Dear Commisioner Selig

To: Bud Selig

From: Miss Hathaway

Subject: Quit being a dink

Dear Mr. Selig,

Please understand I'm just the messenger; my boss, I'm afraid, has finally lost it. It seems he spent the last day of the regular season taking his young son Rakes (An adorable, yet somewhat hyperactive child) to a birthday party for one of his young playmates and I fear it pushed him over the proverbial edge.

Around 5:45 this evening I got a phone call from him which is the reason I'm writing you this note. Remember, these are not MY words, but I was told to transpose the following.

"King Dink. See that little old man clutching that baseball bat and hugging David Ortiz? He just got his number FREAKING RETIRED at Fenway Park today. He played with Ted flipping Williams, managed the Red Sox at one point, and in 2004 got kissed by Curt Schilling and had beer poured on his head at Busch Stadium when the Sox won it all. He's got more baseball knowledge in his middle finger (which I hope is extended toward your current residence) than you have in your entire body and he hit over .300 in his career. Which is approximately .300 more points than YOU have hit in the show.

It was YOU, not him who decided to cancel a World Series, ignore the fact the players in your league looked like WBF body builders rather than ball players, and let the All-Star game end in a Tie. A TIE, for God's sake. Why didn't you just make all the players just kiss their sisters and call it a night?

Yet you still deny this great ambassador for the game the one thing he wants more than anything in this world; to sit in the dugout with his family, the Boston Red Sox team, during the game. What harm is he doing? They want him there, he wants to be there, and I'm betting if you ask anyone associated with the game that doesn't have the last name Steinbrenner you're gonna get the same answer: Let Mr. Pesky in.

For all the lip service you give toward tradition, respect, and recognizing the history of this great game, you do a crap job of showing it. You can take your stupid glasses, your inter league play, and your Mitchell Report and shove it where the sun don't shine."

Again, I wish to reiterate these are not MY words: I've got a mortgage and a retirement fund to think about. Not to mention he keeps promising me a 401K and a retirement home in Vero Beach, so I hope you understand my dilemma. Just so you know, I didn't write down EVERYTHING he told me to; After all, I am a lady and in his defense, those children of his are quite the handful.

Finally, if I may speak boldly, you really MUST do something about the late start times for the playoff games. Number 1, my employer is NOT a morning person and staying up to all hours just means more work for me. Number 2, what casual fan of a game is going to stay up after that young Mr. O'Brian has already gone to bed. And number 3, do you realize how difficult it is for the following picture to take place when you don't start one of your games until it's past bedtime?

My employer, his 2 hellions, and relative peace all at one time? Do you think this picture is possible with 10 pm starts from the Left Coast? No. By this point he's put both boys to bed while threatening to take away their feeble inheritance and at the same time enrolling them both in Military School.

And while it doesn't bother him, MY work life sure does take a blow.

So help a playa out, will you?

Sincerely,

Miss Hathaway.

PS: Can you check and see if Mr. Farrell is single?