Delusional Diva

Letter from Pedro Martinez to Theo Epstein, written March 29, 2005 at the Mets spring training complex:

Dear Spoiled Yale Boy,

It’s me, your best friend, Pedro Martinez. Just want to ask how everything’s doing over in Fort Myers. You know, my boys Papi and Manny doing okay? Still providing Schilling with supermodel hookers when he’s unhappy? David Wells’ left arm fallen off yet? Just wanted to check in.

Oh yeah, I’d also like to send a thanks to the media of Boston and your fraudulent front office. Still lying to certain players and cursing at their agents? Sure, you guys paid me a lofty 17.5 million dollars last season, the most a pitcher has earned in the history of baseball, but what does that really buy me? It’s America. You guys treated me like crap every single year I was in Boston. Yeah, so what if Francona kept hiding the fact I left games early, showed up late for spring training and didn’t arrive at the park until, eh, 30 minutes before the first pitch. All the cool kids do it.

And the media, what a bunch of bastards. I wish one of them would step up to the plate against me, I bet I’d nail em in the head. Then, you jackasses have the nerve to put off any contract talks after my generous people give you an entire month to negotiate. What the hell kind of cheap shot is that? Who focuses on baseball in April? Who cares about baseball in April? Instead of trying to lock up the greatest pitcher in your sorry franchises’ history, you focus on winning some meaningless games. Bah.

I haven’t even mentioned the pitching coaches and managers and front office people, everything about your organization sucks. Not inviting Derek Lowe to a team party in his hometown, how do you explain that, Sir Epstein: Goddess Of Beantown. John F. Kennedy can stick a sharpened pitchfork up his pale ass for all I care.

Just think, I was eating coconuts under a palm tree when I was a kid, begging for 50 cents. Now, I’m the star in New York City, making millions and millions of dollars while hiding the fact my shoulder feels like a 7.5 magnitude earthquake whenever I pitch. I’ve got the best teammates in the world, just good, old-fashioned, selfish guys. My type of crowd. I even showed up on time this year.

And that report that I flipped off a fan who yelled “Who’s Your Daddy” in the Mets facility parking lot, well, um, he brought it on to himself! What can you do, Theo.

May The Curse Begin Again,

Pedro (Prima Donna) Martinez

P.S: My new teammates gave that nickname to me. I don’t know what it means, but it sounds really sweet.

P.S.S: The Yankees are Matt Clements daddy.