Look at those two over there. Making eyes at each other and such. GET A ROOM ALREADY.
Feels like just yesterday Roy was arriving in Philadelphia for his debut against the Nationals, which he would go on to kind of fuck up a bit, but after that he’d be like 8-1 at Citizens Bank Park or something. It was glorious.
I wound up being late for a Black Keys concert because I convinced some friends to stick around in the bar while Roy started his first game as a Phillie. Weeks later, he was playing left field and smirking like a little kid that just stole a pie off the window sill.
….and now he’s over there, eye-fucking the Yankees. YOU GUYS THINK YOU’RE SO GREAT ‘CAUSE YOU HAVE A HOUSE.
Wait what did I mean by that.
FUCK YOU GUYS.
I wish… I just wish that… maybe if he’d been a little luckier… I mean he came here specifically to win a World Series, and we couldn’t get him one. Maybe that’s on us. I have a recurring nightmare that we won’t be able to get one for Doc, either. Wakes me up at night, actually. I can’t tell you how many times Roy Halladay’s naked fingers have caused me to sit up screaming.
But uh… um.
The Yankees need it, too. They need starting pitching. And Roy will give it to them. Whatever he’s got left. And he’ll hate it, too. He’ll hate the media spotlight and the scrunity and horrible ways that Yankees people go about their every day lives, sucking the souls of out children and screeching like the bastions of hell that they are.
Oh, Roy. I wish we could have helped you a little more.
WIPE THAT LOOK OFF YOUR FACE.