There was a time not that long ago when the Cleveland Indians didn't have a three-headed demon dragon fronting their starting rotation. Just a few years ago even, when the Tribe was still digging itself out of self-imposed exile in the wastelands of 90 losses, The ace of the staff was not a suspected cyborg, but a 6 foot 6 Jamaican man. Yes, Justin Masterson, he of the bowling ball sinker, incredible socks, and general gigantism. For a brief moment, Masterson looked like the first blip in the rise of the Cleveland Indians. Then, just like that, he was gone, traded to the St.
Justin Masterson, what could have been and never really was
