full keg of beer, high on MSG from Chinatown, Gilroy garlic from the Stinking Rose, and the finest ganga from The Haight. Then we all broke into Ghirardelli's and ate all their chocolate and made like it was Cable Car Day all over again. Back in June I would have never believed it. Those dreams used to wake me in a cold sweat. These days when I have them I wake up with a pink bat. Hey lookit me, I'm a West Coast swinger. Suck it, Rubes.
So give me a big standing O when I come to the plate Saturday night. You'll feel better. Then watch me murder you.
Pat out.
Previously on Veteran Clubhouse Presence:
Week 3 Diary: Beating the Bushes
An Earnest Appeal to Pat the Bat
Bonus Fanboy Beat Poem Homage:
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this blog entry are purely those of the writer, who went to Delilah's once, not really intending to, and found the experience much like going to Abilene for ice cream. The content and allegations contained in this piece are merely inspired by actual events by current or former major league baseball bats or players, one of whom I used to think might provide better content than I could, but I've since come around on that.