Rochfort 10. But not yet.

As last night’s World Series disaster unfolded, I took the first cautious step at the end of the fifth inning, pulling a dusty bottle of Rochefort 10 out of the back of the closet. It would be my celebratory beer if the Phillies held the lead and won it all, and with Cole Hamels only having to give them another two innings, that was more and more likely. No way the Rays could score against the Philadelphia closers.

It was not to be, of course. Nothing is ever done the easy way in Philadelphia. The way the night ended was manifestly unfair. Hamels had to go out and pitch the top of the sixth on a mound and under conditions which had not change at all when the game was suspended in the middle of the inning. They should either have reverted to the end of the fifth or made the Rays play a half inning under the same conditions.

We move on, although I’d guess it won’t be until tomorrow night. Things are not really very pleasant out there today and predictions say tonight will be more of the same. I can’t see any way in hell the Phillies lose this series but MLB took away their best pitcher last night and didn’t balance the scales very well.

The Rochfort would have been, likely still will be, only my second beer in nearly two weeks, by the way. I did sip a can of Sly Fox Phoenix Pale Ale Sunday night with dinner, just to see if I could.

And I am now showing at least a 10lb weight loss from when I went into the hospital and probably more. My belly is still terrible distended and I assume another lb. or two is resulting from that. On the morrow, I venture out for the first time to do a brief stint at the Beer Yard. Thursday I go back and see the doctor for the first time and find out if all is going well.

Go Phillies.

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