Poor Richard's Scorecard

Citizens Bank Park Is Beautiful, But to Sell Tickets, the Phillies Needed to Realize It's the Wins, Stupid

BASEBALL EXECUTIVES who think shiny new retro parks with good beer and plush amenities will put rear ends into seats over the long term are very much mistaken. Surely the front offices in Pittsburgh, Milwaukee, Washington, and Cincinnati would testify to this. A few years ago, the Phillies would, too.

The Phillies Phinally Get a World Series Opponent: Bring on the Yankees

It would have been nice for the Angels to stretch the Yankees to seven games, forcing New York to start C.C. Sabathia, but dems da breaks, as they say. The Yanks, having failed to close out the American League Championship Series in Anaheim, returned to the Bronx last night and took rain-delayed Game 6, 5-2. The Phillies will begin the 2009 World Series Wednesday night in New York.

In Which a Former Second Baseman Is Forced to Learn What a Corner Kick Is

Her ponytail bobbing behind her, her jersey rippling in the air as she sprints, her bright red socks pulled up to her knees, her black shin guards gleaming in the sunshine, my 8-year-old looks like a soccer player. More significantly, either dribbling the ball deftly downfield or scooping up a shot while expertly playing goal, she plays like one.

This baseball-lovin' dad is having to come to terms with these facts.

Catching Up: Cliff Lee, Ben Francisco, the Drug Sox, Jim Johnson

Yes, it's been a little while, so let's catch up quick:

I like the trade for Cliff Lee. We won't know for years whether the package of prospects the Blue Jays wanted for Roy Halladay was worth holding on to, or whether the package dealt to the Indians for Lee was worth letting go. But in the short term, Ruben Amaro, Jr., made the Phillies a better team (by a lot) than they were two days ago, and he did it without having to sacrifice what he and his colleagues see as the most important members of the next wave.

Hey, It Could Have Been Worse: At Least Charlie Didn't Select J-Roll

Charlie Manuel has always been known as a players' manager, and surely among the strongest evidence of that was his choosing two Phillies to stock the National League's All-Star bench and a third to start in place of an injured player. Fans of other teams whose deserving players are instead on three-day golf breaks surely are griping about Uncle Cholly's favoritism. I say: Get over it.

There's No Crying in Baseball--Unless They're Tears of Happiness

Nearly five years after her big sister's first major league game, the youngest member of the PRS household made her debut in the Show Friday night. Coincidentally, the opponent was the same, with the Phillies hosting Baltimore. There were other similarities, of course: Food played a major role, with chicken fingers and fries and soft-serve in a Phillies cap occupying plenty of the younger one's time. At one point I counted just six seconds between her placing the water bottle into the cup holder in front of her and plucking it out again to take another small swig. As her sister did in 2004, she clapped when everyone else did, especially when the Phils jumped out to the early lead. Naturally, she exploded with joy at the sight of the Phanatic.

Ah, but there were differences, too.

Charlie Manuel's Got Nothing on Me

The look on my daughter's face told me all I needed to know. Playing first base, she had just cleanly fielded a ground ball and stepped on the bag to notch the putout. She looked over at me, pride exploding from every pore, a grin to light the blackest night brightening her face. As a dad and as a coach, I felt the happiness surge through me. Yesterday the softball team I coach, a squad comprising the sweetest grade-school girls you could hope to meet, played its last game, and as they struck liners and snagged grounders and made plays in the field, I got an inkling of why teachers do what they do. Watching your charges learn and apply that knowledge is powerful stuff. As lightning streaked across the sky and rumbling thunder warned that we needed to curtail the last inning by a few batters, various moms and dads came up to thank me for my efforts this year; but it is I who is thankful, for the chance to pass along my love of baseball to their daughters and to witness them develop as ballplayers who took pride in their accomplishments. | PRS

Why Else Would I Still Remember Wayne Twitchell's Name After All These Years?

Just about everyone in Philadelphia has a Harry Kalas story. In the nearly week that has passed since his death, many have talked--in print, on the air, to friends--about personal experiences with the man, the special calls that touched their lives, the soundtrack he provided during endless summers at the Shore. My appreciation of Harry and my mourning are similarly based, but there is more as well, another reason he'll always be with me as long as I follow baseball.

A Younger Player Steps Up

At Citizens Bank Park, a reason to be hopeful about the future

Yes, there were requests for a hot dog and popcorn and ice cream.

But there were also squeals of delight and leaps into my arms when Ryan Howard dropped a pair of dingers into the left field seats. There were smiles and thumbs pointed to the bright white No. 11 printed on the back of her red t-shirt whenever Jimmy Rollins approached the plate. There were requests about the count and the number of outs and who was up next.

While Jamie Moyer was crisply dispatching the Cardinals, my older daughter was continuing her maturation into a full-fledged baseball fan. On a pleasant day at Citizens Bank Park, we lasted all nine innings, and in contrast to previous outings, our focus was not entirely on junk food; there was an equal interest in the happenings on the field. Baseball, I am discovering, is not a game passed on by fathers to their sons; it is something we nurture in our children.

The Phillies could have gotten smoked yesterday, and it wouldn't have mattered: I had a truly magnificent afternoon, thanks to a 3-foot blonde sweetheart who did her dad proud. | PRS