If you thought that previous post centering on Raul Ibanez’s groin was the climax of old men jokes for the day, boy were you wrong. And how dare you underestimate me. That only makes me want to fill this blog, day after day, with endless snorts and giggles about the inner legs of gentlemen over 35. And trust me, that would be significant to you if you actually read this blog.
Anyways, now that we’re all extremely upset, let’s talk about Jamie Moyer’s inevitable return to baseball at the age of 49, brought to us by Todd Zolecki.
First of all, it’s happening. Don’t try and dissuade the notion; Jamie is coming back to baseball like a 20-mph freight train. He’s still got that 300th win to procure, he’s still got at least a year’s worth of loopy, dangerously in the zone pitches to throw, and he hasn’t even had more than one surgery this offseason. Really, if he hadn’t missed this season, there’d be no reason for you to assume he wouldn’t be back in 2012.
Well, he’s going to be. So stockpile your cheap jokes now. Hopefully you didn’t waste all of them on Jack McKeon.
Jamie’s gotten permission to use the Bright House Complex as a rehab facility from his recent Tommy John surgery, and boy, he is going to use the fuck out of it. The Phillies may not have any interest in having Jamie on their team next year, but they sure as hell know they owe him the means to make a return, regardless of what team he winds up on.
I mean, if they said no, they’d have made an immortal enemy, which is one of the worst kinds you can make, except for cyborgs. And there really hasn’t been any definitive proof that with Jamie, that’s not what we’re dealing with. So this seems like it’s the best solution for everyone, whether you’re the above middle-aged gentleman making an unlikely run toward a professional sport, or a baseball team in fear of an unkillable foe.