For five innings, Lockett [1] was close to our hearts, but in the sixth, we were forced to realize Font [2] just wasn’t our type [3]. By the time we got around to Flexen [4], we had no strength left.
I’d had a silly thought — a thought so silly that it might have worked. I tried to tell Mickey Callaway that sometimes, like when your summer is on the brink of ending barely after it’s begun, the sixth inning may as well be the ninth inning. Maybe neither Walker Lockett nor Wilmer Font was going to be the one for us. I tried to remind him right then and there how Andrew Miller was used in the 2016 postseason for Cleveland under the watchful eye of pitching coach Mickey Callaway. Miller, the Indians’ best reliever, wasn’t saved for a save opportunity that might not materialize. He was used to ensure wins when wins were up for grabs.
But Mickey wouldn’t even look up from his phone as I made my case. “I gotta respond to this,” he said. “It’s Brodie.”
Brodie. It’s always Brodie. I don’t even think Brodie is supposed to be texting Mickey while the game is going on, but maybe I’m just old-fashioned that way.
“Ask him if we can use extraordinarily well-rested Edwin Diaz here,” I pleaded. “It would seem so innovative that the Phillies wouldn’t know what hit them.”
Mickey grunted and typed. Brodie typed back.
“He says I can’t take out Font yet and I can’t go anywhere near Diaz until we get a lead late.”
“But we have a lead and it’s ready to melt like the Turkey Hill Ice Cream they sell at Citizens Bank Park,” I said. “We were ahead, 5-2, coming into the sixth. Walker was wonderful. He was done, though. It was just one of those things with too many flings.”
“Hold on,” Mickey replied. “Brodie wants me to tell Wilmer to take aim at somebody’s head. He liked your idea about the Phillies not knowing what hits them.”
Brodie. It’s always Brodie and aiming at some Phillie’s head. Brodie’s texts always come first, game or no game. Robinson Cano always comes third, hits or no hits. Jeff McNeil always comes through, win or no win. Gabe Kapler always comes unglued. Or he came unglued out of the box and nobody ever bothered to affix his components properly. Meanwhile, here we are, languishing in fourth place, six games under .500, north only of San Francisco and Miami in the entire league.
Us and the Marlins. What a summer.