Dear George Bateman [Ticker Sales Coordinator; Inland Empire 66ers]:
I been writing you this missive as a big ass airplane flew to Europe. I did not get a chance to send you that letter because Air France had no wi-fi on their flight because they are corporate barbarians doomed to live forever in the past as they are owned by Delta I will have to you know that I wore the only 66ers shirt with a collar that I own to look official as I passed through customs when we landed. Being an international minor league ambassador is an important responsibility, and one doesn’t want to look like a slob in Paris. You can probably get away with that sloppy shit in London because the Brits are notorious slobs with horrible teeth, but in Gay Paree, one should look his best. Let me tell you this, George, these French stewardesses were digging the IE on my left breast. “IE, Oui, Oui,” they said softly say as they passed.
I have been thinking about how to make El Cucuy a much better experience for the fans. Right now, your organization is sitting on an absolute gold mine, but no one is really making an effort to strike the mother lode. Fans want the El Cucy to do SOMETHING, but it rarely makes an appearance. That is no way to market a potential cult hero that will sell truckloads of merchandise. People want to believe, George, but your organization needs to give them a show. Luckily for you, choreography is Bads85’s middle name
Imagine this: the gate in CF opening before the game as sexy music blares over the stadium sound system. Out comes the 66ers Dance Team, all dressed in black Catwoman outfits, doing their little family friendly, but still sultry routine. Leading them is none other than El Cucuy. The crowd sits transfixed as the troupe makes its way towards infield, Slick and Bernie stand near third base, and suddenly El Cucuy breaks towards Slick, jumps onto his back, and bites his neck. Slick crumbles, and is now destined to die 1000 deaths every homestand. Bernie escapes into the dugout, and the dance troupe and El Cucuy head towards home plate as El Cucuy hisses at some little kids and grandmothers. The troupe finishes its routine, and the crowd goes wild.
That is just the start of the night. Then the terror begins. The best part about this is that you get to be El Cucuy. I know you have many other responsibilities, but do you really want to launch hot dogs i na mustard costume the rest of your tenure with the 66ers? Think of this as a resume’ builder, plus you will soon be the most popular figure in the Inland Empire, well besides me, of course.
I am back in the States and will be at San Manuel Stadium this Tuesday with a bunch of degenerate baseball writers. Many of these savages are part of my Cactus League crowd and leave a trail of destruction forever in their wake. I am sort of their leader because as you well know, many people look to me for guidance and direction in their lives. I have evaluated them from scallywags to baseball royalty over the years, and hopefully we will be seated in a luxury box as a result. If not, hide the women and children and protect the small, furry creatures as the Lone Biker of the Apocalypse draws near.
Your friend in baseball,
PS: I still have never received my 2019 California All Star Game polo shirt.