When Roy Halladay toes the rubber sometime around 5 pm this afternoon, we're sure that we'll feel a twinge of...well...something. Maybe it's anticipatory nostalgia, or maybe it's reluctant happiness for him.
Whatever. Doc set himself up for this moment, and got the postseason berth that he wanted, so we're certain that this means that all is right in the world, and starving children shall be fed, and all that fantastically great stuff. Hooray. Have fun proving that you and your band of Phillies are the class of the Quadruple-A circuit.
This is not unlike the feeling we got whilst attending the wedding of a long-time ex-girlfriend. We thought that the right thing to do was to go and celebrate her, and oh, joy, isn't this swell that everybody gets what they want. But deep down, there's the less-civilized version of your pal Tao who's thinking: "Fuck this noise. Go. Enjoy your fucking life. And fuck you, while you're at it."
So, yeah. Knock 'em dead Doc. Show the world how great you are. And go fuck yourself while you're at it.