Let me tell you a little story about a man named Matt. He toiled in the pine fields of Wrigley since aught six, mining gatorade for those three long years. It wasn't a glamorous job, but it was his job.

But then rolled in this hot shot new kid with his fancy chin-scruff and shaved head. Oo, everyone cooed, he hit .319 just a year ago...and his name is a synonym for grass. That's so hot.

And Matt cried. He cried and he cried and he cried.

Wait, he cried? Who said he cried? Thunder Matt does not cry!* Thunder Matt takes his destiny into his own hands! And that's just what he did.

(* see what I did there? I turned it around on you. The old switcheroo)

And so Thunder Matt devised a plan. A plan of such cunning evil it could only be described as both cunning and evil. First he would require a bomb. No wait! He would need a stick of dynamite. Damn, the problem was Matt could never remember if he was the white pointy-nosed guy or the black one. His coloring would suggest the white one, but his wicked moves on the dance floor...

It started innocently enough, a simple explosive in the locker. But when that didn't do the job, Mr. Reed Johnson retaliated and escalated. It was Matt Murton stuck in the guillotine followed by Matt grabbing his helicopter** and unleashing a mini-firestorm of fury. It was hell on earth. Not literal hell, of course, but it was significantly warmer, so it seemed that way.

(** well, of course he has a helicopter***)

(*** it's as impressive as all that; Lowes had a sale)

But all of this was for naught. Reed Johnson was the chosen one, hand picked by Hendry, and no bomb would change that. While the two players were barely separable according to the numbers, Reed had the advantage of being slightly better and so Matt was to be locked in a box in the back of the dugout, only to be released in blowouts and extra-innings.

If only the Brian Roberts trade had gone through, all this tragedy could have been avoided. Or, if only Matt could play a passable center field, that would have helped too. Poor Matt, I can't help but think what might have been...