Uncle. We'll Start Writing Again.

I hope you're happy, Phillies.

The authors of this little escapade started writing because we were so fed up with the Philadelphia sports scene. We started writing in baseball season, and although I fancy myself a football fan first and foremost, the frequency and depth of our posts followed the Phillies' season. Simply put, if they're not losing, we're not writing.

Then a funny thing happened. The Phils started winning. All the time. There's no need for the cathartic angst spray of a blog post after a World Championship. We were satiated. We were...happy.

Happy = no writing. A remarkable Eagles season came. I wrote about how Dawkins was washed up, then he had one of the best and most inspiring seasons of his career. McNabb played ok, got benched, then played out of his mind. DeSean Jackson is the first legit WR we've had since Fred Barnett. The Flyers made the playoffs. The Sixers made the playoffs. This has been a great season for Philly sports. Our collective reaction: eh. We were still in the fuzzy afterglow, all fattened up on winning.

However, the Phils' recent slide, and lacksadaisical play, has reignited some of the embers in my cold heart. Jimmy Rollins is two years removed from his BS MVP year, and refuses to hit line drives-but the man still plays the best SS in the National League. Jason Werth is batting .250, and looking worse. The whole team plays like a bunch a wimps all the sudden. And it's despicable.

It's horrendous. It's an affront to the best fans in the world, who pay good money to watch them suck. And I, well, I just can't take this anymore.

We're back, bitches.