Dear Ericforth Harding Peterson IV: I warned you

Dear Rick,

I warned you this would happen . I told you when you left me that bad things would happen. We used to be a team, you and I. We met way back when... You just a young boy, and me: shy, just starting to grow and come into my own. Then after some really great times together, you cut me loose. When you got drafted by the Pirates in '76, I thought we'd be together forever. The way you used to gently stroke me whilst you thought your zen-like thoughts on the masterful art of baseball pitching. Then nothing. When did I become expendable? While you stared right at me, and contemplated getting rid of me, I told you right then on the spot: strike me down and I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You should have heeded my warning Rickforth. You think anything that has happened in your life since then has been coincidence, chance?

I've been controlling it all my little puppet. I let you taste the highs of life in Oakland, giving you Zito, Mulder and Hudson. Letting you think it was your cunning and guile that turned them into aces. No E-rock, it was all me. I let you think signing with the Mets would be wonderful. Whispered in your ear that it would be a good idea to swap Scott Kazmir for Victor Zambrano. You should have known then and there that I was enacting my revenge, sweetums. But in your cold arrogance you never even saw my wrath as it lapped at you like a bitter wave repeatedly crashing on the shore. I let you think that Heath Bell was never going to be a decent pitcher, same with Brian Bannister.

And now my revenge is complete. You should never have left me, Rickles. Only now will you see the error of your ways. But know that it's not too late - it's never too late. Take care, Eric. Should you change your mind, you know how to bring me back.

Your former best friend and current worst nightmare,

Your sideburns.