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To the editors of Mudville:
Your insinuation that my work as Commissioner of Baseball
is nothing more than a "puppet regime" is insulting,
not only to me, but the institution of baseball itself. Baseball
and puppetry have never, in any way, shape or form, forged
any alliance whatsoever. Furthermore, puppetry, unlike baseball,
is a much more profitable venture, one that I myself might
have engaged in if I wasn't such a humble and patriotic man
willing to lose millions just to force the citizens of Wisconsin
to build a stadium to house the worst, most uninteresting
team in the sport. Mudville Magazine's constant harping on
my regime is grating on the nerves of our little ownership
cabal, and we politely ask you to stop picking on us. Perhaps
you could run a little column called "Ask the Owner",
which I, myself, would be glad to write, although I'm not
an owner, but rather the father of a woman who acts as owner
though really isn't. This is not a conflict of interest! I
don't even talk to her anymore! I could explain it all if
you'd only let me have my little column, as the Minneapolis
Star-Tribune does (I go by the name Sid Hartman). Please help
me build you a stadium in Minnesota, and maybe one in Iowa
if I decide to move the Brewers there. Or Las Vegas. We could
have a buffet table!
Sincerely,
Bud Selig
Commissioner for Life
PS: Mention this ad and receive free floormats with purchase
of used AMC
vehicles at any of my lots!
To the editors of Mudville:
I'm not a guy that likes to get pissed off. Sometimes, at
the Burger King down the street, they'll forget the extra
pickles on my Whopper, or only put one on--hardly fucking
'extra' you ask me--but I don't shout. Those guys work hard
for the money, as they say. Once in awhile you make a mistake.
But it bugs me to see anyone bad mouth Cal Ripken Jr. Fucking
Cal! That's like saying the Washington monument's too fucking...
straight, or whatever. Cal's the man--or was the man. Hell,
he's STILL the man, solid as the concrete you walk on to get
to the bad seats at Camden. You say he's boring. Boring in
what way? Because he's reliable? Hell, the guys like a Swiss
watch, not like a Swatch, either, but one of those fancy fucking
big-ass gold watches that winds itself when you shake your
wrists. The kind that cost a mint. Reliable. I ask someone
with a watch like that for the time, I know I'm going to get
the fucking time. Right on. Cal broke the record for consecutive
games played, man. I was there when he hit game number 2,605.
That wasn't the record, but no one had ever played that many
consecutive games before. Cal didn't get a hit or even fielded
a ball, but when the fifth inning hit, I was there--to see
the next one chunk on by. Kind of like when my pal Dug hit
126,316 miles on his old Dodge Horizon--you ain't never gonna
see 126,316 miles on a red 1983 Dodge Horizon with Maryland
license plates. Ever. And I was there. And to say Cal Ripken
wasn't much of a spark to his team! What the hell more do
you want? He sparked his team to appear in those 2,605 games--and
then some! Holy shit, what's he supposed to do, spark 'em
to victory? You have high expectations, my friend--too high.
You don't go to Burger King and expect a Big Mac. You gotta
drive to Annapolis for that. So lay off the Calman. He's retired,
nothing more than an old man whittling baseball bats, probably.
You're just making me pissed thinking about it!
Super-pissed the more I write,
Strom Thurmond Munson Jr.
Cabbageville, MD
To the editors of Mudville:
I just wanted to write to say that I like your website, although
it doesn't really seem like a magazine, nor does it refer
to Mud, or a town called Mudville. I've been thumbing through
my 1997 Rand-McNally Road Atlas--which is just as good as
the new one so don't bother asking me to spend the money--and
I can't find a Mudville anywhere. And at the corner drugstore
they've never heard of Mudville Magazine. I like baseball,
which I consider a pure American sport. Sometimes I watch
and keep watching, and the next thing I know I'm asleep, but
that doesn't matter. Lots of things put me to sleep that I
like--turkey springs to mind. And milk.
Keep up the good work,
George W. Bush
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