Tampa Bay outfielder Rocco Baldelli, according to a report from a Rhode Island TV station and MLB.com, does not have a mitochondrial disorder, but rather a channelopathy.

Apparently, this is good news for Baldelli. However, the reports don't say what kind of channelopathy Baldelli has. But just a good kind. I really don't know what a channelopathy is. But I presume channels are involved.

I envision Baldelli checking into a fancy hospital in his native Rhode Island for fatigue, where he was first treated by the dean of medicine of the hospital, an attractive woman who did not dress appropriately for the job. Her original diagnosis was that Baldelli had an ax in his head and would be dead in a week.

However, a limping bearded drug addict with a permanent two-day growth of beard decided to take Baldelli's case. This person is actually a brilliant doctor, but also one of the most misanthropic individuals to walk the planet. He also sounded like he was trying to stifle an English accent. The doctor actually refused to see Baldelli, but would instead write his symptoms on a grease board, while a team of younger doctors would run numerous tests, most of them pointless.

Eventually Baldelli's heart stopped beating, but he was shocked back to life. Then a few days later he had a seizure, which turned out to be nothing. Then the misanthropic doctor sent two of the doctors to search Baldelli's home and found out that the player might have picked up a rare mold that is found in only two places in the world: Rhode Island and Turkmenistan.

Baldelli was then given massive doses of a drug to treat the mold. However, Baldelli only got worse. This was because the misanthropic doctor was wrong.

Eventually, the misanthropic (yet brilliant) doctor went to talk to his only friend, who was a handsome otolaryngologist. That doctor thought that Baldelli might have just had a bad sore throat, but he really didn't want to talk and he asked the misanthropic doctor to change the channel on the TV in his office because he wanted to watch C-SPAN.

The misanthropic doctor then stopped. He thought deeply. He limped off to Baldelli's room, explained the diagnosis and a musical montage started.