I do. I smell a bit of hope wafting from a Phillies ballclub that has put the MAN in MANURE.

Honestly, I’m getting really excited watching the team play now. Chase Utley’s on a hitting streak and recently surpassed No.2 on the all-time Phillies hit streak list (Set in the 19th Century, mind you.)

Ryan Howard’s hitting home runs farther than I drive to work each morning. Brett Myers (domestic assault issues aside) is throwing hard and striking batters out. Chirs Coste, god love him, is a 33 year old rookie catcher batting .330

I’m getting excited, but I should know better. I’ve been down this road before. It’s road full of promises and let downs, lined with hills of victories and valleys of slumps. Yet just when the road gets too bumpy, everything gets better.

It’s well lit, this road.

But as a veteran, I know the secret from years of experience.

It’s a one-way road.

And a 18-wheeler’s heading straight for us.

"Just wait till the year after next year."–The Philadelphia Inquirer

Ode to Mitch: "An escalator can never break . It can only become stairs. You will never see an ‘Escalator temporarily out of order’ sign.

More like ‘Escalator temporarily stairs.’ Sorry for the convenience.

I could never give up on the Phillies.

The Phils are my constant.

The Phils have little chance of a playoff this year. They will have a fire sale soon, I’m sure. They’ll get rid of Bobby Abreu (who I hope they won’t), Pat Burrell (who I hope they will) or Mike Lieberthal (who I’ve always liked but I think it’s time, for the sake of the team. Give him a job as an announcer or something).

But my problem all these years is I’ve always held out hope that the Phils can come back after the All Star break, overcome astronomical odds and make it to the playoffs.

That’s why I could never give up on the Phils. Hope.

My father was seven years old in 1950, when for the "Whiz Kids," the Phillies team that overcame all odds, bookies and common sense and won the division.  Few believed the Phils could do it, even my father, a bigger Phils fan than I am. But they did.

It was because of Richie Ashburn and Robin Roberts–and the underlying spirit of the Philadelphia underdog–that they we won the pennant. My father tells these stories of the Phillies then, when the team–in a typical end-of-season slide–almost proved one of the greatest diappointents in Phillies history.

But they snapped together, won the last game of the year, and made it to the World Series.

I believe.

Of course, in that World Series, the Phils were swept by the Yankees. But they lost by one single run in each game. If the underdog can’t win, we at least want him to prove himself capable of playing with the Big Boys.

It’s like Rocky Balboa, who near the end of "Rocky," tells his girlfriend he knows he can’t beat the legend, Apollo Creed. He just wants to go the distance, and to prove himself even though he can’t win.

That’s why I believe in the Phils. No matter how they play–no matter how many losses they have by All Star game–deep down I know they can prove themselves, and in the midst, make me (and my father) proud to be fans.

Now let’s make some trades!

Who doesn’t have regrets? In life, each day, we make decisions–or don’t make decisions–nearly every minute. Most of these flutter away with the wind, never to be remembered again.

But a few of these decisions–to ask a girl to dance or to entertain trade talks with Bobby Abreu–impact us for many years.

We all have regrets.

I mention this because the fightin’ Phils are nearing the trade deadline, and one name appears above all others–Bobby Abreu.

He dogs it sometimes, I hear. He’s not a team player, I hear.

The truth is, he’s perhaps the best overall, talented ballplayer the Phils have. He works pitchers deep in the count, he has the skill to bat with two strikes against him, and he knows how to get on base better than anyone I’ve ever seen.

And, apparently, the Phillies want to trade him.

That, I feel, the Phillies will regret.

Those that stick with us over the years should be encouraged to stick with us. Trading him to the Yankees (which I’ve heard) would be clearing house of an old Phillies memory of hope and inevitable disappointment.

I know the feeling, but we as Phils fans must fight it.

Once, I didn’t ask a girl to dance. It was a long time ago, but I remember it because I regreted it at the time.

The same hold true for Bobby Abreu.

Sure, Bobby seems like he could be with anyone–he could play in New York or Boston as much as Philadelphia, and he would fit right in. He’ll probably win a World Series if he does.

But the Phils should try to keep Bobby in town. Don’t just trade him to the highest bidder.

Basically, Phils management, ask him to dance. If he says ‘yes,’ hold onto him, the future.

So Phils legend John Kruk belts a homer in the All Star Game’s softball game for ex pros and celebrities.

Like an injured Rhino, the hefty Kruker chugs around the bases while an announcer says he heard Kruk recently lost about 60 pounds.

And then I heard the coolest line ever on television.

"60 pounds? That’s like a suitcase falling off the Queen Mary."

Priceless.

Also, Ryan Howard won the Home Run Derby, which means nothing to me. A Phillie won the derby two years in a row.

The Phillies hit home runs. That’s what they do. It’s the only thing they do.

ODE TO INKY—

So this guy on mlblogs.com has this site about all the foul balls he caught in his life. Thousands of baseballs, each one a tiny accomplishment–a representation of luck, perseverance and hand-eye coordination.

I have never caught a foul ball.

In 27 years, I estimate I’ve attended about 200 professional baseball games. Sitting along first base, third base, behind home plate, in the outfield, in the nosebleed section, I have never so much as touched a foul ball.

Not one. I’m not religious, but I actually used to pray for one.

Once, when I was 13 or something like that, I got close. Former Phillies first baseman Von Hayes chased a foul ball into the stands, it bounced off his glove and landed eight seats to my left.

That was the last time I brought a baseball glove to a game. 

The reason: Ever since then, I worried that if a ball came my way and I missed it with my glove, I would never forgive myself. But missing one with a bare hand? It seems more forgiveable.

Now, catching a foul ball is an afterthought.

I go to the game to drink the beer, be with friends and watch the Phils. And lately, I’ve watched them lose.

Now, I can relate my "don’t-bring-a-glove-to-the-game" mentality with the Phillies.

Like the Phillies, the results don’t seem to matter anymore. Whether or not we catch the ball or win the game is unimportant.

The name of the game now is excuses. And the Phillies forget their glove.

Remember when the Phillies used to win?

Me neither.

This weekend, the Red Sox swept the Phillies.

Recently, sweeping the Phillies is like challenging your 86-year-old grandmother to baskeball, beating her 10-0 while yelling "get out of my house!"

Sure, it’s easy to do. It may even make you feel better about your own ability.

But it’s wrong, and you know it.

I wish I knew why the Phillies are so bad. On paper, at least I thought, they looked like a good team.

In every baseball season there’s a point any true fan will say, This ain’t our year. There’s always that Spring of hope followed by an inevitable letdown. That  brutal moment usually occurs in the Summer.

But in the Phils’ case, that moment just so happened to be the third day of Summer.

A summary of the last two weeks for the Phillies: Phillies fall behind 4-0 in the first inning. They battle back and tie the game in the 5th. They give up seven more runs, but amazingly tie the game in the 7th. David Bell—to the disbelief of statisticians who think such a mistake is statistically impossible– commits five errors on the same play. Bobby Abreu misses a fly ball to right field, Ryan Howard makes a bonehead baserunning mistake and Pat Burrell strikes out to end the game.

A summary of the last two weeks as a Phillies fan: I get home from work late and miss the first inning. I put on my Phillies hat and turn on the TV. The Phillies are losing 4-0 already.

"(Expletive)," I yell. "Mother (expletive)."

"What?" my startled roommate asks.

(Expletive) Phillies," I respond. "Mother (expletive) Phillies."

In disgust I change the channel. But I come back; I always come back.

The Phillies tie the game and blow it later on stupid errors and baserunning mistakes.

I throw my hat across the room, where it will stay until tomorrow.

The Phils beat the Yankees.

Why do I hate the Yankees so much? The teams rarely play. I don’t think they’ve ever played in a meaningful game outside of the 1950 World Series. The Phillies lost.

I hate the Yankees because of their fans. I have known many Yankees fans, and a few are even my friends.

The reason I hate them so much is because it’s easy to be a Yankees fan. The Yankees win a World Series something like every four or five years. What kind of fan does it take to get behind a team like that? It’s easy to root for your team and get excited when your team always wins.

Am I jealous? Of course I’m jealous.

The Phillies–one of baseball’s oldest teams–won a World Series. It was 1980. That was it.

In 1915, they lost a World Series to the Red Sox. In 1983, they lost to the Orioles. In 1993, they lost to a freekin’ Canadian team for heaven’s sake.

You want to talk about a curse—Philadelphia has been cursed. There’s no back story, like the Curse of the Bambino or that goat thing the Chicago Cubs have going on. But Philadelphia has been cursed in a much more brutal way—they consistently go unnoticed. They win just enough games not to be wretched.

Philadelphia had two baseball teams once—the Phillies and the Philadelphia Athletics.

And what team does Philly get rid of? The good one!

To steal a line from The Simpsons, that’s like kicking Paul McCartney out of the band "Wings." He was the good one.

So why do I enjoy watching the Phils beat the Yanks in an otherwise meaningless game?

Because for one brief moment, Yankees fans are disappointed.

Hey, it’s not much, but I’ll take it.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m glad I got that out because after last night’s Phils game with the Mets I was speechless. I wasn’t sure what happened. Because I thought I saw Jimmy Rollins try to steal second base against Billy Wagner with one out in the 8th inning when the Phils were down by two runs.

Was this happening, I asked myself–my mind unable to comprehend such a stupid move. Why would you risk getting thrown out at second when you need two runs to tie the game? And, of course, Jimmy Rollins got thrown out at second base to end the inning.

Why do something that stupid? It still made no sense.

Then I hit myself in the head with a hammer.

The Phils strategy is all becoming clearer now.

They’re brain damaged.

ODE TO MITCH: "The only way I could get my last CD in stores was if I walked into the store and left it there.

‘Sir, you forget this.’

‘No I did not. That is for sale."

The Phillies swept the Diamondbacks. Three wins, no losses.

There’s something satisfying with the way baseball teams face their opponents–three games at a time. No matter how you slice it, one team wins a series and the other loses.

Is there anything more definite on this earth than baseball?

There are no ties. There is no clock because time doesn’t matter—all that matters is someone wins at the end of the night.

I think of the Phillies series with the Diamondbacks or other opponents as three-day battles with the forces of evil.

And in this case, the Phillies beat them back. Their opponents will be back, and will likely defeat/embarass/or otherwise steal a series from the Phils.

But for three days in June, the Phils were perfect.

After watching the Phillies awful loss to the LA Dodgers on Saturday, I came to an abrupt realization as I plan to go to a bar later tonight: In the past two weeks, the Phillies have played baseball the way I date.

Sure, I go out there.

I’m enthusiastic.

I have a game face.

I wear clean clothes that may get dirtier as the night goes on.

But my fastball’s hitting too much of the plate.

And deep down, let’s face it, I know there is no way I’m going to score.

Like me, Jimmy Rollins has trouble getting to first— and when he does, it’s because someone else made a mistake.

I thought having our iron-nosed centerfielder back would amp up the intensity on the field.

The Phillies lost whatever drive they had after their winning streak was snapped in May. They’re falling behind early. Their pitchers throw meatballs so big they would make my Italian grandmothers blush.

Guys, Fightins—please—get it together, will you?

You guys work on your slump, I’ll work on mine.