Ed Wade to Spread Trail of Destruction Back to Philadelphia

“Aha!” Ed Wade shouted, removing his mask.  “It is I, Ed Wade, of the Philadelphia Phillies!”

The room full of Astros executives failed to react.  Moments later, Ed would realize this was due to him revealing himself as ‘Ed Wade’ after wearing an ‘Ed Wade’ disguise for four years.

This was beside the point!  Ed was sick of the lies and sneaking around; the Phillies had notified him that his time embedded in Houston was up, and it was time to come on home.  Now, he would take one last moment of satisfaction of his work, having infiltrated the Astros as GM and run them so far into the ground they had to move to the AL West.

The hushes discussions taking place amongst the execs seemed to indicate they were either ignoring Ed, or so hard at work to reverse what he’d done throughout his tenure that they didn’t care what he was saying.  All they knew was, the Ed Wade Era was over in Houston.  If it was going to continue somewhere else, good luck to those people.

“Welp, guess I’m off to scout for the Phillies,” Ed said to no one in particular, putting on his jacket.  “Those Phils are looking pretty good, huh?  With Brad Lidge and Roy Oswalt and Hunter Pence.  Well, not Oswalt, I guess.  And not really Lidge either, anymore.  But remember before, when those guys were effective?  The Phillies must have been pretty intuitive to acquire those players.  Unless, of course, they had someone on the other side of those trades.  Huh.  I guess they were all trades with us.  I wonder if…”

Ed stopped in midsentence as he a felty paw landed on his shoulder. Slowly turning, he saw the ever-recognizable face of Junction Jack, the giant rabbit that is the Astros’ mascot for no reason.  Jack, with the stern glare rabbits are known for, steered Ed toward the door.

“…wonder if some cold, calculating, sinister, intelligent man shang hai’d the whole deal…”

Ed’s voice had dropped to an intimidated whisper, and Jack merely had to shake his head before Ed understood it was time to leave the room.

“So long, suckers,” Ed yelled one last time, as the execs reviewed minor league rosters full of talent.  He donned his Phillies cap, which he had intended to put on much more slowly in order to reveal his traitorous nature, but forgotten about the dramatic reveal he had planned, having chosen instead to just yell it as he had.

And he was gone.

Unless you live in Philadelphia.  In which case, he was only just arriving.

Again.

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