Dear CC: Please don’t sign with the Yankees, ’cause our parole officer says one more felony and we’re going away for a while. Love, Cleveland.
Our Dearest Carsten Charles,
We’ve been together for 12 years now, since you were too young to vote, and too skinny to be mistaken for Rueben Studdard. So we write this missive on the first day of Spring Training, as you begin what could be your last year in Cleveland. We wanted to send you a Valentine’s Day note, to tell you how much you mean to us, and to urge you not to be a greedy bastard.
You’ll have to excuse the sloppy handwriting and less-than-pristine stationery. These Rolling Rock labels are a bitch to write on. And if the stale candy hearts and unsalted peanuts in the accompanying sandwich bag don’t meet your standards for a special gift, please forgive us.
This article appears in Feb 13-19, 2008.