"I have some bad news, Angela," Phil says as I brace myself. "Portland has offered Millsap a contract." He's my favorite Jazz man and I'm quite saddened by this new information. "But there's worse bad news," Phil continues. I'm really not expecting what I hear next. All I'm thinking is maybe some more Jazz or basketball news, stuff I may be sad about but nothing to affect my life. And then this:
"They've traded Jeff Francoeur to the Mets."
"Shut up. They did not," I replied as I smack Phil in the arm for playing such a harsh joke on me.
"I'm not kidding Angela, they really did." Still not believing him, he has to pull out his phone and show me the article. And it's really true. "Are you crying?" Phil asks as I turn away after I read it.
"No." But Phil proceeds to text my family about how I'm crying anyway. (Which may or may not be true, you decide. ;)
Basically that's how it went when I found out some of the worst sports news ever. And the more I think about it the worse it gets. No more watching Brian and Jeff together. No more being so excited when Jeff throws someone out at home from right field. No more watching him swing the bat regardless of the count being 3-0. No more keeping my poster of Jeff in his Braves uniform up in the spare bedroom. (Yes, I just couldn't part with it when I got married.) And the worst timing too. Just when they're on TV four days in a row because they're playing the Rockies. But you know what the very worst part is? My Jeff bobblehead. Who else can fill his shoes and be the boyfriend who sits on my desk at school and bring me back to my happy place when I look at him?
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(Even if you'll occasionally find me cheering for a certain New York right fielder.)
In loving memory of Jeff Francoeur. RF #7 2005-2009