It’s bad enough the Philadelphia Phillies on most nights look like they couldn’t hit their way out of a wet paper bag. The pain I feel when they make the call to the bullpen at Citizens Bank Park and Chad Durbin answers the phone is becoming unbearable. My angst when men are in scoring position with Ben Revere in the on-deck circle brings on fits of nausea.
I’m might still be a long way from giving up on this season. But the early going has been difficult and frustrating. And yet all of this early season negativity would be manageable if the Phillies would just do one thing for me …
Stop killing The Schmitter!!
What little joy I get from sitting in the freezing cold; watching the Phillies bats make #5 starting pitchers look like Cy Young Award candidates are those two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame …
Oops … Wrong sandwich …
Yes, yes, yes … I get it! At 800+ calories, The Schmitter is only a step away from shooting up an IV bag of pure cholesterol! Any Nanny State Mayor – a la Mr. Nutter or NYC’s Michael Bloomberg – would be tempted to forego their campaigns to outlaw oversized soft drinks if they had a shot of putting a sandwich like The Schmitter out of business.
Perhaps in a fit of civic service, The Phillies have decided to do their dirty work for them.
The McNally’s Tavern creation of steak, fried salami, cheese, onions, tomato and special sauce (There’s ALWAYS special sauce!) stuffed into a kaiser roll is your typical ballpark bacchanal. Yep … 800+ calories posing as The Key to Good Living. It will just be a few less years of living it.
But I’m OK with that, because to me it’s Comfort Food!
Most importantly Comfort Food is crucial when very little of what’s going on in between the white lines on the field is making anyone feel comfortable! I indulge but a few times a year, knowing a steady diet of such bacchanalia is not a recipe for long life.
Went to our first game in our plan last Saturday night (April 20). It was cold. Cliff Lee couldn’t find the plate without hitting a Cardinals’ bat. The Phillies -on the other hand – left their bats in the clubhouse. The spousal unit was cocooned in a Phillies snuggie; and just looking for a reason to bail out for the warmth of the car ride home.
At least my beers weren’t going warm!
When I walk into the Citizens Bank Park, I walk right past the new Schmitter concession and almost threw an aneurism when I saw what had replaced the McNally’s concession beneath the left field escalator. Donuts and fried chicken?!?
When I found out The Schmitter had simply been moved to another concession, a weight the size of Cole Hamels‘ ERA was lifted from my chest!
So after three rather cold and disheartening innings I decide … It’s time! I wander over to see The Schmitter’s new locale and grab a little in-game meal.
First off, that smoky flavor that lingers in the air like a wet ashtray is … well … a wet ashtray. The concession gods actually placed one of the best ballpark food concessions right next to the Coral of the Damned! The place where lungs go to die, whether you’re intentionally inhaling or just standing nearby trying to get your Schmitter fix.
Nice move, Phils. I guess an EPA Superfund site wasn’t available?!?
And it gets worse … The new locale appears to lack the work space and productive capacity needed for the Supply Side to meet the Demand Side of the Happiness Equation!
The line was long. It moved way too slowly, especially when the process and its participants seemed disjointed and barely interested. The counter movements were so slow, by the time you were lucky enough to have that $9 sandwich handed over, it was barely warm enough to register as cooked food.
I know by now – after 57 years – that all things change, whether you want them to or not, with no regard for how said change will affect you. Yet you would think ONE THING that by most non-medical measures was good – if not good for you - would remain as reliable as Chase Utley on the base paths.
OK … Bad comparison …
Those damn chicken-stuffed donuts better be good!