Note: In case my efforts bely my intentions, I will make it quite plain to er'vyone: I am not attempting to mock FreeZorrila's post, with which I near-completely agreed. My intent merely is to write a bit of emotional escapism and ridicule Boston for taking away our friend. If you want logic, go here. I, however, will have none of it.
I have discovered the THREE TRIGGERS that will undeniably MAKE THE CARL CRAWFORD SIGNING THE SINGLE GREATEST EVENT IN RAYS HISTORY.
TRIGGER ONE: Carl Crawford's production doesn't match his contract, the Red Sox must cut payroll.
Carl has known knee problems. He's nearing the dreaded age 30. And his new contract has a little known "Sanity Clause."
Allow me to elaborate. Most players physically peak around the age of 27, but the best players stay pretty good late into their careers. For those who don't, however, they typically swirl in a pool of self-loathing and regret. Consider Eric Hinske, who's Rookie of the Year award led to a bench. As a result, he went crazy. He not only convinced Evan Longoria to sign a team-friendly extension, but also convinced Akinori Iwamura to eat his alligator-skin glove, Trever Miller to retain that sex-life-obliterating goatee, and Troy Percival to play baseball -- all equally insane suggestions. Though Hinske did some good, he did many strange things, so the organization let him go.
So, players like Carl Crawford have begun installing "Sanity Clauses" in their contracts. The legalese in these MLB contracts can be kind of tricky, but here's the one Derek Jeter installed on his contract a few years ago.
Basically, the "Sanity Clause" allows the "players" to "handcuff" the "team," trapping themselves in a "cloud" of their own "mediocrity." Once their minds glaze over into the crystallized insanity of their twilight careers, they insist the managers fill the team with sub-par ham sandwiches. This helps the now insane player to blunder about the field, following each mistake with a chuckle and a shake of the head, muttering, "Heh heh heh... I've got a bad supporting cast. What can you do?"
And the broadcasters, sitting on their ergonomic cushions of close-mindedness will nod too. They will nod that secret, fraternal nod of the out-dated and the soon-to-be-gone. Like the umpire, who wakes in a cold sweat and whose wife comforts him, touching his arm gently, asking, "Was it the robot umps again, sweetie?" And he will nod.
In the opposite dugout, Joe Maddon too will nod, but it will not be the same motion as the others. He will offer an easy, slow nod, the bespectacled nod of the mastermind who has no choice but nod, else he might smile.
Trigger one is already in motion.
TRIGGER TWO: The Green MONSTA has Yet to Express its FULL IRE.
Only the most prescient of writers know the true source of Boston's great, green wall. As most readers no doubt know, Fenway Park is not above ground. It is in fact several hundred feet below street level. In 1910, when then Red Sox owner John Taylor began planning for a new stadium, he proposed a radical new approach in an effort to increase financial support for the expensive undertaking.
He outlined his plan several times during what he called a "Barnstorming of Conversion: Let's Talk Demon Portals." The title seemed outrageous to many, because the term barnstorming had yet been invented, so many though he meant brainstorming, but were too timid to ask additional questions, as his marbles-in-the-mouth Boston accent made him nearly indiscernible. Often, audiences would just applaud at random, just in case the well-respected Mr. Taylor had said something inspirational.
Here is an excerpt from his speech at the Grand and Secret Watash Society (New England chapter) on February 9, 1911:
We all know there is a multi-dimensional portal linking several daemon worlds unto our own. The portal is located several hundred feet below Landsowne St, and though its causes remain unknown, we cannot tolerate any more interference with our tea mining and bean-candying industries. Too many Skull Ogres and Thruftahs roam the streets. The problem has thrice manifest itself -- why are you clapping? [lengthy pause] The problem is severe.
I propose we construct a gargantuan wooden bulwark before the fiends [indiscernible above the sound of applause] can also play baseball in the adjacent lot, which is presently a necropolis...
From the beginning, playing baseball at Fenway had been the crooked heart of Taylor's devious plan. He cared little for the dimensional rift, and many historians now suspect he himself caused the very portal he attempted to seal.
But, ultimately, Taylor's innovative financing led to the construction of THE GREEN MONSTA. Initially, Tayler named the Fenway Park, "Gateway Park" and the Green Monster: "The wall-shaped beast who defends our dimension from daemons, namely Skull Ogres," but many found this more descriptive title too confusing, as the Green Monster had almost instantaneously turned against its bean-eating creator, heartlessly slaughtering millions. Observe how patrons of Red Sox games would once enjoy their delightments of baseball while sitting at the base of the Monster (on the left):
Following this particular Series of the World (as it was called), the entire bleachers section was swallowed into the inter-dimensional void of pain and smugness which is the very belly of the Green Monster. Soothsayers and excrement-readers have said the Monster no longer dines on human flesh, having recently discovered it was high in cholesterol, instead preferring the more ethereal treat of consuming left-fielder's range.
Few left fielders now dare run too hard or fast near the Monster, knowing it will inevitably re-awake the pompous beast. Only Manny Ramirez has entered its spindly bowels and reemerged alive. Though not the same.
Recent reports have indicated Scott Boras's magicians have advised Carl Crawford's agent -- Brian Peters -- that the range-stealing, dream-eating Monster has begun rumbling, sensing a delicious shift in the currents of time.
This trigger is poised to strike.
TRIGGER THREE: International crisis.
Each day, the geopolitical situation in the Far East worsens. The recent shelling on South Korean soil has spurred the South to re-appropriate several nearby islands, transitioning them into full military installations. The attack also led to South Korea to finalize its recent trade agreement with the United States, igniting a cold war of posturing between China and the US as the two nations attempt to assert control over the situation.
It is well known fact that Glorious Leader Kim Jong Il ardently roots for the Red Sox.
However, he also detests capitalism and the excess of player salaries. These kind of three-dimensional complexities and real-human conflicts make Lil' Kim Jong the world's favorite North Korean dictator. He's torn between the self-satisfying feeling of watching a well-run organization displaying the crop of wisdom and prudence for a sea of sloshed yuppies and indiscernible yokels, and his crushing desire to see everyone suffer poverty while he glides around the world in his solid-gold Flame Zeppelin.
In many ways, Kim is an average Red Sox fan. He wakes up in the morning, puts on his underwear, and walks over to the fridge. He scratches his belly while looking at the quickly solidifying 2% milk, but in his heart he's actually thinking about Spring Training and if you can eat clam chowder for breakfast. At the end of a long day of photo-shoots with the terrified peasantry and gulag visits where the officers let him poke the prisoners with cattle prods, Kim cracks open his laptop, sits in his blue-striped boxers, and reads about John Lester's favorite healthy snacks.
Many political pundits fear Kim Jong-Il's recent downturn in health was directly due to the Red Sox failure to reach the playoffs. However, it is feared the Carl Crawford signing has put Kim's internal struggle to the test, and he now sits constantly at his "Awesome Chair," which is in front of the console which operates his stolen Russian missiles. KIM JONG-IL IS AN ANGRY NAP AWAY FROM DESTROYING MODERN SOCIETY.
And if that happens, the Red Sox will almost undoubtedly be UNABLE to reap $20M of value from Carl Crawford.
Suck it Red Sox.