Dear Justin

Justin, I want you to know that it’s not you, it’s me.

Whenever people say, “it’s not you, it’s me” they’re really saying that it is you. And in this case, it actually is you. Sorry for lying to you at the beginning. When I heard that you were on the bench again tonight, I knew we were through. I saw you limping to first and holding your hamstring last week. Is that why you’re on the bench for your second straight game tonight? I wish you would just be honest with me. I think it’s best if we start seeing other people.

We just moved too quickly. And I’ll admit that’s as much my fault as it is yours. I saw this hot prospect in the Rangers system with a cool last name and huge power potential and my interest was piqued. When I heard you were traded to the Mariners, I fell in love. But I didn’t really know you. I fell in love with who you could be, not who you are.

Don’t think that I didn’t enjoy our time together, because I did. You gave me the greatest fantasy baseball team name ever (the Smoak Monsters), and I’ll always remember you when I go to set my lineup. It’s just that you can no longer be part of that lineup. I need to do what’s best for my fantasy team.

In happier times.

We got off to a rough start this year. The Mariners commercials are the one thing I can count on being good every year. But your commercial was just terrible. You punched a tree. I think you may need anger management classes.

And when you were away in Japan to start the season, it was just awkward. I know that I said I watched your games live, but I didn’t. I DVR’d them. I’m so sorry.

This was supposed to be your breakout year. I made excuses for your performance last season and told myself that you would take that step forward, that everything would be better. But it’s not better. It’s worse. I almost bought your jersey, but I just couldn’t do it. Which is probably for the best, because I’d have to return it to you now.

Don’t take this as a “goodbye.” Maybe it’s more of a “see you later.” There is always a chance we could get back together. But there are things that both of us need to work on first. For example, you can’t hit breaking balls. And maybe I just need to accept you for who you are, a .250 hitter that will only hit 15 to 20 home runs. But at this point in my life, I’m looking for something more. I know it shouldn’t matter to me, but I’m shallow. I love home runs. Completely unrelated, what can you tell me about Jesus Montero?

I’m sorry it has to end this way. Just know that I still hope you’re career goes the way we always dreamed it would. I just can’t be as invested anymore.

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One Response to Dear Justin

  1. Pingback: First Ever Mailbag! | Outside is Overrated

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