An Open Letter to Jason Bartlett

Dear Jason,

Hi! How are you? It got up to 60 for the first time here today, so that's nice. And Pooie is doing very well, thanks for asking. She's gained two whole pounds since she came home from the cat hospital--can you believe it? She's like a different cat. You simply won't recognize her. But that's not why I'm writing.

Listen, I've been talking to some of the other bloggers and a bunch of fans and well, we're really really sorry about what happened to you. I mean, the Twins could have at least bought you dinner and a drink before they screwed you like that.

Yeah, okay, Castro can field and all, but you're not exactly chopped liver yourself. And, if I may be just a little catty between you and me, he makes the Mendoza line look like an accomplishment. And what is this bullshit about "leadership"? I mean, really. Christian Guzman isn't going to get rich running leadership seminars after he retires, I'm telling you.

You know what I think? I think "defense" (you had above-average fielding percentage and range factor last season, after all!) and "leadership" are just convenient excuses. I think Gardy has an unnatural love for marginal infielders because he was one himself. He looks at Juan Castro and he doesn't see Juan Castro--he sees Young Ron Gardenhire. And he gets a little misty-eyed and next thing you know he's out buying luggage for guys who might actually get a hit now and then.

I suppose it's only natural. The sympathy part, I mean. But there's a not-so-fine line between being sympathetic and being a bonehead, and that line has been crossed, my friend. Heck, that line isn't even visible in the rearview anymore.

But you hang in there, okay? You have friends, and your friends have a metric ton of toilet paper and Gardy's home address. You'll be back in Minnesota in no time, trust us.

Sincerely,

TBL

P.S. Thanks for sending me Gardy's home address.