I have only myself to blame.
I got just as excited about Stephen Strasburg as anyone in baseball. After my fantasy baseball draft this season, I promptly traded away my first overall pick (Roy Halladay) for Strasburg, essentially straight up.
I spent the spring trying to convince buddies to go to one of his various minor league starts with me, whether in Harrisburg or Syracuse or where ever. No one took me up on it.
I even went to StubHub, bought three tickets to his debut with the Nationals, and took a day off work to take my father-in-law and my daughter to the game.
"We'll never forget this game" I told them. "We'll tell our grandkids about this one," I exclaimed, forgetting that my father-in-law was, in fact, at the game with one of his grandkids.
We talked with much excitement about the future of the Washington Nationals with Strasburg, Bryce Harper, and Ryan Zimmerman.
And so today, as I sit at my desk disillusioned with the news that Strasburg is going to have Tommy John surgery and is done for this year and all of next year, I have only myself to blame. I allowed myself to be fooled into believing that there was such a thing as the baseball version of Santa Claus: the can't miss pitching prospect.
This in the face of baseball history, which teaches us that there is no such thing.
Here's 20 reasons why I should have known better.