Weeks ago, the Phillies lit up the hot stove for the first time, signing set-up man Wilton Lopez of the Astros to a deal that made everybody happy.
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It turned out, however, that the story wasn’t so much the hot stove being ignited as it was somebody leaning on the gas without realizing it. And before somebody could even wonder what in the hell that smell was, Lopez was gone, his deal cut off at the point of the physical. It was an arbitrary part of the process; most deals that reach the physical are basically done. But something happened in between there and here that made the whole thing burn.
Maybe it was a gas leak. Who knows what’s real and what’s a metaphor anymore?
The point is, the Phillies had their reliever and lost him. Soon, he was swept up by the relentless allure of Colorado Rockies baseball, indicating that perhaps Lopez’s health hadn’t had much to do with the collapse. We’ll most likely never know, but then again, we also don’t have to now, which is nice.
His name is Mike Adams, and he comes to us from Texas. The announcement was made a few days ago, and the big, goofy, formal prom teams hold for each player they sign will take place any day now. The deal is official because that formerly blase part of the process, the health exam, is over, and Mike Adams is free of any Wilton Lopez syndrome.
Symptoms include playing for the Rockies instead of the Phillies for reasons that are shrouded in mystery.
Now, if there’s a weird smell to worry about, we can rest assured that it’s the stench of an atmosphere thick with metaphors.