Player Profile: Wilson Valdez (Or How I Broke Out of My Phillies-Induced Slump)

I was shocked when I checked back into the Chicks archives and realized that I last posted a Player Profile almost two months ago. Considering it’s suppose to be a weekly feature, I’d say I’ve slacked a bit. Continue reading


Player Profile: The Passion of the Shane?

My previous three player profiles basically wrote themselves. Something about Chase, Ryan and especially JWerth and that marvelous beard of his that just made words pour out like cheap beer from a McFadden’s tap on game day. But ever since I decided to write this week’s profile on Shane Victorino, I’ve been nursing a raging case of writer’s block. Continue reading

Player Profile: Ryan Howard

There’s about 125 million things I could say about Ryan Howard. And I’ve got at least until 2016 to try to say them all. But unless you’ve never read a sports page and your reckless Google search of keywords like “cocks” and “long balls” and “David Wright’s shirtless body”  in hopes of finding fresh, new Internet porn brought you to this site by accident, you already know all about the mega deal the Phillies first baseman signed last month that will keep him in red-and-white pinstripes well into this coming decade.

Make money money, make money money (Source:

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Player Profile: Jayson Werth

In late February, a strange, powerful, all-encompassing presence suddenly emerged, stealing our hearts, dominating our intellects, sparking our imaginations beyond all previously tested limits. Was it the coming of the iPad? No, sorry—try again, Steve Jobs. Tiger Woods’ latest mistress? Please, who hasn’t gotten a text message that’s said that. Justin Bieber? Call us when you grow out of Pull-Ups, kid. No, of course I can only be referring to the pop-culture pandemic that instantaneously swept from Philadelphia to Fort Lauderdale, Hong Kong to Bejing, Milan to Minsk—Jayson Werth’s Beard. Continue reading

Player Profile: Chase Utley, A Love Story

Simply put, I adore Chase Utley. His name and number are on the back of my jersey. His walk-up song—Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir”—is my ringtone. Sometimes, I even catch myself playing that celeb-name mash-up game in my head: “Would we be known as Phase—or maybe Utgrrl?—in the Philly media?” (Don’t judge me. It’s a good way to take my mind off the guy smelling of piss and Mad Dog who just sat next to me on the Broad Street line.)

With all due respect to Mrs. Utley, her husband is the female Viagra that scientists have been wasting time trying to concoct in a lab. And his strange and wonderful powers are not limited to chicks. Chase has ignited more bromances in this city than Twitter has flash mobs. Come on ladies, you know that dreamy-eyed look that washes over your man when No. 26 comes up to bat.

Our second baseman reminds me of the quiet, unassuming guy in the corner of the bar who after a few drinks is suddenly on top of a table slurring out the chorus to “Sweet Caroline.” Or who, after humbly helping his team win a World Series, drops the “F” bomb on live TV (silly us, here we thought that incident at the ’08 All-Star Game was just a fluke). Or who steps up to the plate with that child-like smirk that seems to say, “I just farted in the dugout and blamed Dobbsy,” and murders the ball straight back to Ashburn Alley. Continue reading

He’s Back, Baby!

The Spacettes: Not the Hot Pants Patrol. Photo stolen from Karen Warren/Houston Chronicle.

While the Houston Astros hosted “Throwback Night”– complete with retro uniforms from 1965, female ushers called “Spacettes” rockin’ gold lamé, Jackie O-style skirts suits, and a collectively miserable-looking grounds crew in orange “space” jumpsuits that made them look like they should be picking up trash on the side of a Texas highway–Shane Victorino decided he wanted to throw a comeback party instead. Late in the game, he delivered an RBI single and a two-run homer that helped lift the Phils to a 9-5 win at Minute Maid Park Saturday night.

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The Halladay Season Has Arrived

By  Janet Spavlik (@PhanGrrl)

Nope, right now I’m not even close to being tired of the Halladay/holiday puns (give it ‘til about mid-May when I’ll be as over it as the term douche bag). And while I won’t score any points for originality, really, could the play on words be any more appropriate on opening day? It couldn’t have felt more like Christmas even if a fat guy in a red suit asked me to sit on his lap and tell him if I was naughty or nice (OK, so that only happened the one time and it wasn’t actually Christmas, but you get the point).

I was one of those fans that wanted the Phillies to acquire Roy Halladay at all costs. No, I didn’t realize the cost would be Cliff Lee. I was walking around with so many other fans in that dream-like “Who’s building a dynasty now, bitch?!” haze, thinking we’d have both Lee and Halladay in our starting rotation. But losing Lee (and yes, by the way, I do think it’s time we got over it and moved on) shouldn’t take away from the fact that we now have arguably the best pitcher in baseball wearing a Phillies uniform.

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