Ow, My Head

Well, the Phillies' postseason is over as quickly as it began. Three games against the Rockies, three losses. Just like that, they're done. But you know what? I'm okay with it. While I certainly would have liked to see them advance, as a fan, I was on a free roll anyway. They weren't supposed to be in the playoffs. I was never expecting them to be there. I had already resigned myself more than once during the season to another October without the Phillies, so when they ended up being there, it was a such a pleasant surprise that nothing could really ruin it.

Still, the way in which they bowed out was hardly pleasant. In fact, their entire season draws shocking parallels to a day in the life of a college student. The day, like the Phillies, started badly. Let's say it was a Friday and you had class all morning, even though the majority of people at your college didn't have Friday classes at all, let alone at 8am. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, class ends. Now you're off to happy hour at the local watering hole, and things are going well.

Unfortunately, because you've already been awake so long, after a few beers at happy hour, you're starting to feel tired and sluggish. By now it's about 5:30 in the afternoon and you have a very crucial decision to make: take a nap to rest up for an evening of debauchery, or do some laundry, get high and fall asleep at a reasonable hour to prepare for tomorrow. The Phillies, given their plague of injuries, chose the latter. But some of their players didn't get the message. And neither did the Mets.

So anyway, you're getting ready for bed. You're tired, maybe a little buzzed, and looking forward to sleeping for the next 14 hours while the world around you parties. You're very okay with this, but then your phone rings. One of your buddies calls you up to tell you about a huge party going on in Brooklyn. You tell him you're about to go to bed and that you don't want to head over to BK, but he keeps pestering you and eventually you give in. All of a sudden your night has new life.

It starts out well enough. The party seems pretty sweet. That asshole from Queens that you hate decided not to come at the last minute, and that jerk from Atlanta who seems to be at every party decided not to show either. There's even a couple hot chicks there, one of whom is for whatever reason willing to talk to you. You're hitting it off, but then everything takes a turn for the worse. The fact that you've been awake for the last 18 hours is, along with the beer, starting to catch up to you. Some hotshot freshman jerkoff from Denver has started talking to your girl and you're too drunk/tired to do anything about it. The next thing you know he's leaving with her and you're waiting 30 minutes for the L train at 4am with your buddy, sucking down a Pabst you jacked from the fridge at the party, wondering what just happened. You wake up the next morning naked on your floor, a little confused at how you got there.

All in all the night could have gone better, but you don't have any regrets. The party was pretty cool, and while you may not have been fully prepared for it, time at college is precious and one must make the most of every second of it. You feel deep down that this was a step in the right direction. Next time you'll take that girl home and rail her till you get a trophy with a bunch of little flags on it. Next time you wont just be happy to be there. Next time you'll be ready. But right now your head hurts and you just need to crawl back into bed for the next 6 hours and sleep off any lingering effects.

That's the way I feel about the Phillies' season. No regrets. It's definitely something upon which they can build, even if it didn't quite end perfectly. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go back to bed and sleep the NLDS off.