Dear Mr. Piazza,
Friday night...down by a run...double play...bottom of the ninth.
So much for your renaissance. I guess my crusade to knock you down in the order continues.
Thanks for reading,
Dear Mets groundscrew,
You missed a spot.
P.S. Put $100 on Tiger to win the Open for me.
Dear Mr. Randolph,
Do you need an anvil to fall on your head to make you realize that David Wright deserves to hit higher in the order?
If so, it can be arranged.
Dear Mr. Mazzone,
Your rocking is making me dizzy. Stop it, please.
Dear Julio Franco,
What sport did you play before baseball was invented?
Dear Mike Stanton,
Those big circles that they were holding up in Milwaukee were the letter "O" for Lyle Overbay, Brewers first baseman. They did not signify doughnuts for your arrival into the game, fatso. Nice balk. You're a great pick-up.
P.S. While in Washington D.C., please try to save some McRib sandwiches for the rest of the city.
Dear Mr. Palmeiro,
You played in the game where the Mets clinched the division in 1986. You played left field and drove in two runs. I was at that game. Do you know what that means?
That means we're old.
Congratulations on hit #3,000.
Dear N.L. East Standings,
Dear Bobby Bonilla,
You interrupting Ernie Harwell during the All Star pre-game show was a little like pre-empting "Frasier" in favor of a very special "Manimal".
P.S. Don't think I don't know that your baby is an alien...an alien with hair extensions. The Central Intelligence Agency is on their way.