Not a good night for baseball

The Phils go down to ignominious defeat. The Tribe rallies to within a run but Belliard kills the deal with a game-ending DP with runners at the corners. Sad.

So rather than watch the lowlights, I am tuned to Spike TV, which is showing the complete Godfather saga, presented in chronological order, with previously unshown scenes. At least I know how it ends, and I won't get sick to my stomach watching the horror unfold, if only because I have seen it all before dozens of times. Don Ciccio is about to buy the farm at the hands of Antonio Andolini's son, aka Don Vito Corleone.

Watching the Phils makes me a bit like Don Ciccio: too blind to see what's right in front of my face, ie, the imminent demise (of my team, not of me, I hope!). And as I watch excruciating loss after excruciating loss, I feel like Don Cheech must have felt as Vito Corleone sent him his father's "greetings" in the form of a knife to the gut.