Stealing an idea from fellow blogger, 10 (link to the right), here are some letters to random people. Let's get things out in the open.
Dear Mr Francona
It is time. David Ortiz is no longer in some kind of slump, he is technically a mess. He looks to be guessing at pitches and seems over whelmed, over matched and lots of other over adjectives (like over done). It is time to move him down in the order.
Please know that not one Red Sox fan will blame you for this move. We appreciate that you remain loyal to players when they’re not hitting well. Just last April you stuck with Dustin Pedroia who was having a horrible first month. He went on to win MVP. We get it.
That said, we are now 5 weeks into the season and you’re number 3 hitter does not have one home run. He is coming off a very serious wrist injury and hitting .222 with an .313 on base percentage. Let me stress that this is the man residing in your number 3 slot in the batting order.
The only reason this isn’t a larger issue is because the Sox have been winning with no input from Ortiz. He’s been a shadow so far this season. He showed some signs of life during the Yankee series and Youkilis’ back injury will buy you some time, but when Youk comes back he should be moved to the third spot.
Get your lineup to look like this: Ellsbury, Pedroia, Youkilis, Bay, Drew, Lowell, Green, Papi, Varitek. If you want to alternate left and right handed batters, then swap Ellsbury and Pedroia around. Pedroia’s on base percentage makes him a better lead off man anyway.
If you want two more weeks, fine! Take them and do with them what you want. But if Papi is still struggling you will have no choice.
Make the move.
Fan Looking Out For The Best Interest Of The Red Sox
Dear Mr Favre,
Just cut the shit. Retire and exit the game gracefully. It’s bad enough you killed the Packers in the Giants overtime game two seasons ago with that horrible, ill advised pass but then you played mind fuck games with the Packers after retiring. This forced them to trade you to the Jets where you played well enough in the first half before self destructing and ruining the season for the Jets and getting Mangini fired. Nice work.
Now, here we go again. I hope these are just rumors, but I’m ready to believe anything when it comes to you. My bet is the Vikings will sign you for a year and you’ll kill them the way you killed all the other teams in the past three years.
And, yes, I include the Patriots in that scenario. For if you hadn’t thrown that idiot interception, the Packers would probably have beaten the Giants. Thus the Giants would never have made it all the way to the Super Bowl and that obscene ‘Helmet Catch’ would never have happened.
Damn you, Brett Favre. Just go away.
Every Football Fan Everywhere.
Why must you play with my feelings like this?
I had a simple, straightforward, if entirely pointless project of listening to all my songs that you currently hold. I was cruising along fine until you decided to freeze up for no reason other than to fuck with me.
After a hard reset I am back to square one. Or, more accurately, I have abandoned said iPod project. For the record, I was six hundred and something songs into it when things went south.
Still, I appreciate you keeping most of my music with me. It’s worth your occasional quirks and hiccups.
Disgruntled Music Fan With Too Much Time On His Hands.
Dear Lebron James,
You are a freak of nature and I love that you are well aware that fans to watch you play and not hear you talk. Keep up the great work.
Every Basketball Fan Everywhere.
Dear Jason Bay,
While I’m entirely heterosexual, I may be in love with you. After crushing another homer last night the way you handled Joba Chamberlain beaning you later in the game put you over the top. Calmly and classily trotting down to first base, but with no intimidation; rewarding Chamberlain with a look that said ‘Yeah, I’ll remember this’.
Here’s hoping you jack two or three more shots off him during the rest of the season.
Red Sox Nation.
Dear Zach Greinke,
What you are doing this season is simply astonishing. 6-0 with a 0.40 ERA and 54 strikeouts is just the surface. That you have battled through depression and a debilitating social anxiety disorder has baseball fans everywhere rooting for your success. Ironically, flourishing this season is going to put your anxiety to the test. Interview requests are through the roof, fans everywhere will want to meet you and have you sign autographs. You are the next big thing.
I hope you can handle the success and new found fame because baseball needs more players like you. Someone that reminds us that baseball is more than stats and salaries and won – loss records. You are the rare example of a player who we root for not because you are good at what you do (although you are) but because you embody everything we wish to be: Courageous, determined and, ultimately, comfortable and happy with who you are.
Human Being Who Just Happens To Enjoy Baseball.
Dear American Idol,
You have taken a juggernaut of a show and tinkered with it so much it is now a mess. Four judges is too many especially when one is so incomprehensible it provokes uncontrollable rage. I’m not talking about Paula Abdul, we don’t expect much from her anyway. I’m referring to a supposed musical expert in Randy Jackson.
Allow me to quote from one of his recent critiques of Kris (a dude).
‘Yo, Kris. All right, so check it out man. Uh, dude, for me...for me, for you tonight dude, I gotta tell you somethin' man, I don't know, I didn't — it never quite caught on — for me. And I love, and yo, I love...I love that song. But for me it was pitchy from note one for me. For me!’
Well fucking said, Mr, Jackson. Good thing we’re not depending on you for some sort of musical insider insight into these performances. Oh, we are? Well, then every viewer in the world is fucked. Nice work.
Get back to the basics, Idol. And please stop celebrating the train wreck that is Adam Lambert. He sounds like a Fisher Cat in heat (Google it) and – at best – belongs in a transvestite cabaret show. I don’t know much about music evaluation, but I do know that when I spend an entire performance cringing at the voice assaulting my ears while he ravages one of my all time favorite songs, your four judges should not follow it up with glowing remarks about that same performance.
Music Lovers Around The World.
Today’s distraction: Calculate your mental age. I clocked in at a depressing 49 years old. I swear, I can be fun.