Touch 'Em All: Hamels: Not enough Philly in him
This will come as no surprise to anyone who watched Cole Hamels pitch or answer questions Saturday night - or any other night - but the Phillies lefthander might be the most un-Philly Philadelphia athlete ever.
Mike Schmidt was an enigma, too, but at some level he understood us and, eventually, we grasped him. Ditto Randall Cunningham and many others who have passed through but never left their hearts in South Philadelphia.
Hamels will never be one of us and it's not his fault.
The whiny voice. The fashion-mag looks. He was born with those. In Southern California, no less.
That's all fine for him. But it's grating to us.
The boos Saturday. The gradual disillusionment. It was inevitable. The only way Hamels was going to stay in the city's good graces was if he continued to pitch his butt off.
Philly likes its pasta sauce red, its milk shakes black and white, and its sports heroes blue-collar.
The fans love it when someone who can play reminds them of a stevedore (Brian Dawkins), a steamfitter (Pete Rose), or a sanitation worker (Lenny Dykstra).
Hamels, it's always apparent, makes his living with his arm, not his hands.
It's easier to imagine him as a waiter in a trendy restaurant ("Hi, I'm Cole. I'll be your waiter. Would you like to hear our specials?"); a dance instructor ("You call that a battement fondue?"); an architect ("If I don't use dentil molding, it could ruin the neoclassical motif."); or a model ("Work it, Cole. Work it!").
When a guy like that fails in a town like this, it could get ugly.
Natural splendor
Did you see that gorgeous moon over the ballpark last night? Then again, who hasn't seen a moon at the sports complex on a day when the Eagles play?
Game 4 limerick
So what's up with Big Ryan the K?
His swing picked a fine time to stray.
We'd just like some contact.
Is that wish so abstract?
So, please, lay off the slider away.








