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Cliff Lee is gone

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Matt Klentak moved quickly to get one more fat contract off the books.

Kim Klement-USA TODAY Sports

The Phillies and Cliff Lee parted wa

Ha. Yes. Well. That's true if you break things down to their surfacest level, but

What a bunch of stupids the Phillies are! No, but, obviously there is more than that going o

Boy, there are so many more baseball comedians on Twitter than... than one would think. And what do you know, they all made exactly the same joke, simultaneously. What a strange and mystical place the internet is, where the like-minded gather to share identical humor.

As clicking any of the links attached to the revolutionary comedy above will tell you, the Phillies actually saved $15 million by not picking up Cliff Lee's 2016 option; which... why would they have picked that up at this point (Then again, is it really "saving" money if they have to buy their way out of paying him money that they offered him in the first place. I guess, but...). The man tore his left flexor tendon and then the Phillies woke up one morning and he was gone, with only a strange symbol made from the twigs of trees indigenous only to Arkansas lying in his bunk. From that point forward it was just a matter of lying to the press regarding his whereabouts, claiming that yes, of course, they hadn't just lost a player in the world somewhere, that would be ridiculous. He was naturally somewhere safe and secure, recovering or whatever.

But we all knew the truth. Cliff had dug in somewhere within the Saline County line, smirking in the underbrush of god forsaken territory, daring some team rep to come and find him. He didn't have to lay the traps he was more than qualified to set; the landscape out there would do it for him, swallowing a man whole, whether it be in the mouth of a mud pit or the jaws of a furious boar.

Anyways, the Phillies have a rebuild to get underway, and quirky lefty with a torn appendage dangling off the side of his body isn't going to be much use, unfortunately. Cliff Lee came to us as a mystery; a compromise of a deadline deal who was supposed to be Roy Halladay. He became one of the most dominant hurlers in team history, despite his short stay, subsequent return, and subsequent short stay. He didn't like to talk, and he really liked to hit. He also farted at least once, and everyone heard.

And he, like the glory years with which he will so gleefully be associated for all time, is now gone forever, a free agent for the morbidly curious. I for one take solace in that fact that he seems like the kind of guy who would shake his head and call me a weird dumb-ass for using such flowery nostalgia to describe his time on my television.

Stay hidden, Cliff. The next few years won't be pretty, and at some point, we'll all wish we had our own patch of wilderness in which to hide and shudder in the months to come.