Maybe after a 4-2 loss in the dayside half of the doubleheader, mine would go something like this (because even after nine straight wins at home, I still find things to complain about)*:
Dear Mr. Manuel,
Maybe next time you can not pitch to Adrian Gonzalez with first base open, two outs, and a .224 hitter on deck? It would be a lot easier to win if you weren’t giving out runs like they were bottles of Queen Helene Cocoa Butter.
Perhaps Heath Bell wouldn’t need a Wii to keep his weight down if you didn’t make it easy for him to extract his 100th pound of flesh from your organization for fun.
Yours,
Metstradamus
He might e-mail back (after the jump):
Dear Metstradamus,
Do you realize that after the last time you came to Citi Field, the Mets went 9-1 here. Then you show up again and we lose. Maybe it isn’t me. Maybe it’s you.
Stay away from Game 2 or I’ll cut you,
Jerry
My response:
Dear Gangsta,
I’m not the one misusing Jenrry Mejia.
Love,
Disgruntled blogger
Snoop writes back:
Dear stupid blogger,
You notice how immediately after you left our field, the sun came out?
Maybe it’s because God hates you.
Sincerely,
Your manager for life
Okay, that hurt.
*This did not happen. This is manager/blogger fan fiction. I hope you figured that out.
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