A letter to the Commissioner of Baseball:


I’m not mad. 

Well, I am mad, but that’s not the first word that comes to mind. I am appalled, I’m aghast, I’m hurt, I’m well beyond deeply disappointed and, without a doubt, I’m absolutely disgusted. 

With both sides. 

But to publish this condescending bullshit? Really? You’re apologizing? 

Apology not accepted. 

 I blame both sides. Billionaires in a pissing contest with multi-millionaires. These poor players, having to scrape by on an insulting minimum wage of seven hundred grand a year (plus endorsements, hotel suites, per diems that are probably more than I make in a year, the best medical insurance on earth and a pension) 


…and be adored, worshipped, idolized… never have to pay for another goddamned cocktail in their lives! 

 Boo hoo, you have to wait five whole years to get that 30, 40, 50, 300 million dollar deal? Aw, poor baby. I feel so bad for you, to be treated like a piece of property like that. Must be fucking unbearable for you. 

 Why don’t you teach those owners a lesson and just walk away! I’m sure you can find plenty of other employment opportunities where you’ll find better working conditions and compensation.

Don’t even get me started on the owners

I hope the whole game goes bankrupt. I really do. 

From Field of Dreams:

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.

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