Gentlemen,
It is with a very heavy heart that I compose the following letter, because I’ve always had the greatest respect for the both of you. Fred, your lifelong devotion to a defunct Brooklyn baseball team might strike others as misplaced or inappropriate, but I’ve always found it endearing. I mean, if that franchise still existed, say, in Los Angeles, I might find their representation at the New York Mets’ ballpark rather curious, but I’m not aware of such a thing actually happening.
Jeff, some will accuse you of having presided over the construction of an aesthetic and artistic abortion in the form of Citi Field, but you and I know all too well the only thing that really matters is that said venue’s debut directly led to the Mets being awarded the 2013 All-Star Game. So what if the National League will only feature one token Mets player? At least we’ll get to see Lucas Duda either embarrass or seriously injure himself in the Home Run Derby. And why does no one ever remember your lovely wife’s efforts in the successful recruitment of Kaz Matsui?
Alas, though I love to stick up for the two of you, the events of yesterday afternoon were the tipping point. We’re no longer able to talk about rebuilding with a straight face. The only thing consistent about the contemporary New York Mets is your inability to speak two consecutive sentences without lying finance anything approaching a Major League roster. It’s almost as though you realized the biggest argument against contracting the Marlins was leaving MLB with an odd number of teams and graciously volunteered your own ballclub for the cull.
I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say you’ve not only contributed to the ruination of a once semi-competitive club, you’re coming dangerously close to destroying any remaining love for baseball amongst New York’s non-Yankee acolytes. I never thought I’d write these words, but yesterday’s 20 inning display of futility was an even less watchable public event than a Black Angels gig. And at least they’re able to get it over with in less than 6 hours.
So as your close personal friend and staunch advocate, I implore you. Sell The Mets. Now. Sell ’em to Mark Cuban, Reggie Jackson, maybe to one of Bin Laden’s relatives. Fuck, even James Dolan would be an improvement. But whatever you do, just sell the team and stay very far from public view until there’s a Brooklyn Dodgers fantasy camp/cruise or a major NYC blackout, whichever comes first.