A Lot About Possums for a Baseball Blog


After reading Jeremy Sandler’s article in the National Post, My apartment feels an awful lot like Toronto.  Namely because it’s a nipple-shattering 47 degrees in here.

But also because the populace is suffering, and, just like in Toronto, somebody owes me a GOD DAMN EXPLANATION.

“From start to finish, it felt like everyone involved in this deal had their middle finger firmly raised in the fans’ direction,” Sandler writes of the recent Roy Halladay deal (Wait, WHAT Roy Halladay deal?!?).  “The final deal — Halladay for three prospects — might have been the best offer this month, but it likely was not the best offer this year.”

Ha ha, yeah, I agree.  Terrible.  Toronto’s in the middle of a professional sporting success drought rivaling… hmmm, Philadelphia.  That’s kind of funny.

“Halladay, too, ultimately gave his former team’s fans a lump of coal for the holiday season.  Sure, the former Cy Young winner loyally served Toronto’s cause for nearly a decade. He did nothing wrong by asserting his right to control his destiny when his deal with the Blue Jays expired. But he had decided Toronto was not the place for him anymore.”

Okay, now, but think for a second.  First of all, low temperatures are bound to make anyone consider taking flight. Outside of packing a gunny sack full of potaters and hopping in a freight car, my current plan to stave off the cold is to hope for a stray animal to wonder through my back alley so I have something warm to cuddle with.

But we both know it had nothing to do with that.  Temperatures, I mean.  I don’t think snuggling a possum had much to do with the Halladay trade.

What, was he going to stay in Toronto until they were championship caliber team?  The Blue Jay brass don’t seem to be in any hurry to make that happen, and Roy’s already 32.  Can you really call a guy out for wanting to play for an organization with at least a hint of recent success?  Pin the “future Hall-of-Famer” prefix to him all you want, it’s not the same thing as a WS ring on your finger.

Don’t get me wrong.  I sympathize.  As upset as we all are about Cliff Lee, Roy’s not a consolation prize.  He’s the prize. So that offsets a bunch of the sting. Until opening day, when it offsets all of it.  But this was inevitable, and it could be worse.

Maybe the ultimate irony will occur and Roy Halladay will somehow hit the World Series-clinching walkoff home run off Mitch Williams, too.

Brand new FanSided Blue Jays blogger Mat Germain isn’t complaining, so I guess I shouldn’t either.

In other news, shut up, Chan Ho Park, and pitch for us.  What’s the matter?  You want to be a starter?  You want a better contract?  You don’t want to live in a city where no-name bloggers are telling you to “shut up”?  Too bad.

I mean, damn it.  The guy’s a lighthouse for the bullpen.  He throws strikes as consistently as I throw inapplicable metaphors.  This feels like another deal that was made needlessly complicated by unreal demands.  No, Chan Ho, you’re not going to be a starter.  We just picked up Roy Halladay (Who?!) and you’re a 36-year-old guy who’s been pitching out of the bullpen for years.

What’s that?  “Jamie Moyer is 47 years old”?  Ha ha, yeah, but… come on, that’s just funny.  At this point I want to see how much further he’ll go without anybody stepping in.  Like a nursing home escapee on the lam until the battery on his rascal dies.

Wow, that was mean.  Sorry, Jamie.  It’s freezing in here and I’ve got no food.  How viable is possum meat?


  • Hey, Ben Roethliswhatever.  My bench thanks you for the 32 fantasy points you showed no sign of being capable of these past few weeks.  And so do my Packers, a team that could use playoff berth much more than you and your faltering band of knee-bucklers.
  • But we are in Philly, so I like to throw a bone at the Eagles once in a while.  Also, DeSean Jackson is a source of warmth on a fantasy roster that has been all but frozen solid, so we’re cool.  How comfortable and warm does playoff berth feel, guys? Bet it’s nice.