Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?

Something really special has to happen for me to open up my computer to actually write about baseball.

Hot take, it’s boring.

No joke, before last night, this was the coolest thing I’d seen in baseball since the Red Sox’ “beer and fried chicken” collapse of 2011.

I remember being a little league umpire in my youth, and the head umps would always warn you about this happening. It never did, so I considered it impossible.

Maybe it was wrong to project the skillset of a 10 year old’s bat speed onto a major league player, but that ignorance still caused me to enjoy baseball, even just for a moment. So the league should be happy about that, because lord knows these juiced ball home runs aren’t doing it for me.

Anyway, fast forward to last night. The perpetually underperforming Washington Nationals clinched a playoff spot by defeating the also perpetually underperforming Philadelphia Philadelphians (Phillies).


Why is this cool? Because, 1. it knocked the Phillies out of playoff contention and 2. This guy plays for them.


Bryce Harper, for the ill-informed, signed this past offseason with the Philadelphia Phillies for a whopping $330 million dollars.

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He signed there after spending his first six professional seasons with, you guessed it, the Washington Nationals.

One of his biggest reasons for leaving was that he felt there was no chance he was going to win a championship there. Which wasn’t an unfair take, but it’s a lot easier to win one when you… you know… make the playoffs.

Has to suck to be him, right? I imagine he was watching his old teammates celebrate on his old field to then awkwardly make eye contact with someone like Charlie and Mac during their respective dinners.


So it begs the question, is the money worth it? I mean, yes, it matters. It matters a lot. It might matter more than anything. I’d live in Philadelphia for $100,000, let alone $330 million, but lets just ignore reality for a second, shall we?

Accepting all that money for a chance at something greater, only to watch your past achieve that greatness must make you question it for a second, right?

Like, you had an amazing girl for six years, but you got tired of it. Nothing wrong with that. It had to end sometime. Maybe you’re lucky enough for it to end amicably, but human nature, and I assume competitive nature for an athlete, wants to make sure you “win the breakup” anyway.

So you move, get a new haircut, make some new friends. This is the new you.

Then, after some time, you head home for one weekend to see some old friends. You haven’t been as active in the group chat lately, so you feel a little guilty. So you see everyone, go out to your old bar, only to find out that they now have a $20 dollar cover. Man, how things change. You assume that’ll be the low point of the night.


You realize immediatly your ex is there and you both play a game of glance chicken. Not-so-subtlely scanning the room only to look up at the cieling if you catch eyes.


After overserving yourself you look up and see your old girl walking out with a guy you bumped into in the bathroom. He was gorgeous. Even worse, you caught a peak at the urinal and you completely understand where his confident body language, and potential lower back problems, come from.

What can you do?

You could make a scene.


But you think better of it. You’ve pulled the same stunt before and got you and your friends kicked out by the bouncer.


So you just head home, thinking about the past, hoping for a better future.

Lesson of the blog: Eyes up in the mens bathroom.



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