Dear Anderson Rathbun [General Manager, Burlington Sock Puppets]:
Thank you for responding to my recent missives. I apologize for the delay in my response, but Omicron slowed me down a bit this past week. You asked me what my angle was in terms of reaching out to the Burlington Sock Puppets, which is a very fair question is this age of grifters and fraudsters. The short answer is that I have to save minor league baseball, and I cannot do it myself. I need an organization willing to look past the status quo that is slowly choking MiLB while offering fans the glory of cheap, cheap beer and hot dogs aching to burst in the bun.
How I came to be in the position is a very long, but well-documented story, most of which can be found on Bads85.com. I do not expect you to take the time to read all that, but you can ask around and almost certainly hear re-tellings of my exploits. The gist is a I am an affable road warrior who travels from city to city, interacting with fans and front office personnel. I am a smoke jumper in the devil’s arcade, a troubadour with a heater, and an emissary of good will for minor league baseball. Once upon a time, not so long ago, I was considered an ambassador, but your little cronies in Danville usurped and soiled that term, I am without a proper title these days.
Anyway, after much extensive research, I chose your organization to be an object of my attention this year, and the Sock Puppets will be my muse — but enough talk about me! We are already behind this season. The Portland Pickles have already pulled off MiLB’s first excellent Twitter prank of the season, and the Sock Puppets have a posted Tweet is some dude going to work for Gastonia Honey Munchers or whatever they are called. Look, I am sure Bradley Salisbury is a fine, fine fellow, but we have a brand to promote. National Hat Day, a High Holy Day in MiLB, is this Saturday. Are we ready?
Have you held mascot tryouts yet? Socksquatch needs some muscle this year. I am sure that rules out the interns, but ‘Squatch is begging for a bit of a makeover. Maybe a leather vest and a tattoo. Perhaps a flask. Definitely some dark sunglasses and Otterbot scalps on his belt. A golf cart with an “I Brake For Small Furry Creatures, but not one from Danville.” The days of the plush toy mascots have passed, Anderson. The fans want bad boys with ‘tude. Studies show the threat of danger sells concessions. What studies you might be asking? My studies.
I have some more promotions for the upcoming season. Since there are not many home days in the Appalachian League, we can double up certain nights.
- How Liberty Dies in America Night — We do nothing. Get it? You are certainly thinking. “Bads85, that is the stupidest promotion ever,” and fans will hate it. You are right of course, which is why we immediately pivot to Padme’ Amidala jumping out of a cake, and presto! Star Wars Night! (without those cumbersome license fees).
- Mickey Rooney Dunk Tank Night — find some old guy and put him in a dunk tank. Charge people five dollars to throw balls to dunk him. That should give us drinking money for a couple of weeks. If anyone tell you he is dead, say, “No, he is not. He is right there!”, then point to the old guy in the dunk tank.
- Drink More Beer Night — the simplicity of this is mad genius. Just post signs around the stadium that state to drink more beer. Have you PA dude repeatedly announce “Drink more beer.” If people ask why, tell them it will make them smarter and prettier.
I need to run because of all those miles to go before I sleep. I am not sure i f you are aware of this, but I do not reside in your time zone, so my emails might arrive alter than you expect. Hey, do we have any secret sayings like, “Sock Puppets Forever and a Day”?
Your friend in in baseball,