The rational, calculating fan in me who values victories over everything else is glad that the Phillies' rebuild has officially begun with the trades of Antonio Bastardo and, more importantly, Jimmy Rollins. Bastardoo is a reliever and about to get expensive, not the sort of luxury a team that's unlikely to be winning much in the near future can afford. Rollins is a a late-30s shortstop who's slowly moving into decline phase and makes a ton of money. Trading him while he still has some value officially kicks off the Phillies' desperately needed rebuild process.
(Though as of the writing of this post, we don't know what the Phillies are getting back. I have waking nightmares that it's Carl Crawford.)
The sentimental fan in me is sad. Yes, Rollins was slowing down. Yes, the Phillies are as far from contention with their current lineup of old-timers and wrecked prospects, as I am from being able to dunk. But this is Jimmy Rollins - the guy who became the mouth of the team when someone needed to stand up to the dreaded Mets, who led the charge to those first post-season-births with improbably late-season rallies, who won an MVP and lead a World Series-winning team, who holds all sorts of team records, who had spent his entire career in a Phillies uniform and become as much a part of Philly as bullshit arguments over Pat's vs Geno's. (Correct Answer: Jim's)
But really, it was time. More than time, if you want to be honest. And maybe he'll get another ring as a Dodger, which would be nice. But no matter what happens out there, it's not going to dent my memories of Rollins as a Phillie. Those are set in stone, frozen in carbonite. If he finds success during the Johnny-Unitas-as-a-Charger phase of his career, good on him. I'll still be satisfied with the memories he gave me.
At least, until Freddy Galvis slips below the Mendoza Line for good on May 14th. Then maybe I won't be quite as sanguine. But I'll try.