Jon Heyman ruined several of my friendships

I can’t be held accountable for my actions after I thought my team was landing Aaron Judge

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Aaron Judge is going to San Francis...ope. Staying with the Yankees.
Aaron Judge is going to San Francis...ope. Staying with the Yankees.
Image: Getty Images

Being a San Francisco Giants fan is tough right now. Never mind that the team is likely not re-signing Carlos Rodón. Never mind that there’s no plan for the hole at first base. Right now, the biggest thing on every Giants fan’s mind — including my own — is how New York Post reporter Jon Heyman granted their deepest desires and promptly took it back. The last 48 hours have been absolutely miserable.

As a Giants fan, I wasn’t even sure I wanted Aaron Judge on the team. Sure, he’s an insane hitter, but he would be insanely expensive, the Giants have always performed best when pitching is their biggest strength, and a right-handed power hitter isn’t exactly built for Oracle Park. Triple’s alley and that tall right field wall severely hinder opposite field power. From the right side of the plate, Oracle Park has had a home run factor of 77 or lower (meaning 23 percent worse for home runs than league average) in 10 of the last 12 seasons. In that stretch, it’s never been an above-average home run ballpark for righties.

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The moment I saw the Bleacher Report notification on my phone though, I screamed like a kid opening up a Nintendo 64 on Christmas. I grew up in the Bay Area and went to college in Southern California. So, now, a lot of my friends are Dodger fans. Almost all of them believed the Giants had zero chance of landing Judge. Even as rumors started swirling of Judge’s interest, their response was always “In your dreams, you black and orange buffoon.” So naturally, after my initial giddiness had calmed, I started texting each and every one of them various taunts ranging from subtle jabs like “Well, well, well. I guess someone was wrong” to direct insults like the middle finger emoji and a cloud of dust.

I immediately messaged my fantasy football group and told them all to “Kiss my ass.” They, of course, retorted with lame putdowns mentioning how my fantasy team was still under .500 (I’m 6-7) with almost no chance of reaching the fantasy playoffs, but nothing could keep me down. I had time that day. Every comment telling me to shut up or calm down was met with a louder pushback in all caps. I could’ve been robbed for $100 in that moment and the smile wouldn’t have left my face. Then I was robbed of Judge.

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I know the tweets were only seven minutes apart, but I was too caught up in my hubris. I hadn’t checked Twitter for 20 minutes. I was too busy lauding over the Giants’ shiny new toy to worry about the bluebird app. My gaudiness quickly turned sour though as the texts and DMs from the friends I just taunted rolled in. “Uh oh. I guess someone spoke too soon,” one of my friends texted. “Might want to look again, bud,” said another.

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I couldn’t believe it. I thought I was having a nightmare. I wasn’t so worried about not having Judge. More about suffering the consequences of my own actions, but like, come on, how else could I have responded, right? My fantasy chat started dogging me again, but this time, I had no defense. My friends all asked if I’d like to rescind my middle finger, but I couldn’t. The damage had already been done. All I could do was crawl back to each and every one of them with my head down and tail between my legs begging for forgiveness. Some granted that request. Others asked for more. I had to write out a 300-word essay to my fantasy league stating regret for my actions. I had to make a custom apology video for another friend of mine. Embarrassment was hitting me from every angle.

I was smoking copium hard too. I started reverting back to my old thoughts, “Judge wouldn’t have been a good fit anyway.” I started blaming Heyman for my misfortune, “How the hell do you misspell ‘Aaron’? This isn’t even the first time he’s misspelled a player’s name. He called Cole Hamels ‘Coke Hamels’. He called Mookie Betts ‘Moose Betts’. This guy is supposed to be a pro and he’s making mistakes like this? Clearly, I’m no the one to blame.” Obviously, I was just trying to make excuses for myself.

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The next morning it didn’t get better. Aaron Judge re-signed with the Yankees early in the morning. I hadn’t even left for work yet, and my roommate strolled out into the living room in a Yankees hat. He doesn’t even like the Yankees. Hell, he doesn’t even like baseball. Where the hell did he get that hat? He never mentioned the Judge re-signing news, but we both knew what was going on. He made casual forced conversation about random nonsense in a condescending tone. It irked me to my core, but I couldn’t do anything about it.

I’m now a fool among my peers. While that’s obviously been the case for a decade at this point, it’s now confirmed. I can no longer defend myself. I’ve lost all credibility among my friend groups, and some of them may never forgive me for the obscenities I lobbed their way following Heyman’s tweet. You’ve set my social standing back six years, Heyman! This is an unforgivable sin. May Giants fans have mercy on your soul. I know I won’t.