Okay. So. Open communication, Daisuke. That’s what we’re all about from now on.
No more surprises. Like leg injuries or whatnot. We’re upfront. Trust will be our foundation. You dig?
Alright, then. Let’s shake on it.
Fine. ::Extends hand; arm falls off and hits the ground::
What the–??? Your goddam arm just fell off!
Yeah. Um. I meant to bring that up.
You see, my wedding ring fell down the garbage disposal, and in my haste to retrieve it, I forgot to shut the blessed machine off. But no worries. The good folks at Toshiba constructed this life-like robotic arm which will allow me to pitch quite effectively. So long as I remember to keep it set to “Greinke” and not “Dopson.”
This is the kind of thing that I wish you’d told us about…
I assure you, I will be ready come spring training. In fact… ::other arm falls off::
Both arms are fake???
Again, my apologies. I can explain. You see, I was invited along on a hunting expedition with the one called Beckett, and he accidentally–
::sticks head in room:: What’d I tell you ’bout snitchin’, boy? ::sneers::
Actually, I was bit by a weasel.
So let me get this straight. You injured your leg in the WBC and never told us. You also neglected to tell us that both of your arms were surgically replaced. While we’re coming clean here, is there anything else you want to tell me?
Er. One more thing, I guess.
::Door on his back flips open, Mark Bellhorn walks out::
What in the hell? Daisuke Matsuzaka is nothing more than an automaton being controlled by… Mark Bellhorn?!
I had some time on my hands.