Shot through the heart, and Rube’s to blame.

Darling, you give love a bad name.

I’m used to this now. I’ve seen Richie and Carts dance with Lord Stanley. Twice. I’ve seen Shane Victorino round the fucking bases. I’ve seen Hunter Pence… do whatever the hell Hunter Pence does with the Giants. And to be honest, I can handle Chase Utley and Carlos Ruiz (and Joe Blanton) being happy. I’m rooting for the Dodgers. But this image of Chooch hugging Clayton Kershaw is too much.

When you break up with someone, you might want them to be happy, to move on and thrive. But there’s always a small part of you that wants something to be missing. You want them to be happy, but not too happy. You want them to be missing some crucial element that secretly they yearn for and know they can only get with you. This is just my life now and I’m OK with that. That’s how you want them to feel. That’s what makes Chooch hugging Clayton Fucking Kershaw so hard to comprehend. That’s Doc’s hug. The ball in the dirt, the mask toss, the throw to fist, the leap and hug. THAT’S A NO-HITTER HUG!

How do you think Halladay feels today– waking up, hopping in the plane, reaching VFR flight level, and then checking his phone to see Chooch hugging, again, Clayton Fucking Kershaw? So sad, this is.

H/T to reader Mike