It’s a rainout day (at last Arizona gets treated to the weather we’ve had here in the Bay Area for days and days and days), so we’re going to be flies on the wall for a phone conversation between Michael Young and Jon Daniels.
Michael Young: Hello? Mr. Daniels? It’s Michael Young. At last we speak.
Jon Daniels: Uh.
MY: How’s your leg? Still broken?
JD: Uh… it’s, um. It’s much better.
MY: Good. Then kindly limp, stagger, or crawl to a General Manager on my trade list and trade me.
JD: Um, absolutely, I would love to.
JD: Except… Oh, my God.
JD: My aunt has just fallen from the sky in a freak skydiving accident!
MY: Enough! Unless I am traded by first thing 9:00 on Wednesday morning…
JD: Mr. Young, uh…
MY: …the next step will be… personal contact. Which we haven’t had since the start of Spring Training.
JD: Absolutely, 9:00 on Wednesday morning. I have to go. I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go.
Gets off phone.
You are getting your own ringtone.
“Do not answer this call, it’s Michael Young. Do not answer this call it’s Michael Young.”
And such is the lovely relationship of Michael Young and Jon Daniels (and, you know, Rebecca Bloomwood and Derek Smeath).