Tarp Pulls Are Our Friend

Dear Allan Benavides [General Manager; Eugene Emeralds]:

Is everything copasetic in Eugene? The minor league community have heard rumors of savage things like Corn Flakes and Wheaties in microwaves in your front office. Your organization’s Twitter page has not had a post in days, which makes me wonder if some sort of uprising happened and you have been disposed. If you are still in command, I would suggest some front office tarp pulls to re-instill discipline. If you are no longer in charge, I certainly hope the new overlords will still let me throw out a first pitch at PK Park later this summer. 

Yes, a steady tarp pull regime should do wonders for morale in your front office. Now perhaps because of the synthetic turf at your stadium, tarp pulls are a thing of the past. It is rather hard to find that information on the internet, but I am sure there are plenty of tarps to be found in a place as soggy as Eugene. Since you are are a short season club and really have nothing to do in March, I would suggest a morning and afternoon pulls until your crew becomes really good at this. I mean, you will never become as efficient as the Inland Empire 66ers’ well-oiled machine that rarely has to perform a pull out of necessity, but then who is? Those consummate professionals just love to perform. 

In fact, word on the street is that the 66ers are going to issue a tarp pull challenge for all the minor leagues as part of their season ticket holder breakfast (this has yet to be cleared with Joe Hudson, [General Manager] who is busy finding a new pump for the knocker balls). Your organization should train to be competitive in the competition. Glory awaits for those who put in the effort. At the very least, your staff will not be committing crimes against nature with cereal in the break room. Hey, does cereal auto correct to feral on your phone? Asking for a friend.

Did you see that I wore my Emeralds’ hat to the Cactus League last weekend? I must say, I looked quite smashing in it. No one at the five games I attended had any idea whose logo was on the hat, but I am a patient man who did not mind explaining just whom the Sasquatch represents. A shirtless hobo with a Big Foot tattoo on his heart tried to steal the hat on the mean streets of Scottsdale, but my crew intervened and shared some Boone’s Farm with him. We think he used to work for the Houston Astros and was let go in a scapegoat measure. We sent him home happy. It is the little things like this that appease the cruel baseball gods.

I need to get going. Daylight Savings starts this weekend, and I must train.

Your friend in baseball,


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