When the game starts in five minutes, Michael Martinez is leading off. Where is Shane Victorino, you may ask? He’s gone. They came back to the clubhouse last night and his packed bags were by the door.
“I’m leaving,” he said. ”I can’t drag this out anymore.”
“Fine, whatever,” said the Phillies, pouring themselves a drink. They’d crammed all their feelings into a whiskey bottle years ago.
“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”
The Phillies sipped quietly from their glass and stared daggers down the side. ”You know where the door is. You’ve been looking at it for months.”
Shane shook his head and grabbed his luggage. ”Unbelievable. I hope you and your rampaging alcoholism are happy together.”
“Oh, WE WILL BE!” the Phillies shrieked, flipping over the mini bar. But when they looked to up to witness Shane’s reaction, he was gone. Just the quiet sound of the clubhouse door wagging back and forth had remained behind.
The Phillies eyed the mess on the floor. Someone was going to have to clean this up. They picked up the phone and dialed an unfamiliar number.
“Hello, Michael? Sorry its so late. But today’s your lucky day.”
In other news, Shane Victorino’s calf felt weird so he’s out today. He says he expects to be back Tuesday, but it could be an “irritated nerve,” and who the hell knows what that is, so we’ll see.