Letters to Theo 

Dear Theo,

I usually call on the cell phone, but I'm taking a few minutes to write because I want to thank you for all you've done for me this year.

No, we didn't make any trades, though I still agree to disagree with you. Mike Matheny would have done the Sox a world of good when big 'Tek went down. I mean, come on, Javy Lopez? You could drop the World Trade Center towers on Matheny's dome and he'd still catch better than Lopez. All I wanted was that Hansen kid in return, but you got all CAT-scan crazy on me.

Hey, whatever. What's past is past. The bigger point I want to make is this: You've saved my ass, kid. The pissers and moaners out here on the Left Coast have been breathing down my neck ever since the A-Juh, Jih, Jecch, cough, hack, sorry, I have a cold...a certain trade back in '03. Then the frickin' Nedster up and defects down south, kicking ass and getting all kinds of man-love from Plaschke and those other L.A.-holes. I was looking like a freaking idiot, even though I unloaded the Fat Bastard on Stoneman when everyone said it couldn't be done. Heh, heh. Good old Stoney. He couldn't get rid of Finley and his bleeding heart wife fast enough.

Still I couldn't catch a break. I traded that Accardo kid, and everyone went crazy. I traded a 19-year-old who no-hit Barbados or Bananistan or something for a proven veteran, who, oh, I don't know, has totally saved our ass out of the bullpen, but does Sabes get any credit? No.

Thank God for you, kid. Since you've gone and fahcocctahed the whole Beantown kaboodle, nothing I do this year will compare. The Marlins are making a wild-card run with half your farm system, Beckett's season has gone down the old pozzo, as my nonna used to say, you trade Mirabelli then panic and trade back for him. You let Damon walk and replace him with Cocoa Pebbles. You keep Hansen but ditch Meredith. Then you can't pull the trigger at the deadline. Kid, I'm telling you, ever since you put on the gorilla suit, everything's gone apeshit up there.

I could have had that job a few years ago, back when you were in high school or something.

A word of advice: it all goes in cycles. That's what I've learned in this business, kid. One day you can't do no wrong, you're eight outs from the World Series ring, the next day you trade Joe Na..Nuh..Necchh.., some kid reliever who turns into El Mariano Blanco, if you know what I'm saying.

At least you won a Series, kid. Chin up.

I gotta ask you something. It's kind of weird how Gammons went down with the brain cramp and all of a sudden, the Fens was blowing up left and right, and not in a good "raise-the-roof," "get-your-Dogg-on" kind of way. (You're young; you know what all that shit means.) No Gammons, no brilliant deadline trades: coincidence? Come on, you can tell your Uncle Brian. Was Gammo slipping you the inside dope? A little more than he slips the rest of us, right? Come on. I can tell. Mr. Objective Hall of Fame sportswriter, my ass.

Look, kid, I got nothing but respect for you. I'll tell you what. Let's get this season over with, let Bud have his World Series backslaps and fighter-jet flyovers and Mariah Carey anthem bullshit, and as the pain fades from the Yankees winning it all again, you and I will sit down and have a couple beers. Just a couple guys talking shop. In fact, I'm already working on a couple ideas, like this one pitcher got, I think he'd be a perfect fit for the Sox. Right-hander, throws hard, real character, he'd take some of the spotlight off Manny, keep things loose. Great addition, and with your payroll, the salary hit wouldn't be a problem. I can even see a new marketing slogan:

"Red Sox 2007 -- Just Mando Bein' Mando!"

Yours truly,
Brian Sabean


This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com