So, we suck.

That’s all there is to it. Right now, we are a disgrace to the game of baseball.

We couldn’t get runs after a night of all-you-can-eat Chipotle. We score about as often as those head-bobbing guys in A Night at the Roxbury. Ryan Howard’s homer last night was our first since the Grover Cleveland administration – the first one. Jayson Werth has followed his beard into the abyss. There’s rampant speculation that Chase Utley is hurt. Ross Gload hit leadoff on Monday. Ross. Fucking. Gload.

I have begun to seriously consider the possibility that aliens from a distant planet have stolen the athletic abilities of our best players, 14 years after dire warnings of just such a occurrence by the Nobel Prize-winning documentary Space Jam.

Pictured (from left): Polanco, Howard, Rollins, Utley, Werth

Everyone: Take a deep breath.

As horrible as this stretch has been – and it has been atrocious on a level that has been thankfully rare in recent Phillies history – we can’t lose sight of the big picture. Even with the Braves sweeping us to run their winning streak to eight, even after losing nine of our last 11 games, we’re still four games over .500 on June 2. Last year, we were two games over .500 on July 2. We survived.

There’s simply no way that this futility continues. Our big guns will come out of their simultaneous slumps. Our numerous, crippling injuries will heal.

We’ll be fine.