Dear Steve Phillips (Ex-Mets GM and current ESPN Analyst)

Dear Steve,

FUCK YOU !!!!! You sour grapes blind ass dip shit. How the hell can you sit there straight faced and over and over again "pick" the Mets to fail. Grow up and do your job with a little more integrity. Just because you single handedly made the Mets into a joke, then left, and then someone else came in and made them into a top tier team in the matter of a year, it doesn't give you the right to act like a jealous ex-girlfriend. Just wait until ESPN fires you for beaing a retard and then suddenly that network is the best in its League. Maybe your wife should divorce you and immediatly start humping Justin Timberlake. Maybe you enjoy being the Antithesis of King Midas, but in reality, you are a fucking joke. I hope when the Mets win the World Series, ESPN sends you to Shea to do some "reporting". Then Scott Kazmir can spray champagne in your face. No...Wait....Thats right....You traded him for Victor Zambrano when the Mets weren't even in a pennant race. Don't worry, there will be a myriad of talented baseball players who were assembled by someone else to shower you with some bubbly.

I know that you probably stroke your own hog every night to the fact that you are the one who brought Reyes and Wright to NY. Good job genius. You tried to F the Reyes thing up when you spent MO VAUGHN money to get Kaz Matsui to come and play shortstop to Reyes could play second. Kaz Matsui was about as effective as a Lindsey Lohan rehab stint.
As far as the David Wright thing goes, I am just happy you didn't trade him away for Mark Prior, or Kerry Wood, or Wandy Rodriguez, or Tommy John, or some other worthless, injury prone douche bag.

In summation, go F yourself!!!

Dear every kid who wears those stupid roller-skate sneakers

Dear every kid who wears those stupid roller-skate sneakers,

Listen up you future burden of society. Take the time out of your myspace filled day to get briefed on the colasal cancer you are on the testicles of society. Obviously if you wear those stupid fucking shoes you either have no parents, or you suck so bad they have written you off like a bad debt. A 13 year old boy is in his own fucking way half the time so the last thing he needs is his unwashed hair in his face, baggy fucking pants with about 42 pockets, and a pair of shoes with wheels in the heel. These shoes serve no purpose other than to invite other kids (preferably the kids who play sports) to kick your ass. I cannot wait for the first accidental death to occur in the school hallway. I will even sit through the after school special and the 2 hour twenty-twenty.

Take my advice. Get a fucking haircut, lose the Bad Religion long sleeve T-Shirt, and find some decent fucking shoes to wear. You obviously can’t look up to your parents so pick a new role model. Just promise me it’s not that red haired snow boarder guy. This guy is a clown on his best day. Snowboarding is not a real sport, he is going no where, and his next job will probably be Carrot Top cover band. I know you think he’s cool but in 1989 we thought Buddy from Charles in Charge was cool. I’ve been there and had role models become exposed. Do you think it’s easy for me to look at my Neil Patrick Harris poster every night after I learned it was all just a closeted charade? Take my advice and clean yourself up. But hey, if living in your parent’s basement, beating off to Spice between the lines, and leafing through High Times magazine while you warm up your dinner of Ramen noodles in your Hot Pot sounds like the life for you, then keep the shoes.

Dear Any girl who thinks it might be a good idea to join the football team

Dear any girl who thinks it might be a good idea to join the football team,

Please listen to me and listen well. I am here to help avoid the impending train wreck that is guaranteed to result from you being the member of an all male football team. A woman playing football[1] ranks right below lighting your own farts while at the gas pump on the Spectrum of Bad Ideas. You have boobies – that’s cool. You can have babies – that’s cool as well. You can’t complete a 20 yard out cut because you float the ball and the corner will take it back for 6. – That is not cool. I know most chicks don’t try to play QB. They try to play one of two positions. The first is kicker. The kicker is the joke of the team even when it’s a dude. For a woman to be the kicker, it’s just asking for trouble, not to mention a boatload of missed field goals and a strong inclination to always go for two. I know you might be able to kick. You might even be able to kick better than 95% of most guys. The problem is a football team doesn’t need 95% of its players making field goals. They need one guy, preferably foreign and most definitely weird, to make those field goals. The other position that girls play, mostly in high school, is “standard fat-person backup lineman”. You know, like third team long snapper or scout team guard. A roster spot that could easily be filled by a tackling dummy with an eye-black smiley face painted on it.

There are three reasons why a girl would want to play football. The first is what I like to call the “Natalie”[2] clause. Your 6’1” 250 pounds and the only way to make yourself feel better is to throw on some shoulder pads and pretend that other little fat girls will choose you as their role model. The second is the “Daddy doesn’t love me” clause. You never got the love you needed from your father and your step-father went so far as to ask you to your own prom. When you got older, you had one of two choices. You’re hot but can’t figure out how to work a stripper pole so might as well join the football team and wait for the entire D-Line to fill you out like an application one day underneath the bleachers. The third is the “K.D. Lang” clause. You basically are a dude. You like chicks, bowling, and the possibility of one day growing your very own moustache. You think that playing with boys will help you fit in. You also get all hot and bothered over the message you think you’ll be sending for woman’s rights advocates all over the country.

Now that you have figured out which category of “stupid bitch” you fall into, let’s try to rectify the situation. If you’re a Natalie, give up the dream. No little girl will look up to you for standing around for three hours a day in shoulder pads. They sure as hell won’t look up to you when you finally get some reps in practice and the whole team tries to hold in an awkward laugh as your three point stance comes complete with a whale-like grunt and two inches of crack. My advice to you, hang up the pads and come to grips with your low self esteem. Get a therapist, a treadmill, or a rack of lamb. I don’t care what you do, just don’t try and make yourself feel better at the expense of 60 other guys who are working their asses off to win football games. Winning isn’t everything but it sure as hell is more important than the after school special bullshit you’re trying to infect some team with.[3]

If you are a “Daddy doesn’t love me” girl, that’s OK too. I don’t see any reason to have to join a football team to get treated like a kill rag in a fraternity house. Try cheerleading, or field hockey. Trust me; those girls get the attention they deserve.[4] Guys will always respect the fact that you are a slut no matter if you’re wearing shoulder pads or a pair of spandex shorts that say “juicy” across the ass. Don’t bring your Springer circus to a locker room on your campus. Save it for family court or therapy.

If you’re the “K.D. Lang” girl, at least I have a shade of respect for you. At least we are both into the ladies. Listen, don’t for one minute think that being a tackling dummy or a publicity stunt will help you fit in or send some sort of woman’s right message. What it will do is make people like me fire up tirades like this and make regular Lesbians uncomfortable. Making an extra point[5] at the tail end of a blowout will not liberate someone to come out of the closet or get woman invited to be members of Augusta National. It will get a back page story in the local newspaper, a 15 second spot on ESPN, and it will get you filled out like an application under the bleachers. The guy who writes for the paper will spell your name wrong, you’ll miss the TV spot because you’ll be all hopped up on Michelob’s and parliament lights, and the gang bang under the bleachers wont be the least bit enjoyable because the whole reason you’re here is that you like chicks. Do us all a favor and stay off the gridiron and join another bowling team.

I hope I have laid out a logical argument[6] to help dissuade you from ever joining a football team.

The only pads you should ever wear are kept under your bathroom sink,

---

[1] Football means ALL MALE FOOTBALL. Female football is just soccer with the wrong ball

[2] From the “Facts of Life”

[3] Lombardi didn’t say this but he would have if he ever saw a chick trying to play football

[4] Roofied, raped, and dropped off in the parking lot of an abandoned grocery store parking lot.

[5] Even your own teammates were rooting for you to miss it.

[6] Impossible because trying to get a woman to understand logic is like getting a monkey to play Nintendo

Dear Kelly Calabrese

When oversensitive, liberal, whiney-ass douche bags start complaining about everything that might be somewhat offensive, to someone, somewhere, it pisses me off. When those bleeding hart pansies have a problem with what a true American hero like Keith Hernandez says, that’s where I draw the line. During a telecast of a Mets-Padres game, the camera showed a woman, in uniform, in the dugout. No, it was not Mike Piazza, it was an actual woman. In a baseball dugout. Like a Rhino in a bank. Totally out of place. Mr. Hernandez then made these comments.

“Who is the girl in the dugout, with the long hair?" Hernandez said. "What's going on here? You have got to be kidding me. Only player personnel in the dugout." After learning who she was (a member of the Padres training staff) he had this to say. “I won't say that women belong in the kitchen, but they don't belong in the dugout,"

Well, Mr. Hernandez is an analyst for the Mets new network. I’d assume he got that job because people value his opinions on baseball because he played it at such a high level for a ling time. He also won a World Series in NY and has a sweet 'stache. Keith was analyzing what he saw and of course, because there are far too many pussies in this country, he got in trouble for his comments.

There is no basis for anyone to have a problem with what Hernandez said. I would want to know the same thing. What is going on here? No chicks in the dugouts. Simple rule. I know she’s probably a lesbian or the daughter of the team doctor or something like that but still. No girls in the dugout. Where there are girls, there is trouble. Rape, domestic violence, sexual harassment. When was the last time any of those happened without a girl around? See my point. Girls shouldn’t be in a dugout because, as you can see here, they are too sensitive to be around ball players. What if a Padre player gets hit by an opposing pitcher and then comes into the dugout and calls the pitcher the C word. Then tells his own pitcher to stop being a pussy and throw at someone. The Padres are merely trying to protect themselves from 100 mph baseballs but will probably wind up getting sued for sexual harassment because that dumb trainer bitch was offended by what she heard. We all know how much worse swear words hurt than a fastball to the small of the back. What ever happened to the good old days? Sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me. That should be true even when you grow up. People shouldn’t get older and become bigger babies. It makes no freaking sense. And the liberal ass media, and ball-less men that are in control just keep letting it happen because there afraid of some lawyer suing them to make himself feel better.

Women don’t belong in dugouts because baseball is played by men. Saying that women don’t belong in dugouts is not wrong. It’s an opinion, and in this case, the truth. It doesn’t make you a sexist to say that women don’t belong in a dugout. It makes you a baseball fan. If a black guy walks into a women’s bathroom, and a white woman tells him to leave, she is not racist. She is merely trying to take a crap in private. Much like the highly-scrutinized ball players are trying to have some sort of sanctuary from the political-correctness shit storm that is sweeping across this country.

The part that bothered me most about this was what the stupid trainer bitch said.

“He not only discredited me as a person, but he discredited women.”

This statement is even more ridiculous than this chick being in the dugout in the first place. Hernandez didn’t discredit anyone. He said nothing about the job she does, he merely said that she didn’t belong there. When a woman goes in for surgery, and her husband wants to go into the operating room, the doctor would tell him no, because he doesn’t belong there. He is not discrediting him as a husband but merely setting some boundaries with a specific intent in mind. Bill Cowher’s wife was not allowed on the sidelines during the Super Bowl but I can promise you that she was instrumental in Cowher becoming the Coach he is today. You can’t succeed at the NFL level and raise three girls (one of which is really hot) without one heck of an understanding, devoted, and loving wife. He in NO WAY discredited her by not allowing her on the sidelines.

The other thing that bothers the shit out of me is that how can one man’s opinion discredit an entire gender. Is Keith Hernandez really that important of a public figure that he has the ability to discredit 3 Billion people? Look, I love the guy. He smoked 2 ½ packs of cigarettes in one game. He was drinking a beer when the ball went through Buckner’s wickets. He has had the same mustache since 1973. He was on Seinfeld for Christ’s sake. That being said, he is just Keith Hernandez. As with any opinion anyone has, his should only matter to those that respect him. This stupid bitch, like most others, was just looking for a soap box so someone would listen to her.

Well the sports world heard you Kelly Calabrese, now listen to me. From now on, during every Padres game I will be rooting for two things. First, for Mike Piazza to come out of the closet so I can collect the 50 bucks I have riding on that. And two, for a line drive foul ball to come screaming into the dugout, and have all the Men in the dugout get out of the way and for you, because of your chick reflexes, to get drilled in the grill with a baseball. So hard that it not only knocks out your teeth but knocks you off your high horse as well.

Dear Keith Whyte (executive director of the National Council on Problem Gambling),

So, I see you have nothing better to do with your time then stick your nose into other people’s business. I recently read an article from your council (code word for colossal waste of government money) and am writing to you because I feel you owe me 5 minutes of my life back. It makes me sick that you even have an audience to your self righteous blasphemy. It makes me so sick that I don’t even know if I am going to be able to finish this online poker game I am in the middle of. In case you forgot about the crap you penned I have include some excerpts from your last case of keyboard diarrhea.

With poker in particular, Whyte says, people "think their skill is going to trump the random outcome of the game, and that is a very dangerous thing." "The less able they are to understand odds or randomness, or the more control you believe you have over random events, the more likely you are to have a problem gambling," he says.

First things first. Your name is misspelled. White is spelled as I just wrote it. It contains an “I” not a “Y”. Never has and never will! Who do you think you are some late 80’s heavy metal band? Give me a break with that spelling.
Second, trying to refute the fact that poker is a skill game is ridiculous. How do you think that Phil Helmuth and Doyle Brunson got rich playing poker? Are they just two of the luckiest dudes around? You should try thinking about what you say before you open your pie-hole.

In the United States, gamblers lost $2.8 million in Internet poker in 2003.

Are you serious? God I hope you’re a good looking dude because you sure as hell are a stupid son of a bitch. We’ll do this slowly. If people lost $2.8 million playing internet poker, then other people WON $2.8 million playing internet poker. Where is the fucking problem in that? So some people lost money to other people. Call it a stupid tax for sucking at poker. You should probably pony up some stupid tax yourself for the crap you say not to mention picking the all time biggest buzz kill of a job. What’s in line for the rest of your career? Are you hoping for that big promotion to the National Council on Problem Drinking Beer and Hanging Out With Your Friends? Or maybe you want to be the spokesperson for the Coalition Against Steak and Martini’s.
Why are you all up in arms over 2.8 million dollars. That means ALL THE PEOPLE IN AMERICA who lost money playing poker can’t even afford a decent shortstop.
Look man, next time you both your buddies are hanging out drinking non-alcoholic beer and playing pin the “H” on the omo, take a good long look at how bad you suck. It’s not too late to change. Remove the stick from your ass, relax, and for Christ sake, keep you nose out of other people business. I mean is problem gambling really a worthy cause to spend a career fighting? Kids are starving on the streets and women are being battered in their own homes but god forbid I have a little fun wagering on something via the internet. Good life you chose for yourself asshole. Keith Whyte: Anti-Gambling but Pro-Domestic Violence.

It’s a safe bet you suck,

Dear Cindy Sheehan

Dear Cindy,

Your “crusade” is by far the most misguided and counterproductive escapade in recent memory. On the surface, it is hard to gain validity when your high profile backers are crazy haired lunatic and Tawana Brawley conspirator Al Sharpton and folk singer Joan Baez. Beneath the surface, it’s hard to gain respect when your marriage is failing and your mother recently suffered a stroke.
The timing of your “Bus Trip” couldn’t be more hypocritical. I have a novel idea. You want to help and save lives? Then drive those busses to the gulf coast and help people get evacuated. People who have nothing, people who lost everything. Poor people. Something you obviously know nothing about because you apparently don’t have to work. You have the free time to bother our president and rally up jobless hippies from across America and camp out all night. That’s real productive. Maybe if America wasn’t full of hypocritical freeloaders like you and your supporters, then the rest of the world wouldn’t hate us so much. Then maybe there would be no need for the war on terror. So take solace in knowing that you, and your hemp wearing idiots who add nothing to society but diarrhea of the mouth, are part of the reason your son is dead. Your kind, those who use every civil liberty given to them to the fullest extend, tend to forget where these liberties come from. These liberties come from the fortitude and sacrifices of our service men and woman. People like my grandfather and your son. Real heroes that give you the ability to bitch and moan about our president and me the freedom to express my displeasure in what you do. The difference between people like you and me is that I understand the need to be preemptive in the quest for peace and safety. This may come as a shock to you, but peace with the Middle East will not be achieved by sitting around a campfire singing Kumbaya with Joan Baez. No matter how many rhyming prayers the Rev. Sharpton blurts out, the radical fundamentalist of the Middle East will still hate us. They will still recruit people who have no problem sacrificing their lives to kill us. Don’t you think the President wants to pull out the troops. If he could he would, but the job is not done. He knows what he is doing. The people in the department of defense know what they are doing. They have the information to make qualified decisions. If another September 11th happens, the President will be responsible for that. He is making sure that we don’t have another 9/11. You are making sure that the radical Islamic fundamentalists know that you guys are a bunch of pussies not willing to take the necessary steps to combat them.
You have become a joke in my mind. Its one thing to waste our country’s resources to gather with your cohorts and blame our President in a counterproductive manner, but it is another to blame him for the hurricane. I read your statements blaming his economic policies for the hurricane. I believe that might be the definition of counter productivity. While people from across the country are on their way to the gulf coast to help, you are pointing fingers. You have transportation and I’d assume a decent stockpile of money. You also have celebrity backing. USE IT YOU HYPORCITICAL COUNTERPRODUCTIVE WIND BAG.
Please come to your senses and stop the insanity.

Dear Barry Bonds

Dear Barry Bonds,

I heard and saw your picnic table press conference today and I was moved. I was moved right to the bathroom so I could avoid crapping my pants. You and your antics make me sick. Real sick, like “what do you mean you’re not supposed to drink the water in Mexico” sick. You’re “tired” and it’s the media’s fault? You have to be kidding me. First of all, it’s not the media’s fault, it’s your fault. It’s all your fault. While you may not break the HR record, you will always, in my heart of hearts, hold the record for biggest dick head in ALL of sports. Had Hitler played wide receiver for the Bears, you might be in second place but he didn’t. He was far too short and no quarterback would want to throw to a guy with that ridiculous mustache. Second, I refuse to accept the notion that you’re tired. Tired from what? Being intentionally walked as a career. Oooooooh. Tell you what, I just took my garbage can down my 90ft driveway. In an hour, I’ll go get it. Do the math Barry, well have some other guy do the math for you while you blame the media that math is too hard, that’s 360ft and I was dragging a garbage can. Where the hell is my 18 million a year. We both did the same amount of work and I can pass a drug test right now if I had to. You want to know what tired is? Try working for a living and making just enough to get by. I make less money in a year than you inject in your ass every day, but you don’t see me sitting at a picnic table crying about how the media is making my family tired.
Maybe I am being too hard on you. While you may be one of the greatest ballplayers of all time, you are probably the dumbest. Perhaps ‘roids shrinks your brain as well as your nuts. I fancy myself a bright dude, so let me help you figure things out. First of all, everybody knows you’re on the juice. I know it, all six of your wives know it, your son knows it, and my son knows it. Just admit it and take the responsibility for it (by that I don’t mean blame somebody else). Second, don’t blame the media for the fact that you have trouble rehabbing your knee. Blame the steroids and the fact that you’re 40 and a bitch. Roger Clemens is still nasty at 42 because he is not a bitch. Nolan Ryan was nasty until 46, also not a bitch. Get the picture here. While you may look like a big tough guy with a huge head, you’re still that skinny prick from the Pirates that used to steal 40 bases a year. When I look at you all I see is a big pussy walking around with a frozen Starbucks coffee drink and one of those stupid little Paris Hilton dogs. So my advice to you, and this is coming from a guy whose left shoe is slightly brighter than you are, is simple. Hang ‘em up. Go bother the ever living shit out of your family and leave me alone. The sports world is a better place without you. I would rather watch highlights of the WNBA than see your juiced up mug all over my TV. Enjoy some time with your family because if the Balco trial goes my way, you’ll be getting locked up soon. Just wait till you’re in pinstripes and you meet your new cell mates. You may be big, but they’re way bigger in the slammer. Bigger, meaner, and horny as hell. You think you tired know, just wait until old T-Bone gets done “intentionally walking you”.
In closing Mr. Bonds, I hope you never play baseball again, I hope your nuts fall off, your knee blows up, and you wind up in the slammer.

You’re a fucking joke,