It was a slow, sloppy, sweat-soaked affair in which the Phillies ruined Father’s Day for everybody.
“I thought they might not get swept by the Diamondbacks,” said my father in between grill checks.
“They play again tomorrow!” I reminded him, for some reason defending the Phillies.
“You’d at least like to them split the series, though,” he said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “they don’t really do that anymore.”
With the sun shining and the Hawaiian shirt giveaway, today’s matinee with the Diamondbacks felt like a dream vacation, on which you were for inexplicably forced to watch two bad teams play a baseball game.