That Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

I want you to imagine something with me.

You’re in a bar, it’s not that late but you’re getting tired of being your buddy’s wingman.  It’s smoky and you have work in the morning.  Out of the corner of your eye, you notice someone.

But just any someone.  A woman.  A beautiful woman.

The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

Her.

 

You strike up a conversation.  It’s amazing.

You’re into sports?  She plays Fantasy.

You’re into fitness?  She runs 5 miles a day.

You’re into Dungeons and Dragons?  She’s a 14th Level Rogue with several levels in fighter, just to max damage!

It’s perfect.

 

You court for a while.

She fills in the little gaps in your life.  You let her drive your car, she buys you clothes to look sharp at work.

 

Then you decide to seal the deal.

Her body is better than you can imagine.  You are so happy you could just explode.

And then…it just…happens.

 

You take a day and talk it over with your buddies.

“Well of course” they say “you build it up so much, of course it was gonna be a let down.”

 

Good point.

You take  her out on another date.  You go home.  You seal the deal.

And it’s so good you speak in tongues.

You’re telling everybody that this chick is the one.  You can see yourself settling down with this chick.

And if the other night was any indication, you’ll be happy every day.

She moves in.

It’s a little shaky at first, but that’s to be expected.

I mean, two people have to get used to each other.

So what if she forgot to flush that one time.  She was in a rush and it didn’t stink up your place too bad.

Yes, she left the door open and your pet bird, the one you got from your uncle who passed away and that you’ve had for 15 years, got out.  It could happen to anyone.

And the physical stuff…well it’s never been as good as that one time, but it’s still good.  Well it’s consistent.  Maybe consistent isn’t the word.  But it’s still better than all of your friends have.  So you don’t want to complain.

But you miss that bird.

But every now and again the sex is just crazy stupid.  Like the kind of sex that makes you call out of work two days later.  Even though most of the time it’s vanilla at best and really disappointing at worst, you keep thinking each time that “this will be one of the good times.”

Time passes and all of a sudden she’s very comfortable in your place.

 

She’s farting.  Loudly.

 

She stops buying you clothes and pitching in for gas money.

 

But once every two or three months she drops the bomb on you and you don’t care.  It makes it all worth it.

 

Your friends notice a change.  Your apartment smells, because that not flushing thing, is a quirk of hers, a new-age green movement thing.

Other women, women with careers are interested in you and you won’t even talk to them because this girl, this girl who leaves poops in the toilet for hours and killed your bird is the one.

Your friends don’t like her.  They keep telling you to move on.  She’s unreliable.  Too comfortable.  You were born and raised in Brooklyn, she’s from San Diego.

One night, your friends trail her.

They swear to you that she’s untrustworthy.  That all of the time and effort you’ve put in, she’s not putting back.

“But”, you tell them “You don’t understand.  The sex.  Holy sweet mother of pearl.”

“Right,” they say, “Is it always like that?”

“Well no.  It’s actually pretty bad most times.”

“Then what the heck is wrong with you?”

“I’ve got so much time put in!”

You have just said the worst words for any relationship.

You are now stuck in a relationship because you are stuck in a relationship.

You realize that this girl, this great girl, that you once thought was the one, isn’t.  But what are you supposed to do?  Just kick her out?  Let her walk away?  You know if you do that, she’s gonna lose fifteen pounds, hit the gym hard, flush that toilet and move in next door.

That sucks.  And you know it’s true.  She’s going to become the knockout you always dreamed of.  You’re gonna hear her giving the give all the time.  The good give.  The give that kept you around for all that time.

There’s nothing you can do about it.  You gotta suck it up and take your lumps.  Admit your mistake and realize that wasted time shouldn’t be followed by more wasted time.

And that crazy, untrustworthy, farting, non-flushing, girl:

 

Is Phil Hughes.

Phil Fucking Hughes.

 

Phil Hughes was the next big thing.  An A+, can’t miss, once-in-a-lifetime, No-Doubt-about-it, sure thing.

He started with real potential.  Showed flashes of brilliance.  Took a no-hitter into the seventh against Texas, then got hurt.

Comes back and struggles.  But he’s young, so okay.

Gets moved to the bullpen.

Dominates.

He moves back into the rotation in 2010, dominates early, makes the All-Star Game before completely shitting the bed hitting the “arm fatigue” wall.

Shows enough poise and potential to stay in rotation despite being made of terra cotta.

Which brings us to 2013.

There are days when this happens:

This would be “the good nights”

 

And A lot more days when this happens:

 Bird Cage left open

and this

Not Paying for Gas

And this

Poop Water

 

And everyone in New York is ready to just leave flaming bags of poop on his doorstep.

 

This is what sucks.  You can’t just cut him (he’s got the keys to your place), You can’t trade him (all of your friends knows she’s nuts), You can’t offer arbitration, cause he’ll take it (you can’t marry her, because, poop water).

You have to let him go.

He’ll go play in San Diego and you can watch him lose the CC Sabathia weight he’s put on and be awesome.

As an aside, am I crazy, or does hughes look like he’s gone to the CC Sabathia school of athletic training?

 

You have to let him go though.

Because when it comes to Phil Hughes, much like that ex-girlfriend we’ve all had,

The fucking you’re getting, ain’t worth the fucking you’re getting.

 

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