Joey, I’m Not Angry Anymore

Let me take you through my day:

Actually, I’ll begin with last night. My husband I split a bottle of wine with dinner, so we went to bed pretty early. At some point during the night, my cell phone rang on the nightstand. It was my Braves Girlfriend who keeps me apprised of news. Too exhausted to have a proper conversation, I let it ring out and figured I would find out what had happened in the morning. Stupidly, I was excited at the prospect of news.

My phone rang two more times during the night, and I also received a text message. I figured at least one of those rings HAD to be the associate at my firm who wanted me to come in today, calling to say that his wife, who is expected to deliver their fifth child on Thursday, had gone into labor early, and therefore I would not have to come into work on goddamn Sunday. I spent the rest of the night happily anticipating listening to the voicemail he’d surely left, informing me of such.

Well, I got up in the morning and had two voicemail messages. The first was from Lauren. As soon as she said “guess who we just traded for Kot–” I whispered “Devy” in terror. Devy! Our first round draft pick, winner of the 2007 Southeastern Something or Other Award for Excellent Pitchmanship! And for what? The outfielder version of Mike Hampton, most notable only for having an especially hot wife! Which also makes him the outfielder version of Kris Benson! Which is also not good!

The second message was a guy sleepily saying “hello?” as if I had called him. And the text message said “who is this?” So I think, somehow, using my subconscious telekinetic sleepwalking powers, I called Devy in preemptive sorrow in the middle of the night. Cause there is no other explanation for that.

Oh, and I totally had to work today. Fuck!

Anyway, good for Devy escaping The Organization That Hates Him. Is there any way he could have been more mishandled? We threw him to the wolves in 2005, and after he heroically recovered from post-traumatic stress syndrome in 2006, we jerked him around shamefully in 2007. As much as I sometimes get annoyed with Billy Beane (which is more Michael Lewis’ obnoxiously worshipful book’s fault than Beane’s himself), I’m really glad Devy is headed out to O-Town if we can’t keep him (and I was never delusional enough to think that the Braves wouldn’t get rid of Devy, I was just hoping for at least a few months of watching him pitch in the majors — alas). Hopefully he and Huston Street (his new BFF, without a doubt) will kick ass together in the 8th and 9th.

So, to quote the Concrete Blonde song, “Joey,” which is entirely fitting for 2005 Devy if nothing else:

Joey, baby – don’t get crazy
Detours, fences … I get defensive
[. . .]
I just stand by and watch you
Fight your secret war!
[. . .]
Oh, Joey, if you’re hurting so am I!

[. . .]
And if you’re somewhere out there
Passed out on the floor,
Oh, Joey, I’m not angry anymore!

Sniff!

Oh, and Kotsay sucks. I’m starting to think this season is going to be “interesting,” folks.

Speaking of this season, this blog is still on hiatus, but I’ll be back to posting every day starting February 1st, and I’m going down to spring training from February 28th-March 2nd with my new camera, so I’ll have the inside scoop on who is going to which crappy Disney bars, etc.

By the way . . . people who were disappointed with FanFest: this is not the way to go at all! Huge fan conventions advertised on billboards are a waste of time! Go to the charity events. Yes, they are expensive, but let me tell you a little secret about rich people and the charity events they frequent: many of them feature OPEN BARS. And not only are you drinking at the open bar, the players who were forced to come are partaking as well. Can you put a price on leaning at the bar while Heap orders another Crown & Seven and complains to his agent about how long he has to stay? And don’t even get me started on what goes on in the women’s restroom at these things. You’re welcome in advance.