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Killing Santa: a hyper-link’d poetic recap: Braves 9, Phillies 2

On Christmas in July, the Phillies embraced their lump of Cole

MLB: Atlanta Braves at Philadelphia Phillies
Tonight, Santa died. Baseball killed him.
Bill Streicher-USA TODAY Sports

An effective promotional tie-in requires taut, nylon rope,
strong enough to establish a connection, without breaking, something like:

Christmas in July! At a a baseball game!

We are addicted to beliefs of all sorts, like a that of an obese speed junkie philanthropist
visiting us all in one night, giving all of us toys, even the shitheads among us;

and we believe we always have a chance to win,
that there’s no clock,
that comebacks are things that happen, and worst of all:
we are all kids again, playing a kid’s game.

But buddy:

Lemme pop dat bubble dere:
Baseball’s changed and it’s walking around in the exercise yard, and plotting mercurially in the shadowy corners, and it’s going to get the fat man with a shiv.
No slush balls this time, mind you, I’m telling you: He’s getting it in the ribs,

(if we can find them)

Because here’s what’s real:
The Braves are better runners and hitters than the Phillies.

And by the end of the 5th, down 5-1, after Realmuto grounded out against Newcomb after the Braves lifted their capable 21-year-old starter, the chances had shriveled to below ten percent.

“Kid,” he called over to the bullpen, “Kid - do what you can with your meager talent to keep the Braves at bay. We’ll take our chances.”

He knew there were no chances.

And the kid was all over the place, and the Braves scored four times more with one hit, and after the shiv we got out the lovely nylon rope
the one that ties things up so very nicely
and choked that jolly old elf to death on a night in July, then with pure gall said:

“We’ll get ‘em tomorrow.”

We are left to root for numbers, walking about the Yard
(perhaps with good behavior)
the parole board will spring us one day

(we don’t have a chance in hell)