dress1012

My name is Frank and I'm a Phillies addict. I can't help myself. I wasn't always this way. Once newspaper game stories and box scores were enough. But then I experimented with radio. You kids out there, don't believe it when someone tells you radio-listening doesn't lead to excessive TV viewing. Just look at me. Still, I didn't really have a problem until a strung-out friend in a Roy Halladay jersey told me about the Internet. I started using, slowly at first. Maybe a tweet in the afternoon. A blog in the evening. Nothing serious. But soon those things alone couldn't satisfy my cravings. I needed more. That's when I began making hourly visits to Phillies.com. The downward spiral hastened. Things grew so bad that I'd drive into North Philadelphia once, twice, three times a day, hoping to score a better wireless connection. I was lucky. If I'd wandered anywhere near a doughnut shop, I'd probably be in jail today. I'm hooked real bad. I've got to get the Phillies lineup tweeted to me three hours before a game. God forbid I not know well in advance whether Carlos Ruiz will be going 0 for 4 from the seventh or eighth spot. If Mike Zagurski gets recalled, if Jimmy Rollins feels a pregame twinge, if Raul Ibanez discovers where he misplaced his bat speed, I've got to find a TV quick to hear it all instantly dissected on one of those pregame shows that have employed more marginal baseball talent than Ed Wade. Sometimes a couple of good, strong facts will satisfy me. But lately I need more. I've begun stealing Phillies opinion from harried beat writers, sun-deprived bloggers, even -- forgive me, Jesus -- sports-radio hosts.