(Editor’s note: The conversation chronicled below took place on the morning of Sunday, July 5, 2009.)

3:37 AM – Knock, knock. 

(The door opens on its own, and the uninvited man stomps into the room.)

Kent stumbles from his monitor and is taken aback at the stranger entering the room.  "Dude, what the hell?  Uh, take what you want… uh… I don't have any cash, but just take what you want."

The 5'11", 282 lb. man slows and strolls over to the couch, crashes down as if he just ran a marathon, letting out a relieving sigh.  "Man, wurs' ur' dignity."

"What?  Dude, who the hell are you?"

"I'm yer' guardian freekin' angel, dood.  I'm here ta' keep ye' from screwin' up yer' life, dood."

"Um… what the hell is this?" Kent mutters back.  "I wasn't aware that my life was screwed up, and what the hell man?  Don't angels keep their distance?  Aren't they just supposed to twist fate for you or something?  It looks like you ate all the guardians anyways.  How the heck did you get in?  And if you're an angel, why are you a dude?"

"Ye' was too preokapyd ta' even close tha door all the way, I rekon.  But ferget 'bout all that.  Man, lemme tell ye' somethin'.  Ye' know why theys callin' ye' names?  Ye' know why ye' haven't even pitched in a game in 17 days?  I bet ye' can't even find the plate with benoklers.  Ye' need ta' come clean with me right now and tell me wuts goin' on.  Ye' still got yer' sterps' on, by the way."

Still puzzled with the transpiring events, Kent performs an abrupt strike to his face in an attempt to awaken from his slumber.  He hesitates and comes to the realization that he really hasn't been sleeping at all lately.  He looks over to verify that what he was doing is still up on the monitor, and authenticates the situation.  "Ok man.  I have no idea what the hell you're doing here in the middle of the night…"

"I gut no idea what in the hell yur' still doin' up at this hour when you got a game tommora."

"Dude, are you from The Matrix?" Kent curiously asks.  Kent shuffles in his chair, and quickly determines that this guy must be some crazy fan, and that he isn't leaving anytime soon.  Frankly, the man might not be willing to leave at all.  "Ok.  Geez, this is effin' crazy," shaking his head in disbelief.

"Listen Neo, I'm here ta find out wut in the hell is goin' on with ya.  Would ye’ just tell me please, so I don't have ta make yer' life freakin' miserable?"  Kent glances over at the monitor and the stranger quickly rises up from the couch and walks over to the screen, turns it around and discovers just why Kent hasn't been sleeping very well.  "’Lord Murphy’?  What the heck is that man?  Is dat porn?"

"It's not porn," Kent says comically.  "It's WoW."

"WoW?  Wuts dat?"

"It's, uh… never mind."

"Well, why's Lord Murphy nekked?"

"I just got some new armor, and me and the guys are going out to grind some XP?"

"XP?  Windows er' somethin'?

"Wow, ok.  Forget this."  Kent gets up, and the stranger abruptly shoves him back into the seat.  "Whoa, take it easy."

"Man, I'm a huge fan of yers, and I ain't been likin' wuts' goin' on with ye'."

"Ok, so I've been up late playing for the past few months.  So what?  I have a life outside of baseball, ya know."

"Lord Murphy, lemme' tell ya' somethin' 'bout life, ok?  I get up ever' mornin' and go ta werk, so I can pay muh bills.  I come home to see yer sorry butt on TV ever day, wishin' I could be out ther', part of the team, givin' this town wut it deserves.  I'm not sayin' you can't be no Lord Murphy on yer' own time, but ye' gotta put sumthin' in purspekt here.  You live in a goddamn hotel room, fer Fate's sake!  Ever since ye' gone signed that fancy contract, yer' on a path down te' nowhere.  Ye' remember that ye' was a PEBA All-Star?  Wut happened?  I don't believe in dragons, man.  Ye' fight dragons nekked like that?"

Kent (with humility) quips, "Well I could, if it was into that sort of thing.  Look, don't you have hobbies?  I mean, if you're such a big fan and all, I mean you're here in my damn home at 3:52 AM!!  You're here to help me with my problems?  Maybe it's I that should be helping you!  How the hell did you find me here anyway?"

"I fallowed ye' after tha game.  I been sittin' outside all night wonderin' why yer' lights ar' still on."

"Seems kind of farfetched, but whatever.  You can't just go barging through people's doors like this.  It's a crime, ya know.  I oughta call the police."

"Yea, I'm sorry.  But ye' know I'm only here ta help ye'.  I just wan'a know why yer' ERA is more than yer' past two seasons put together man.  Why ye' got dem' dark circles under yer' eyes."

"I don't know.  I'm human, you see… we all have addictions, things in life we find to fill the void.  Lately I've felt like I'm not part of the team anymore, like I'm not even the same person I was when I started playing.  It's all monotonous, playing ball.  I guess I'm living a different life, through Lord Murphy.  Ya know?"

"Um, not really boy, but listen here.  Ye' see, you got lots of people pullin' fer' ye' in this town.  You can't go an' let them down like ye' have been.  Rember that game 'gainst New Jersey?"

"Man, don't remind me… Why you gotta bring that up?"

"Ye' haven't pitched since that game, Lord Murphy.  Does it still seem like so long ago?"

"Sheesh.  Holy cow, you're right!  I don't know what it was about that night.  I was so amped to take the mound, too.  I mean, yeah it was late, but I've been up late playing that damn game for so long that it felt normal.  Man, what a great game it was to watch from the pen.  Yeah, I suppose I let a lot of people down that night."

"Ye' been lettin' people down all year, man.  That was the night we started to call ye' 'Can't Murphy'."

"Damn, I remember the next time we were home – it was coming from all over the stadium during warm-ups.  There was this obnoxious guy in the front row above our dugout… wait a second."  Kent glances over to the stranger.  "Hey, that was you!"

"He he, ye', that was me.  Listen, can't ye' just pretend that ye' really are Lord Murphy when yer' on the mound?  Pretend yer' in that new armor ye' just got, and that the opposing team is a dragon ye' got tuh' slay er' somethin' – ain't that possible?"

"Geez dude, you're an effin' flaky guy.  First you give me that terrible, terrible nickname.  You come to my home and criticize my personal life, and now you're giving me advice?"

"If yer' callin' room 153 a home, boy, yer' the flaky one.  I'm jus' tryin' to help ye' with yer' problems.  Tryin' to inspire ye' again."

"Well… I suppose your crazy idea could work; nothing else seems to be working anymore.  Listen, I'll give that a try from now on, but first I've got to convince Pat that he can count on me again."

"Gettin’ those dark circles out from yer' eyes would be a good place to start, I rekon.  Limit yerself, Lord Murphy, and set some freakin' goals would ye'?"

"I can do that, but listen: you've got to get out of here.  I've got to get some sleep.  In the rare event I get in the game tomorrow, I'll try what you say and I'll go from there.  We leave for San Antonio after tomorrow’s game, and I promise to leave the MacBook here at home… I mean, the hotel.  But dude, seriously, you've got to get out of here."

"Ok, man, but I can come up wit' much werse' if I don't see ye' turn it around soon, you got dat'?"

The man gets up and walks towards the door, opens it and stops half way through his exit.  "We'll continue this some other time, ok?"

Kent walking towards the door, staring at the man as if he had just been hit over the head with a ton of bricks, still wondering what the heck has just taken place, "Dude, some other time?  Who the hell are you anyway?"

"They call me Rob.  Angry Rob."  The stranger pulls the door shut.

Kent quickly turns the deadbolt, turns his back and slides down the door to his knees.  "Man, that dude is effin' crazy."