Hello, and welcome to the sports article, guest-hosted by me...Helen's over-worked liver. The idiot that can feel me hardening under her right breast has been a very busy girl lately; staying up late nights watching the Phillies lose every game since the first to the dark dynasty that is the Yankees. To calm her nerves she's been coaxed into complete decadence: girl-party after party and girl-drink after drink.
I don't know how she finds these things, but Game 3 had her attending a pajama party on the South side of town. She drank at least one flavored malt beverage -- princess doesn't like the taste of real beer -- for every inning.
Nine ladies...I had to process over nine alcoholic beverages, while my buddy the stomach worked on little baby hotdogs wrapped in pretzels and one of each color "P-decorated" cupcake.
Which brings us to Sunday and Game 4. Long before those baseball jocks were reaching for their cups, someone told my girl that it would be a great idea to start out early in the morning and make a whole day of it. Philly vs. New York. Football and Baseball...
Unfortunately for all her internal organs she loved the idea.
Women were invited and my enzymes started processing vodka via a Bloody Mary at 9 a.m. Atrophied muscle groups were asked to play one of those bean bag toss games and the stomach was asked to not toss a potent mixture of Mexican omelets and Halloween candy. Ears received a message about switching to iced tea, but neurons got crossed and hands reached for a vodka flavored that way.
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