FanHouse Mlb

Welcome to The Dugout generation 3 - FanHouse Backporch edition. I'm happy to be working with the people in this section now, because it gives the strip a more obviously comedic, less newsbite-oriented environment within to prosper. It also gets me away from psychotic Yankees fans who think that every sentence they read is a serious, literal truth, and that one guy who googles "Mark McGwire" or whatever every three months and gets defensive. Also, I run an exponentially smaller chance of being called an idiot for my opinions when my comic is sandwiched between womens soccer updates and liveblogging of the World Checkers Championships.

Today's Dugout is after the jump. Warning: it will give you nightmares.

NEW YORK -- He has found peace to purge his demons, love when all he had was Madonna and madams and, most importantly, truth when his past was so fake and sleazy. No matter what we once thought of Alex Rodriguez, it's difficult to hold a grudge when he has achieved joy and reward the right way. In fact, allow me to propose the ultimate happy ending, something unimaginable only a few months ago but perhaps attainable if he continues to be a model citizen, a fine teammate, a grounded human being and the greatest ballplayer alive.

That would be a place in Cooperstown, home of the Baseball Hall of Fame.

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NEW YORK – Finally, there was life in Ryan Howard's bat, energy in his words. "Come on man, let's go," he shouted upon crossing the plate, as if adding a hardy exclamation point to his two-run homer in the sixth inning would spark whatever the defending champions had been missing since they took a brief World Series lead way back in October.

The Philadelphia Phillies brought the bravado, for sure. On the eve of the Fall Classic, Jimmy Rollins made one of his many extemporaneous observations, saying on the Jay Leno Show, of all places, "If we're nice, we'll let it go six. But I'm thinking five. Close it out at home." So here's the first lesson, to any budding big leaguers: try not to mouth off when playing the wealthiest, hungriest, most talent-stacked team on the planet.

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NEW YORK -- There is something arrogantly American about it, I know. The $210-million Yankees have won a World Series amid a destructive recession, doing it for Boss George Steinbrenner in the first season of their $1.5-billion edifice of excess, where a $275-million lightning rod just happened to overcome a steroids crisis and finally deliver the postseason we've long demanded. None of those elements are universally endearing to the masses, yet all converged on a festive, rocking November night when Championship No. 27 wasn't welcomed by the pinstripe haters as much as force-fed into them like skunk oil.

Look, President Obama might say, "This is corporate America at its bloated, ignorant worst. The White Sox have a better business plan."

"We're supposed to win," said Yankees manager, Joe Girardi. "We know that every day we come to work."

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PHILADELPHIA -- This is where they booed Santa Claus but gave a standing ovation to a dog killer named Michael Vick. This is where they taunted Mike Schmidt, maybe the best third baseman ever. This is where Donovan McNabb is viewed as an emotional dishrag, where MIchael Irvin was cheered when he lay motionless on the field, where I saw a woman in an UTLEY jersey tell a guy to "stop being a (p----)," where men are men unless someone wonders otherwise, which means your life is screwed.

It is in this Yuengling-and-cheesesteak culture that Cole Hamels, a California pretty boy not blessed with the Bruno/Rocco/Angelo first name like many Philly tough guys, decided to commit parochial suicide. Shelled again in Game 3 of the World Series, he emotionally unraveled afterward, suggesting very strongly that he wanted his season to end right then and there. In any town, such an acknowledgment would be viewed as a breach of cowardice. In Philly, where the home team trailed only 2-1 at the time, Hamels is being called a sulker, quitter, crybaby, wimp and (p----) of the worst ilk.

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Neither the Daily Show nor the Colbert Report delve into the sports realm all that often. However, the current Philadelphia-New York rivalry has apparently stoked enough passion in Jersey-born Jon Stewart (he's right in the middle, yo!) for him to send correspondents Jason Jones and John Oliver out on the street to measure the rivalry.

But, per usual, they're not just looking at the fans -- they're deciding which fans are more awful (or "bigger douches" as the clip actually says like 150 times; should you be afraid that such a phrase will not be popular on your office speakers, consider yourself forewarned). And they have real, live clips, which are hysterical, of course. "Clash of the Cretins" video, courtesy of the CC Insider, after the jump.

PHILADELPHIA -- They have nothing in common but history. Chase Utley is a southern California dude with gel in his hair who speaks in cliches and has all the pizzazz of a resin bag. Reggie Jackson was the portrait of flamboyance, the straw that stirred the drink, the problem child who jarred the equilibrium. But today, they are joined in baseball lore by the five home runs each hit in a single World Series, with Utley's latest two shots propelling the Phillies to an 8-6 victory in Game 5 and renewed life for a repeat title.

"It's pretty cool. It's pretty surreal," Utley said with typical nonchalance. "I'm glad we got the win. It was a do-or-die game."

NEW YORK -- The good A.J. Burnett showed up at Yankee Stadium Thursday night. Scratch that, this wasn't just the good Burnett on the mound, his pitches dancing across every tiny speck of the plate's corner, his psyche remaining as calm as a summer day. This was a great Burnett, an imposing Burnett, a Burnett who managed to keep his evil side stowed away in the broom closet for one entire game.

And what a game it was, with Burnett and Philadelphia starter Pedro Martinez daring each other to blink first, to crack slightly, to make consecutive bad pitches. When it was over, when Burnett and the Yankees had held tight to a 3-1 win over the Philadelphia Phillies in Game 2 of the World Series, New York manager Joe Girardi still looked as if you could bounce subway tokens off the bulging veins in his neck.

"Extremely impressive. [Burnett] was great tonight," said Girardi, breathing slightly easier now that the Yankees can head down the turnpike with the World Series tied 1-1, and his team's bats itching to break out in Philadelphia's warm weather.

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NEW YORK -- He didn't want to relinquish the ball, not with the fans ready to bombard him, not when they were preparing a final triumphant round of "Who's Your Daddy!" chants. But it was time for Pedro Martinez to depart nonetheless, perhaps forever from a stage that is 110 streets north of midtown Manhattan but always has felt like pure Broadway every time he has performed there.

Thursday night at Yankee Stadium was no exception. Nicked by the home team for three runs in six-plus innings, on a night when the Phillies had few answers for the vicious breaking stuff of A.J. Burnett and a two-inning dose of Mariano Rivera, Martinez handed the ball to manager Charlie Manuel, absorbed the rude serenade as he left the mound, pointed to his father in the sky and then, as he neared the visitors' dugout, broke into a grin that had to make you laugh even if you were a Philadelphia fan sensing defeat.

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In the song that Jay-Z and Alicia Keys are going to sing before the Phillies-Yankees game two tonight at Yankees Stadium, these lyrics burst through.

"... Catch me at the X with OG at a Yankee game, s--t I made the Yankee hat more famous than a Yankee can ..."

At this point in both the Yankees' and Jay-Z's career, no truer words have been spoken by a rapper; the Yankees have decided to let "Empire State of Mind" introduce the AL champions back to the World Series for the first time since 2003.

The Brooklyn native will join fellow New Yorker Alicia Keys in singing the rap anthem blasted at Yankee Stadium during the Bombers' postseason run.

"Thank the good Lord for making me a Yankee," Jay-Z said Monday, invoking the famous quote by Yankee legend Joe DiMaggio.

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