Dear Keven Mahoney [General Manager; Brooklyn Cyclones]:
Your immediate and deafening silence following my initial inquiry into your Uncle Rico Bobblehead Night is an interesting gambit. Normally when I get blown off by a short season, NY Penn League team, I just move on since the lowest rung on the minors really is not worth fretting over, especially since I am a grizzled veteran of the Northwest and Pioneer Leagues (I once sipped bourbon in the office of Gary Roller [General Manager; Billings Mustangs] at 10:30 AM on game day, although I am not sure that was Gary who was drinking with me). However, I really want that Uncle Rico Bobblehead, so I am willing to continue negotiations.
Let me counter your stroke of silence with a parry of my own: noise. Since I am definitely coming to your park this summer, I have every intention of finding you and introducing you to my teenage children and allowing you to participate in the vibrant debates that erupt across my dinner table these days, such as if the band AJR only writes songs about the problems of the white privileged, or if having to read John Steinbeck on the weekend is child abuse. At some point, my son will probably berate your generation for not accepting the genius of the dark symbolism of Ronnie James Dio. This is what I live with, and it could be my gift to you. They have not stopped talking since the pacifiers came out of their mouths.
You could avoid this by making some sort of trade for the Uncle Rico Bobblehead. I could donate to your favorite charity, or I could offer you something charmingly Southern Californian, like a Tim Salmon Inland Empire 66ers Bobblehead, which is a collector’s item even though Salmon never played for the 66ers. I would even sweeten the deal by throwing in an Adrian Beltre San Bernardino Stampede Bobblehead. Maybe even a Matt Shoemaker Bobblehead – the one where his arm has not fallen off yet. Or maybe you would be interested in a Down East Wood Ducks hat. Or a California Burrito.Or some Hangar 24 Orange Wheat.
I know you short season guys are still spending most of your work days on the golf course since your season does not begin for about six weeks, but for the rest of us, LIVES ARE IN THE BALANCE. I need to secure that bobblehead, my good man, as it will be a viable part of the oral tradition of the 2019 season.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Your friend in baseball,
PS: Do your concession stands sell ribs?