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You have to understand how dumb the Phillies' ownership is. They are historically dumb. Monumentally dumb. This contract should be no surprise to anyone who has followed this team since it was owned by Bill Giles, David Montgomery, et al. starting in 1981. These are stupid people. They do stupid things. This is a stupid thing, which they will disguise as being a good thing: "Taking care of our own."
It will be fun to watch them trade Roy Halladay in the last year or two of his contract to help cut payroll so they can still pay Ryan Howard, who they can't unload to anyone at any price.
Amaro is an idiot, but you have to understand he was weaned at the ### of the most titanic idiot to run a baseball team in decades: Ed Wade. The way to understand this deal is to substitute "Wade" for "Amaro." Do that and suddenly you can see how such a mistake happens...
A guy 14th on the home run list (and, I'll point out, 7th when he retired), who lead his league in home runs EIGHT times (in leagues with low overall homer rates), isn't an "inner circle home run hitter"? Really? Or is there some subtlety here that I'm missing?
Didn't Eldred hurt himself? Back IIRC.
I remember thinking he had a chance to be pretty good. 301/.377/.606 in A+ and AA (OK he was oldish for the league. At least he dominated)...
Must have been a sight in right field though.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of old baseball lore
While I nodded, nearly sleeping, suddenly there came a beeping,
As of some one gently tweeting, tweeting on my monitor.
'Thy news comes unasked for,' I muttered, 'beeping on my monitor -
Just one look, then nothing more.'
Ah, delicious was the warm thrill of our dominance in April,
For each and every Phil the NL East a group above to soar.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - Halladay could cause no sorrow
Nor his game pitched cause more woe - more woe in Philly's war -
For the war was fought each day and winner shown in final score -
T'would the East make '10 a bore?
And the pulsing ghostly pleading of mozilla's twitter feed
Thrilled me - filled me with uneasy nerves as such I'd felt before;
So that now, to still the shaking of my hand, I sat repeating
''Tis some baseball score entreating reading on my monitor -
Some late baseball score entreating reading on my monitor; -
That it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my hand grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
'Sir,' said I, 'or Madam, truly your updates I abhor;
For the fact is I was sleeping, and so gently you came tweeting.
And so faintly was the beeping, beeping on my monitor,
That I woke once I had heard it' - here I clicked to view the score; -
A link was there instead, and more.
Deep into that blue link peering, long I sat there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no fan had dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the blue link gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word I swore.
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word I swore.
Merely this, as I read more.
Proving I was not still sleeping, back into mozilla beeping,
Again I heard a tweeting somehow louder than before.
'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is news repeated;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my hand be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis but madness, nothing more!'
In dark thoughts my mind now loomed, when startling noise came from my room,
In there stepped Amaro of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obesiance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, came straight through my room's closed door -
Stood atop old pizza boxes strew about my cluttered floor -
Stood in silence, nothing more.
Then this mortal man beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the goofy stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
'Though thy team be filled with talent, thou,' I said, 'more goof than gallant.
Foolish Rube, thy offer made from wandering on Howard's floor -
Tell me all thy lordly reasons for making such an offer poor.!'
Quoth Amaro, "Pay him more."
Much I marveled this ungainly man to hear discourse so plainly,
Though his answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with foolish thoughts and reasoning so poor -
Dead nor living man had led the Phillies whole front office corps,
With such plan as 'Pay him more.'
But Amaro, sitting lonely on the placid box, spoke only,
That one phrase, as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not one syllable he stuttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered 'Other basemen paid before -
With such skills have aged so poorly, so thy logic must be more.'
Then the Rube said, 'Pay him more.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
'Doubtless,' said I, 'what you utter is your only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom some financial disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his team that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Pay him - Pay him more.''
But Amaro still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled my cushioned seat in front of man and box and door;
Then, upon the carpet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this portly man of lore -
What this glib, ungainly, goofy, garrish, portly man of lore
Meant in croaking 'Pay him more.'
This I say engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the man whose beady eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's duct taped lining that the light bulb gloated o'er,
Just whose contributions at the plate now cause our runs to score,
His at-bats, ah, pay him more!
Then, mesaw, in future tense, a mighty bat swing for the fences
Swung by Howard whose great strikeouts all mankind had seen before.
'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee - by some angels he has sent thee
Dingers - dingers and some RBIs from memories of yore!
Rube, this price for RBIs is too high to ignore!
Quoth Amaro, 'Pay him more.'
'Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still if man or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this baseball team enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there payroll extra? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth Amaro, 'Pay him more.'
'Prohpet!' Said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, if man or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us, by that sport we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant seasons
It shall clasp a great free agent, see waning might restored -
Clasp a rare and prized free agent, see waning might restored?'
Quoth Amaro, 'Pay him more.'
'Be that phrase our sign of parting, man or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Jeterian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of the harm thy soul has spoken!
Leave my championship unbroken! - your decisions I deplore!
Take thy ballpoint from my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!
Quoth Amaro, 'Pay him more.'
And Amaro, never quitting, still permitting, still permitting
Words of malice and derision to appear upon my monitor;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the thought that was us creaming all the NL is no more;
And my team from out the basement that awaits us in year four
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Mike Schmidt's club-record 548 career home runs is now in jeopardy.
This whole thread was just full of fun prognostication.
Probably the same thing. And who knows what Pujols will get. I'm glad the Angels have Kendry, who won't hit arbitration until after this year. It will be a few years before he's in line for an inflated contract like this.
76. Davo's Favorite Tacos Are Moose Tacos Posted: April 26, 2010 at 09:17 PM (#3514711)
Just so there's no confusion when people look at the BBTF archives 5 years from now:
This is a catastrophically bad decision by the Phils.
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