Dear Allan Benavides [General Manager; Eugene Emeralds]:
I would like to offer you my deepest condolences my as your organization has been handcuffed to the San Francisco Giants for at least the next ten years. Since this is just two grizzled minor league veterans speaking, we can keep it real here. Finding out that the illustrious Eugene Emeralds had been assigned to the Giants was probably very much like cutting into a wedding cake to see hoards of cockroaches scurry from the cake. I am sure you stoically endured the sharp blow to the gonads without letting the word know of your hurt because the professional in you commands it. I want you to know I am here for you for emotional support, even though you will never publicly show your disappointment.
It pains me that one of the brightest names of MiLB is now associated with the Giants. I would suggest an immediate rebranding before the Giants hire a sniper to take out Sasquatch. I humbly suggest a name that suggests a subtle rebuke to the new MiLB landscape: The Eugene Shovel Asses. This is a new insult I have been working into my oral vernacular with great success. Divisions in this country have rendered most insults overused and ineffective. Some even are embraced as badges of honor. Others are deemed politically incorrect. Sometimes a simple bit of the unexpected gets through the fog.
Hey Shovel Ass, put on your mask.
Hey Shovel Ass, 15 items or less in this line.
Hey Shovel Ass, your dog just shat on my lawn.
No, Shovel Ass, I don’t think my online persona is obnoxious or abrasive.
Me: Hey, Shovel Ass, you just took my parking space.
Him: Did you just call me “Shovel Ass?”
Me. Yes, I did, Shovel Ass.
Him: What does that even mean?
Me: Think about it, Shovel Ass. I am sure it will come to you.
Every time the Shovel Asses take the field, it will a shot across Bobby Manfred’s brow.
Or maybe you are not ready to go that route yet, something I completely understand. After all, you are now dealing with a full season, so there is no easing into the season like in years past. COVID seems to have trimmed your staff. Hopefully, most of them will be back soon, but I do offer you my services as a full season Thirsty Thursday Ambassador and cutting edge promotion genius. A full season means you have to concentrate more on getting people to the park more than once, and the best way to do that is too slash beer prices and make up the profits with top shelf liquor.
COVID prevented me from throwing out a first pitch at PK Park, but now that I have THE VAX, I plan on traveling to Eugene very soon. I am tentatively scheduled to throw out a first pitch at the June 1st Myrtle Beach Pelicans game. They are also putting a brick with my name on it in their stadium as a thank you for my support. Rumor has it it they are going to throw a surprise parade for me also. I do not know if I can get to Eugene before then for a game, but I will certainly be up there this summer. I plan on wearing the Ems’ face mask while throwing out the first pitch in Myrtle Beach though. Ryan and Hunter do not know it yet, but I will be the one selecting the music for the entire game that evening. Of course you are invited to sit with my traveling companions to exchange TALES OF THE ROAD.
So what can you tell me about the stadium in Pasco? It is the only stadium in the High A West that I have not been to mainly because Pasco is about two miles from ABSOLUTE NOWHERE. Plus, their mascot scares the shit out of me — literally. That supposed dust devil looks like something that would be in a fecal incontinence commercial. Naming your team after top soil erosion that is stripped from Mother Earth because of high winds is a dubious prospect at best, but putting a face on a twisty turd really was a a design fail.
Oh well. We all cannot be the Emeralds. Or the Shovel Asses.
Your friend in baseball,