Get thee to Atlantic City

I don’t know what it was this past Saturday morning that gave me the magic touch. It could have been that muffin I had at class. At the time, I thought it was a mere above-average muffin; perhaps it was baked with luck.

Mmm…luck.

My Saturday morning class has become a product of knowledge, rather than achievement. You see, our entire grade is based on three memos we need to turn in, and there is no midterm or final to worry about. This changes my study methods dramatically. I can now pay attention and learn for learning’s sake. I no longer have to worry about what minute details needs to be furiously scribbled down. I can take in the all the public policy I want. And…

I can communicate with the outside world during the slower parts of class. This normally happens during the latter half of class. And when I began one such conversation, I had no idea that I about to invoke the power of keen foresight (which I had no idea I actually held.) The dialogue was simple. I mentioned to a friend I was driving up to Philly to watch the red-hot Phillies take on the Milwaukee Brewers. He asked for a prediction. And then I typed my prophecy.

Before I reveal, take this into consideration. For years, my dad has asked me how I thought the outcome of baseball/football/hockey scores. Being a sports fiend, I can normally give you the winner. But like any other person, pinpointing the scores and individual statistics is an exercise in futility. I might as well be stepping to the plate against Roger Clemens with a fish.

Fish make terrible bats. I make terrible bets. Nonetheless, I threw the following statline his way.

“Randy Wolf – he’ll pitch 6 1/3 innings, and surrender 3 runs on 5 hits. But the bullpen won’t hold that, probably give up two more. Phillies 7, Brewers 5.”

This random conjecture was a marginally informed one, but hey, it’s not like I had money riding on it.

Maybe I should have.

The game itself was great. Back and forth through the first 5 innings, the Fightin’s would grab a lead only to have the Brewcrew match in the following top half. 2-2. 3-3. And as the bottom of the sixth ended with a pinch hitter for Mr. Wolf, the Phils ended up with a 4-3 edge.It wasn’t until Geoff Geary took the mound that I thought to glance up at the massive left field scoreboard for Wolf’s final line. But then, like some sort of statistical magic trick, I saw it:

R. Wolf: 6 IP, 5 H, 3 R

So I was off by one hitter in the seventh. So what? I’ve never been that accurate in my life. I was so please with myself that I barely noticed Geary’s 7th inning meltdown as Milwaukee put 2 more across the place to take a 5-4 lead on the Phils.

The back and forth nature of the game, the electricity of this current hot streak, the batters due up next, it all seemed like the stars were aligning for a comeback. And then the Heavens played the clincher.

Now pitching for Milwaukee: Ricky Bottalico.

Now Ricky Bottalico has been a Phillie two or three times. He was always a little fish thrown into the shoes of a bigger fish (that is, uh, if fish wore shoes. Or had feet.) Philly knows him for the below-average reliever he is. He practically got a standing O. And this was before he gave up lead-ff singles to Michaels and Abreu. And definitely before Pat Burrell took his slider and made it a left-field stands souvenir. Thanks, Ricky.

The tilted the score back in the Phils’ favor, and after two more innings of silent bats from the visiting team, the final score was etched in the scorebook for good. Phillies 7, Brewers 5.

Somebody get me a lotto ticket.