Dear Max’s boss,

Max can’t come to work today because her favorite player got traded.

Signed,
Max’s mom

Well, damn. I knew this was coming and yet I allowed myself to hope.

“What time is the trade deadline?” I had googled, hours earlier. “6 p.m. on July 31,” I was informed.

I looked at my watch. Two and a half hours to go. Yes, I knew Cedric Mullins, the Orioles’ dynamic veteran center fielder, was on the chopping block. He was going to be a free agent next year and the O’s had lots of expensive young players like Gunnar Henderson and Adley Rutschman they needed to lock into long-term deals, not to mention some talented prospects waiting in the wings. Thirty-year-old Ced was expendable.

“This might be Cedric Mullins’ last home stand,” the Os announcers reminded us, again and again, in our series against Toronto.

“La la la, I can’t hear you!” I said to my TV.

Baseball is a business. We know that. You trade with your head, not your heart. And if you can get lots of young talent for a guy you probably weren’t going to sign anyway, it’s a no brainer. But the business part is for the people in the front office. We fans watch with our hearts and guts.

It didn’t help that, for the whole series against the Blue Jays, Cedric kept reminding us why we loved him—making two spectacular grabs in center—both of which seemed to defy the laws of physics—hitting two home runs, bunting for a single, and hustling, always hustling.

“Cedric doing Cedric things,” we called them.

The thing about Ced is that he’s inconsistent. He can win a game for you singlehandedly (make a great play in the field, club a home run, get on, steal a base or two) but he can go long stretches where—well, there’s no other way to put it—he kinda sucks in the batter’s box. He was the very definition of streaky. You could ride a Cedric hot streak like you were in the passenger seat of a Ferrari. But then, for large chunks of time, it was a bit more like being in the passenger seat of a Toyota Corolla.

So why did the fans love him so much?

There were, yes, those thrilling, “Sportscenter Top Plays” heroics in the outfield, for one. “You can’t escape him!” we would say, after we picked our jaws up off the floor. There was his savvy and speed on the base paths. (“Cedric the Entertainer” was another inevitable, if apt, nickname.) There was the fact that he tended to get hot at just the right time. (He was seemingly the only Orioles player who showed up for last year’s woeful playoffs.) There was the fact that he was the best player on a lot of terrible Orioles teams, before they got good*—sort of imprinting himself onto our collective Orioles’ consciousness.

There was his hustle, his heart, his swagger, his humility. These were qualities that endeared us to Cedric for life. He had too much flair to be called a “lunch pail” kind of player, but his work ethic was second to none. He always tried his hardest, ran out ground balls, gave up his body to make a play. Whether he had gone 0-4 or 3-4—you always knew you were going to get maximum effort from Cedric Mullins.

So yeah, I hoped against hope he wouldn’t be dealt. Then, at around 4:30 on Thursday, the news came in. Cedric had been traded to the Mets.

Then, in rapid succession, first baseman Ryan O’Hearn and outfielder Ramón Laureano were traded to the Padres. (The night before, Ramón Urías, a trusty utility player with a knack for coming through in the clutch, was also traded.) Those hurt, too, especially O’Hearn, who balled out this year and seemed to really love being an Oriole (he wore a custom Orioles-themed blazer to the All-Star gala).

But that’s baseball. It can break your heart in all sorts of ways.

And now, suddenly, I find myself in need of a new favorite player.

Gunnar Henderson, the best player on the team, is an obvious choice, but feels a bit too on the nose. I could go with baby-faced Jackson Holliday, our number one pick who finally seems to be coming into his own. Or maybe the funny Colton Cowser, as quick-witted off the field as he is talented on it (plus, the whole “Moooo!” thing rules). Or perhaps Jordan Westburg, an absolute stud whose early season injury may very well have doomed the Os this year. And then there’s Adley Rutschman, who hugs pitchers after a win. How can you not love that guy?

All good choices, but only time will tell.

For eight seasons, my heart belonged to Ced. My new favorite is going to have to earn it.

*This year not included…sigh.

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