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Mike Trout Is About To Live The Greatest Life In Sports History

Everyone who has a blog, or a radio show, or just a goddam twitter account has weighed in on Mike Trout. Everything from how hes the greatest of all time, to how hes the least marketed/marketable of all time, to how he’s a lock to play for Philly, to how he NEEDS to escape the LA Angels. The only thing everybody seemed to fully agree on is that A) Hes maybe, already, the greatest of all time, and B) if he doesnt get out of LA he’s going to waste away and be irrelevant. That Anaheim is the worst possible spot for him. He needs to come to the East Coast to be a superstar.

FUCK. THAT. Mike Trout is about to make four HUNDRED and thirty MILLION dollars. To play baseball, at an exceptionally high, unprecedented level, in Southern California, for the rest of his career. Zero pressure. Endless money. Nothing but universal praise. He married his high school sweetheart, they both probably worship the ground each other walks on. The only problem in Mike Trout’s life is watching the Eagles on the West Coast. A three hour time difference is the greatest obstacle in his life. Thats all this man wants to do – play baseball, watch the Birds, cash checks, and live with his wife in the best weather city in America. That, my friends, is the dream life. Ask Arod if he liked playing in front of huge New York crowds, see how much he has to lie saying how great it was.. Give it a couple years when the Phillies fans are throwing rocks and bricks at Bryce Harper because he had a bad NLDS, ask him if he likes it in Philly. Sure, you’d like some Postseason glory. A ring would of course be nice. But at the cost of your carefree lifestyle of pure bliss? Your lifestyle of wealth and privacy and universal likability? If Mike Trout signed with the Red Sox you’d have Felger and half the Massholes of the world complaining that he doesnt bunt enough against the shift. In LA he can probably go sit down at In and Out and not even be recognized. It seems unfathomable that a player of his caliber doesnt care about October baseball, and I understand why thats important to a lot of fans. But in the grand scheme of life, boy oh boy, did Mike Trout (and more notably, his wife) hit the fucking Powerball. Immortality with his performance, perfect sport to offer up the perfect excuse for not winning a team championship, privacy, ease of life, peace of mind, happiness, and love. All while its 75 and sunny every day. Take your postseason records and your rings and shove them directly up your asshole.