THE CHEESE WHIZARD

I have acted as a therapist of sorts all season.

Mostly, my clients have been Philadelphians. Since I live on the west coast, and can therefore watch from afar instead of being sucked into the funnel of worry and cynicism that is the local Philadelphia sports opinion, I can approach things from a slightly less emotional place. I’m a rational guy. I believe in things that make sense.

I believe in The Phillies. The Phillies make sense.

It makes sense when Charlie Manuel makes the tough decision to start JA Happ last night, a lefty, the sort that the Rockies don’t hit well.

It makes sense when he has the conviction to pull the young starter in the top of the fourth. Cholly makes tough decisions.

It makes sense when Carlos Ruiz, who, by the way, since the NLCS against the Dodgers last year is now batting .341 with 7 RBI in the post season, helps his staff out with two RBI hits tonight. Chooch is clutch.

And then the ninth inning arrives, and all you can do is hope. You just hope things keep making sense.

You hope that your leadoff hitter, Jimmy Rollins, is gutsy enough to tough out his early post season struggles to slap one through and get on base. You hope Victorino can get the bunt down and make it interesting by flying to first. You hope Utley busts it down the line, even if the ball DID go off of his shin, even if he WAS out at first base, just to give the umpire the chance to call him safe for his hustle. You hope Howard can hit a fly ball. You hope.

And on a cold night at Coors Field, it kept making sense, until…

…Brad Lidge walked in from right field, and nobody knew what made sense anymore. That’s what made last night’s finish ‘epic,’ as my dad so appropriately texted.

The moment he walked out of the bullpen I started jumping around like a 6-year-old on Christmas Eve, pulling the hair on my head from its roots, screaming, “He’s coming in! He’s coming in!”

Though Carlos Gonzales did his best to single handedly keep the Rockies in the playoffs, Lidge was clutch. With nobody but the struggling Myers, the young Bastardo, and the questionable Kendrick left behind him, Brad Lidge stepped up, rode the momentum of his team’s loyalty and got three big outs. He saved the game, and, ultimately, it makes no sense.

Side note, I’d have paid a few ‘G’s’ to have been a ‘fly on the mound’ for Charlie Manuel’s think tank session before Helton’s at bat in the ninth. Seemed like he said something like, “Pitch around Helton, I know you’ve got Tulowitzki…oh, and don’t screw up again.”

For a game that relies so heavily on numbers, and trends, and rationale, the climax of Game Three was an unforgettable moment in Philadelphia sports history where the hero closer who limped into the playoffs got reinvented by postseason pressure; resurrected by pure emotion.

The Phillies proved themselves to be the resilient bunch they claimed to be all week with a gutsy, come from behind victory, in a frigidly hostile environment, capped by an unimaginable ninth inning. They found a way to win when it made sense. They found a way to win when it made no sense.

They know how to do it.

After all, they’re still the champs.