Dear Editors of Sports Illustrated,
I know what you're about to do.
Let me say that again:
Do. Not. Do it.
You're going to want to put the Colorado Rockies on the cover this week with a cute little tagline; something along the lines of "Rocktober" or "Rocky Mountain High" or "Purple Philly Eaters." You will drape the borders in purple and black, and you may or may not have a nice, detailed close-up of the raspberry on Matt Holliday's chin all cropped and ready to go. It's the biggest story of the playoffs thus far and, naturally, you want to take advantage.
Please refrain. I know I gave everyone free will and all that, but seriously: fight the urge.
Look what you did to Philadelphia. They came back from seven down with only 17 games to play to win the NL East. They had more momentum on their side than you could shake a cheesesteak at. So what do you do? Put Jimmy Rollins on the cover. Proclaim him the MVP. Tout their moxie, their make-up, their mojo. And what do the Phillies do? They proceed to play Brett Myers's wife to the Rockies' Brett Myers. They get treated like a Red Sox fan in Yonkers. Their bats turn to ashes. They go from Liberty Bell to Misery Hell.
Well, I won't let you do it again.
Do you see what I've done? I've taken the Colorado Rockies to the NLCS. Let me repeat that for you, in case it didn't quite seep in: I've taken the Colorado Rockies to the NLCS. The National League version of the Tampa Bay Rays. The last - and only - time they made the dance, they got there on fumes. If it wasn't for the strike-shortened 1995 season, the Astros would've caught them and passed them like a space shuttle zooming by a fat pigeon.
I've done some amazing things in my time. All those Victoria's Secret models? That's all me. Do you know how hard it is to make hundreds of thousands of sunrises AND sunsets? Every freakin' day? It ain't like making the kids pb&js, doing some Sudoku, meeting a client for lunch and then heading off to O'Rourke's for a White Russian or two. No, no, no. I worked for this. Hard.
And not only did I have to do it on the large scale, I had to do it locally, too. Turned the Broncos' defense into 11 old guys wandering around a King Soopers looking for Bacon Bits and Aspercreme. Removed the anchor of their offensive line; got the new running back to do his best impression of Redman from "How High." It's the second week of October, and sports fans in Denver are talking baseball. Hell, I should win thousands of converts and a sacrifice or six just for that.
So please, for the love of Me, don't put the Rockies on the cover. You can throw them in one of the little corner banners, or at the bar along the top, but don't make them the focus. Please. If you do, it'll ruin all of my work. And that would be worse than my unfortunate, incidental inclusion in "What the #$*! Do We (K)now!?", truly one of the most inane, unwatchable pieces of slothshit I've ever had the misfortune of laying my omnipresent occipital organs on. Seriously, have you seen that movie? They had animated gelatin cells doing the Robert Palmer "Addicted to Love" video. At a wedding. If I have my say, the people responsible for that bubbling lake of diarrhea will spend eternity tongue-washing Satan's taint.
Well, now you know how strongly I feel about this. I ask that you do not disappoint me.
P.S. This new "Players" section is - how to put this - weak. The old Scorecard was much, much better. Oh, and I love Gary Smith as much as the next guy, but jeez - could you actually get him to go to a game sometime? I'd sit through three paragraphs describing the scent of the locker room just for some, ya know, ACTION.