Dear Kelly Shoppach, David Price isn’t your friend any more. Oh, and you’re playing for two now.
Dear Kelly Shoppach,
I know that I said I would hate you forever because what your addition might mean for the second love of my life, Jason Varitek.
I (mostly) didn’t mean that.
I mean. Your name is punny, I guess. I can make… um… shopping jokes. And. Um. I guess you know how to catch. I mean, sometimes. You don’t have a really cool, sweet, savvy “C” on your jersey, but whatever. I’ve decided to blame Nick Cafardo if something happens to Tek, so you’re off the hook. Mostly.
But there’s something I need to talk to you about. And this is going to be awkward.
Okay. Here goes.
I was on your Twitter account this morning… You know. Just growling at you and doing that shake-my-fist-at-the-sky thing where I scream out “VARITEK” and the universe answers tears with rain… you know. That old thing. And I noticed a little… um… exchange.
You don’t know this (how could you, you poor, innocent, fanless Ray), but David Price… well… he’s kind of a jackass. I know. In the sea of Jackasses you’re used to thumping chests with, with he probably doesn’t seem like much.
It’s not your fault, Kelly. You’ve been trapped. Isolated. In that scary-turfed Orange Juice stadium with no fans. Raised by the likes of Johnny Damon. Who can blame you, really?
But we’re taking you away from all that, Kelly. We’re whisking you away from those late night pajama parties where it’s just you and Damon and Maddon (you probably call in Greg and Joba too), doing each other’s nails and brainstorming over the motto for your evil league.
Here. Read this, Kelly Shoppach. I think I explain my David Price feelings eloquently.
You’re one of us now. One of US. You hear me, Kelly Shoppach?
You’re not just catching for yourself, Kelly. You’re catching for Jason Varitek. You’re catching for TWO. Your life is no longer your own.
You must live. Because he can’t.
Can you tell I’ve been up all night watching war movies?
Welcome to Boston.
PS- David Price- NEVER FORGET!