I still can’t get used to seeing the Trotter in a Cleveland uni. To the point that I’ve already cut out a little cardboard Red Sox cap and helmet that I plan to stick onto the TV screen for those nights when the Sox play the Injuns. Trot most assuredly won’t have to worry about a plaque at Cooperstown, but when he is enshrined in the Hall of Famous Ass Kickers, he will definitely be sporting his Boston duds, as well as a bottle of rye and a bat with some nails through it. ‘Cause that’s how Christopher Trotman rolls.
Myself, I’m hoping we have a game where the Sox and Indians mix it up this season. Because the mathematical possibilities are off the charts. Would Trot take up arms against his old mates? Which of our guys would actually wanna take him on? Would Trot and Timlin just kinda stand off to the side, and crack a bottle of Night Train while someone stuffs a bat up Jesse Barfield’s south forty? The mind reels.
Also, get NASA or NORAD or whoever’s in charge of monitoring our national airwaves on notice: I’m guessing the ovation Trot gets in his Fenway return will be one of the loudest Fenway ovations ever. Like, you could probably hear it from the parking lot of the Foxy Lady in Providence loud. Not that I’d be hanging out there, but, you know. I’d definitely hear it if I was.
