Dear Austin Schwartz [Fayettevile Peckerwoods Vice President, Sales & Marketing]:
I recently was gifted a new hat from your team, and I must say, I am dutifully impressed. I reside in Southern California, and I have received so many compliments on this new hat. No on knows who the hell your ball club is, but they like your hat. Of course, it helps that I am wearing it, and I am a striking figure.
The buddy who gave me the hat, well, he is a new season ticket holder of your club, and a grizzled veteran of minor league ball. This last fall, he ventured to the Arizona Fall League to complete one of the holiest minor league pilgrimages with me. We laughed, we cried, and we were born again. A bond was formed. A liver might have been passed.
Anyway, my buddy constantly referred to your team as the Peckewoods so often that I thought the team name was indeed the Peckerwoods. I was severely disappointed to fins that your team was the generic Woodpeckers. Austin, no one is ever going to fear the Woodpeckers, not even a bark beetle.
I write to you on this Christmas Eve because I can tell from your photograph that you are the type of dedicated employee that is working today because like me, you realize that LIVES ARE IN THE BALANCE. Austin, I am imploring you to change the name of your team to the Peckerwoods because Peckerwoods have instant swagger, and you and I both know that swagger is essential for survival in the minor leagues.
I have been around the minor league circuit a few times. You don’t get to be Special Assistant to the General Manager of the Inland Empire 66ers by remaining green behind the years, no matter where one has earned his degrees. Sure, I am still the unofficial Special Assistant to the General Manager, but that is just a contract negotiation thing right now. The 2017 California Executive of the Year is playing hardball with those negotiations to save face with his underlings.
This is not about me though – this is about the putting the Woodpeckers to rest to give birth to the Peckerwoods. A peckerwood asserts authority; a woodpecker bangs its beak into a telephone pole looking for food. Peckerwoods exude controlled strength while wood peckers are overgrown fruit flies that barely make it through Darwin’s concussion protocol.
I trust that you will see the wisdom of my suggestion and move forth boldly. Hopefully, this will be the first step in our long baseball journey. Maybe you can meet my buddy Harold along the way.
Your friend in baseball,