In the next few days Girardi has said that he will release his rotation decisions. Being the investigative reporters that we are we had no choice but to toe the line of unethical behavior and acquire the unreleased rotation list. This mission was the hardest thing we had ever done.
I approached Girardi in the clubhouse under the pretense of asking him about Joba's ankle injury, but in his hand was the briefcase that our sources confirmed had the rotation list. I pulled out my notepad as if I was going to take notes on his answers, but Girardi knew something was up, and made a mad dash for the door! How could I be so stupid!? I never take notes, I always make up their answers. I chased him into the parking lot where he hopped into a car that was waiting for him. I jumped into my car and chased him through the city weaving in and out of traffic, and onto the free way, but he was more equiped than I. Popping the trunk of his car a giant container of oil spilled out as I was right on his tail. My car spun on the slick surface and crashed into a ditch. Girardi flicked his cigar onto the oily road sending a trail of flames heading straight for my car! My gas tank ignited and my car exploded into a glorious array of metal and fire, but I wasn't dead. I had slipped out through the trap door in my Hyundai that I keep for moments just like this. But since Girardi thought I was dead, I had a distinct advantage. I called my sources and found out that Girardi was heading to the airport. I beat him there, bought myself a ticket and planned to confront him in the terminal. As I waited for him, I pulled out my notepad and flipped through the empty pages, passing the time, until I came across a page that read "Boom!". As I pondered the implications of such an ominous message, a flight attendant hurled a briefcase from across the terminal yelling "Rotate this!". The briefcase landed at my feet. I jumped at a trash can, flipped it over and covered the briefcase to absorb the explosion, but at that moment I was jumped by airport security. In the scuffle, the briefcase detonated, and I hid myself in the smoke, broke through the security door and ran out onto the tarmac, just in time to see an airplane taking off, with Girardi in the window, giving me the finger. It was quite clever.
But my sources are good, and I found where he was headed. Hiding in the back seat of his car, I waited for Girardi. The moment finally came, Girardi arrived and began driving home, but I jumped out and we began a scuffle. We traded blows and tumbled about, rolling right out of the drivers side door and onto the pavement where we continued the fight as his Jeep crashed into a Panera. But as we fought a mack truck passed by and Girardi grabbed ahold of the door, making his escape! He stared me down as the truck drove off holding the rotation list up in his hand in a mocking manner, but the joke was on him. In the scuffle I had switched rotation lists. The list in his hand was a list of Wu-Tang clan members. So long story short, here's the rotation: