Roy Halladay Blanked the Cincinnati Red--Is That a Double Entredre?
When it comes to describing the emotions of a middle-aged woman who witnessed Roy Halladay’s once-in-a-lifetime postseason feat, I simply don’t have the words. My husband says, “Add that to the other things you don’t have: boobs and couth.” That might be true, but he wasn’t disappointed the day I proved I didn’t have man-parts either. Take that Lady Gaga. She thought she was the only person required to prove she’s all woman. Fortunately she confirmed that before she was photographed wearing her meat suit. Did you see where she placed her t-boner? Where was I? Oh yeah, the surreal world of Roy Halladay. Nary a week has passed since my sweaty thighs slid off my season-ticket seat in my favorite steamy ballpark. Now on a cold, rainy night, with the tiny cast of William Penn looking on from atop the highest building in a city that’s delivered four straight division wins, Roy Halladay was haunted by the Ghosts of Torontos past and stayed the course on his career vision. Two ...