This Friday, July 25, is your last day to start or renew - - - - |
- - - - [Be sure to read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.] - - - - Dear Bud Selig, I am a coach of children. I coach them in Wisconsin. That is the state, if you catch my drift, where you cancelled the All-Star Game the other night. Just so we are on the same page: you are the commissioner of baseball. I have heard you called the CONmissioner due to your severe mental glitches, snafus, defects and problem-causing. My children's baseball season is done now. Although we lost, one of the mothers still fell madly in love with me. She is beautiful, but she is also married. On the other hand, I am single, and this woman gave birth to a boy with a strong arm. I have dreams of her eggs filling the seats of a baseball stadium. Maybe you are asking why I, a coach you have not heard of, would be writing to you, baseball's commissioner? You want to know, What can you learn from me? Good questions. In reply I will ask you a simpler question: What did Goliath learn from David. Answer: a whole lot. Love is an emotional feeling, Mr. Selig. In some cases it makes people honest. In my case, it makes me so honest that I can write letters to strangers, who are powerful, and then tell them, in so many words, you make me want to barf. I am speaking to you Mr. Selig, because you make me want to barf. I think the American way is to speak your mind. My mind is currently full of the pile of crap that is professional baseball. And you know what? There are flies hovering around it. You know what those "flies" actually are? Those flies are thoughts. Thoughts of anger, of what went wrong, and of barfing. By the gallon, Bud. When you coach youngsters, as you and I know, it is not always about fundamentals and hand-holding and swinging the bat correctly. Coaching, most of the time, is life-building. It is, Dipshit Avoidance, Mr. Selig. I am preparing youngsters (via baseball) not to be tomorrow's DIPSHITS. Capeesh? So, if an adult, who has power, flubs everything up and is a lying, cheating, fricking spoil sport, what lessons do the kids learn? One lesson might be "Pot is good." Another lesson might be "Homework is no good." A third lesson might be "I should get a girl pregnant and live off of the state." Guess what? To me, those lessons suck rhino. They suck rhino, dolphin, donkey and gorilla big time. As Chippewa Valley Coach of the Year and, for the better part of the last decade, close runner-up for same, I consider myself one of the major influences on these children and their last line of defense in dipshit avoidance. And I'm here to tell you that you aren't helping the problem. My brother claimed to have the faith. Then he claimed to have lost the faith due to Vietnam lies, hookers, and a street narcotic known as PCP. Then he claimed playing the drums heavy metal style would "save" him. Well, believe you me, that loss of faith now means that a) he washes dishes for a living, b) puts too many margaritas down his gullet, c) I have to help him jump-start his $395 pile of rusted shit Chevrolet every damn January due to low temperatures, due to the fact that he refuses to buy antifreeze, due to the fact that he has less than $47 dollars in the bank at all times, due to the fact that he always has more than enough $$ to buy generic cigarettes. Please mull this over, and let me know if there is any way I can help pro baseball get back on track. Yours, Coach Sean
OTHER McSWEENEY'S STORIES:
The Checkout Girl, An Interview with Rose Gowen, on the Business of Groceries, Part Two By Rose Gowen At the Musée Picasso By Dan Kennedy A Man Dines Alone By Rob Sears Class of '76 By Mike Topp AC/DC: The Board Meeting By John Kenyon |
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