It's a beautiful thing, being a Phillies fan. It's also slowly taking years off my life, and the bullpen is the primary culprit.

The Pattern

1. Starter goes 6 strong. Hope blooms.
2. The 7th inning arrives. Hope wavers.
3. The 8th inning. I am now standing. I am not sure when I stood up.
4. The 9th. I have left the room. My wife reports the score to me from a safe distance.

I'm not saying it's bad. I'm saying it has a flair for the dramatic that my cardiovascular system did not consent to.

Every year I tell myself this is the year I stay calm. Every year, by mid-June, I'm right back here writing blog posts to cope. Go Birds. Wrong sport. You know what I mean.