The Mets are only 14 games out of the Wild Card

August 25th, 2009 / #baseball, #complaints, #letters

Another year, another idiot given the opportunity to let his voice be heard in the Alligator.

Oh, I didn’t mean this guy, I meant me.

Another post based on my hatred for the Boston Red Sox

May 7th, 2008 / #baseball, #complaints, #letters

Recently, I got a letter from Major League Baseball telling me about the great deals I can get if I subscribe to XM Satellite Radio to listen to every one of my team’s games. That was all well and fine, but the letter itself was from Larry Lucchino, President & CEO of the Boston Red Sox.

Oh dear, you have upset me.

Well, may as well write another letter to yet another Major League Baseball team, right? This is in the mail as we speak. Let’s see if we get a response (I’m still waiting on further correspondence from the Yankees):

Dear Mr. Lucchino,

Hello. Recently, I received in the mail a letter from your office beckoning me to subscribe to XM Satellite Radio such that I may hear broadcasts of the Sox whenever I please. There is a pretty significant issue with your letter, however, in that it begins with the phrase “Dear Red Sox Fan.”

I would like to make it abundantly clear that I am not, never have been, and never will be one of the legion of soulless and spineless bandwagon jumpers that you so eloquently call “fans.” I have never donned a Sox hat, I will never set foot into Fenway Park, and every day when I wake up I sing the praises of Mookie Wilson to the heavens. Quite simply put, I hate the Red Sox more than anything on this planet.

By calling me, a tried and true Tampa Bay Rays fan, by those terrible, terrible words, you have insulted me to no end. Never would I want to be associated with the ignorant Sawx-loving drones that infest the country. I am neither as drunk nor as belligerent as the typical Red Sox fan, and I take pride in my ability to watch a baseball game without spitting on opposing fans, using profanity within earshot of children, or being generally ignorant about the game.

I realize that you yourself had nothing to do with this mass mailing. However, I would like you to let whoever it is that sent me unsolicited mail peddling broadcasts of your team’s games that they are never to send me correspondence from Yawkey Way ever again. Ever.

Shove it up your ass,

Casey A. Peterson

P.S. Sweet Caroline sucks.

Don't put me near a word processor when I'm mad

March 12th, 2008 / #(devil)rays, #baseball, #letters

I am livid.

Recently, the Rays and Yankees have had sort of a feud because one of our guys came in hard to home plate in an attempt to make the catcher drop the ball (a completely normal and very exciting play in baseball, I might add). Well, long story short, the catcher broke his wrist and now Yankee nation (and only Yankee nation) has been whining about it for a week. You can see the story here.

Today, the Yankees retaliated by hitting our top prospect with a pitch and then sending a man to slide into second with his foot aimed directly at Aki’s balls. This did not sit well with Jonny Gomes, who is known to be absolutely insane, and a brawl started. The Rays won the game. Story here.

Well, I am angry. So angry, in fact, that I’m sending the Yankees a letter regarding my anger. We shall see if I get a response (I wouldn’t count on it):

Dear New York Yankees,

I’m writing today to address an issue that has recently come about between your Major League Franchise and my hometown team, the Tampa Bay Rays.

Recently, there has been much hubbub regarding a recent play at the plate involving Elliot Johnson and your now-injured catcher Francisco Cervelli. It escalated into a difference of opinion, with your beloved Joe Girardi saying that you should not play so hard in spring training and the rest of the world disagreeing with him. I guess it’s just a difference of opinion: one man says spring training is to get players in tune for the real season (because, you know, Francisco Cervelli is obviously an odds-on favorite to be the catcher for the New York Yankees on opening day), and another man says that spring training is a grounds upon which players can prove their worth to the organization and hope for a spot on the big-league club (I might point out that with Rocco Baldelli’s newfound illness, Mr. Johnson’s chances of joining the club have increased heftily).

If, as Mr. Girardi suggests, the proper spring training etiquette is to play spring training games with one’s starters in the beginning five innings of a game and just roll over and play some ill-conceived version of cricket for the remainder of the game, I move that the New York Yankees should reduce their ticket prices by 4/9. It’s only fair.

But then, I would rather violate a porcupine than subject myself to a stadium full of Yankees fans.

However, this is not the point I wish to write about today.

No, you can consider this letter a formal complaint about the actions of the spring training contest between these two teams that took place today, March 12, 2008. I will specifically list my grievances as follows:

1. The obvious attempt of Mr. Shelley Duncan (who, might I add, has an adorable name) to severely injure or otherwise hurt Mr. Akinori Iwamura while sliding into second base was classless and completely unnecessary. Outfielder Jonny Gomes retaliated, thus inciting a “brawl” on the field. (I use this term lightly because, frankly, baseball fights are outrageously relaxed. I say we should give them all knives or something and see who the stronger team is. I’ll give you a hint: it’s probably you guys – steroids, you know.)

2. It is crystal clear that this was a premeditated affront to Mr. Iwamura’s testicles. Fearing a brawl or possible suspension, Mr. Girardi did not have New York’s star players in the lineup. No Rodriguez, no Jeter, no Damon. What a pleasant coincidence that they didn’t make the trip to St. Petersburg!

3. Interestingly enough, pitcher Andy Pettite was scratched shortly before the game. And wouldn’t you know it – Evan Longoria was hit by a Heath Phillips pitch in the first inning. Curious, wouldn’t you say?

There you have it. As a personal note, my least favorite baseball team for a good while has been the Red Sox. Thanks to Mr. Duncan and Mr. Girardi, the Bronx Bombers have now taken that place in my heart. So, congratulations! I know how fond your organization is of being number one.

I hope you actually got to this point in my letter. I respectfully request that I be mailed with correspondence noting that someone has actually read this letter. An apology on behalf of your organization would be nice, as well. I don’t expect either, though; a classless organization such as yours should not be held to such rigorous standards of decency.

Heck, you can have Hank call me if you want. My phone is always on.

Thank you for your time, and please remember that while I severely dislike your team (and by association your fans, your players, your employees, and your city), they are welcome to Tropicana Field at any time. I love watching the Yankees lose.

Casey A. Peterson

Here's to You, Chicken Quesadilla Hot Pocket

February 17th, 2008 / #food, #letters

Dear people who make Hot Pockets,

Don’t think that your work has gone unnoticed.

When I was knee high to a grasshopper sitting on the children’s seat on the back of my mom’s bike, I knew that I was heading home to a pretty disgusting dinner.

But now, I look forward to the Hot Pocket Experience.

I started eating Hot Pockets regularly when I came to college, in spite of the fact that I have a gigantic kitchen in which I could prepare feasts fit for a king. Back then, Hot Pockets were weird lumps of disgusting dough filled with cheesy God-knows-what. However, in the spring of last year, I went to my local Publix and I was greeted with an amazing thing: instead of boxes with two such disgusting doughy delights, they were now beginning to sell boxes containing five of these things!

Oh, I was in Heaven. Little did I know that Heaven could get even better. Friends, I was about to gain access to Heaven’s champagne room with the discovery that they were now stuffing these things with even more (real) meat.

And who would have known that I could have myself a grand time in the champagne room in Heaven? That’s right – it got even better.

Apparently, they redesigned the crisping sleeve. Now, you can fold the sleeve into a little dinner holster from which you can consume your now-delicious microwavable treat.

So, here’s to you, oh Mavericks of the Microwave. Your efforts haven’t been lost in a sea of gourmet disapproval.


Well, I didn't know I was going to take out a second mortgage…

January 23rd, 2008 / #college, #complaints, #letters

Dear Civil War Professor,

Seriously, dude. What gives? We have to buy not one, not two, but eight books for your class. I know that your newfound gig at a major university is exciting and all, but you should remember that we get just over $200 to buy textbooks. So far, I’ve gotten six of the required texts for your class. You know how much I paid? One hundred and sixty bucks.

I know that may seem like chump change to you, pal, but that’s a good amount of green here on the up-and-coming college student’s budget. And what gets me is the fact that most of the assigned readings I was forced to pick up at Goering’s are really, really old. Like, out of copyright old. Meaning, of course, that I could access these stupid things on the Internet and save my cash for more important things, like Hot Pockets and Tang.

Angrily yours,

When the taser's away, the bored cops will play

December 5th, 2007 / #complaints, #letters

Dear police officers on bicycles patrolling the sparse crowds on Newell Drive around lunchtime,

You guys need to get real jobs. Writing tickets to people who ride bikes all day is a feeble attempt at squeezing some power out of your otherwise laughable profession.


For my beard, wherever I may find him

October 31st, 2007 / #breakups, #letters

About three weeks ago, I parted ways with the beard that has called my face home since the beginning of my senior year of high school.

I miss Beardy, but his replacements Mutton and Chop are filling in the void quite nicely. Goatee also makes a special guest appearance on my mug from time to time.

That said, I think I have some things to say to an old friend:

Dear Beard,

Beardy, I hope you don’t take this personally or anything. I mean, you’re a great individual. I really mean that. It’s just that I think the follicles of our lives have grown in their own separate ways. I’m sure that soon enough, you will migrate to another guy’s face and forget all about me. You’ll be happier then, I promise.

And it could be that my newfound fling with Mutton, Chop, and the Goat is just a feeble attempt to spice up my facial hair’s otherwise mundane existence. Heck, this could be good for us, you know? I mean, I might find that the female attraction I garner from my new setup is infinitely less than what you’ve gotten me in the past (is that possible?).

But I digress. Beardy, if I ever grow (no pun intended) tired of what I’ve found in your replacements, I’ll let you know. And I will be glad to have you back.

I hope we can still be friends,

Well worth the 41 cents

October 9th, 2007 / #(devil)rays, #baseball, #letters

A couple of weeks ago, I sent Bud Selig a letter. It was done in magic marker and I used a fake name to make me sound more like a seven year old and basically asked if it were possible for me, despite my age to become a Major League Umpire. I promised him that I would never make a correct call at first base when officiating Devil Rays games and that I would completely rape the idea of strike zone consistency. I also drew him two pictures, one of a Rays baserunner’s foot on the bag and the first baseman nowhere near the base with me (dressed as an umpire) calling him out and another picture of an eyeball, heart, and Bud’s face (I <3 Bud Selig).

I was surprised when he wrote me back on official MLB letterhead and everything:

Dear Alex:

Thank you for your letter.

While I know you were a little sarcastic in your comments about umpires, I happen to think the umpires do an excellent job. Incidentally, we have an electronic system called Questec which rates umpires on every pitch in every game and they do remarkably well. Base decisions, for the most part, have been excellent. Umpires missing a call once in awhile have been part of our game for years, but I think the umpires overall have done a good job. I think you have to be a little more understanding about that. However, I liked the rest of your letter and all the pictures you drew. I was really impressed.

Thanks for taking the time to write to me.


Allan H. Selig,
Commissioner of Baseball

Best part: he signed in INK.

I think I’ll keep corresponding with my favorite wrinkly old pen pal in hopes of more gems like this.

Bow Chicka Wah Wah!

August 31st, 2007 / #complaints, #girls, #letters

Dear Axe Bodyspray,

Hello. My name is Casey Peterson and I have been using your product ever since 2002, when Axe was introduced to the U.S. During the entirety of this time, advertisements and descriptions on each container I purchased referring to the “Axe Effect” have led me to believe that at some juncture during this time, I would have sexual intercourse with a woman as a result of using your product. Unfortunately, this has not happened thus far. Therefore, I demand that you send a woman to my home in Gainesville immediately for the act of lovemaking. If you fail to comply, I’m afraid I will have to summon legal counsel and we will be forced to settle this matter in court.

Casey A. Peterson

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