Dear Mr. Andrew Layman [General Manager; Wilmington Blue Rocks]:
I know you are a very busy man, so I will be brief with my inquiry. I normally respect the chain of command of a minor league front office, but your organization’s front office arrangement does not appear to have a clean fit for my question, so I am going straight to the top. Your wonderful mascot, Mr. Celery, the one that only appears when your Blue Rocks score a run, is he available to rent for parties?
I am not talking little kids’ birthday parties where the plate breakers and curtain climbers will swarm him. I am taking adult parties where he would jump out from behind the bar whenever someone does a shot. Everyone could shout, “Woo hoo!” just like at Judy Johnson Field at Daniel S. Frawley Stadium. We do many more shots than your team scores runs, so Mr. Celery is going to be a busy stalk, but we will pump him with plenty of ice water so he does not get flaccid. I am not taking about swinger parties either. Mr. Celery will not be around any pervs.
Your organization lifted the Mascot Appearing When the Home Team Score from Lake Elsinore back in the late nineties at the Carolina/California League All Star Game. That is okay though because the minors are full of outlaws, reprobates, burned out rock n’ rollers, and retired anarchists that found Little Baby Jesus on a long bus ride through the deep of the night, plus guys like you and me, Andrew, who are just trying to make it home from the ballpark without stopping at Applebee’s. I imagine we are cut from the same cloth.
Lake Elsinore’s many mascots all are terrible though, and you guys breathed life into a fine idea felled by inane execution. Your former GM Chris Kemple should have a statue built in his likeness outside your stadium, even if he left baseball for the ivory towers of academia. But I digress, I need Mr. Celery as the consummate party favor for my upcoming fantasy baseball drafts held at the bar I constructed in my backyard in Southern California.
I cannot employ the local mascots because they are lame except for Bernie of the Inland Empire 66ers, who technically is a fellow employee. You see, I am the unofficial assistant to General Manager Joe Hudson. Right now we are still negotiating my contract because to be frank, I am much more valuable than he is, but his bosses at the Elmore Sports Mafia refuse to pay me what I am worth. As you well know, such is the nature of our business, and I am sure it will be all worked out before pitchers and catchers report to the Cactus League. Even it is not, I can’t hire Bernie because that gangsta is a stone cold killer, and I can’t have him in my backyard, driving down property values.
One night, back in the mid nineties, Bernie climbed atop the first base dugout with a rifle and blasted the San Bernardino Baseball Bug, the beloved mascot from the San Bernardino Spirit days. The Bug, who used to high five a young Ken Griffey Jr. was shot by a jealous mascot who wanted to be number one in town. The Bug was even placed in a coffin and buried in center field. These days, GM Joe has whitewashed the entire thing, making up some false history about the Baseball Bug retiring, but those of us who were there, we will never forget, nor will we silenced.
So you see why I have a need for your mascot, Mr. Celery. I do not want your Moose or your Rock; I want the real deal. I am sure we can work something out, and this will be a wonderful start to our baseball relationship. Maybe I can even stop by your park this summer and we can pound some gorilla farts like real baseball men do.
Your friend in baseball,
PS: If I come to your stadium this summer, can I polish your Bob Frietas Award ?