The suits at Desipio’s parent company are demanding fresh content, and so they had me pre-write this in the event that the Cubs do the unthinkable and trade Luis Valbuena over the Christmas holiday.  I think I handled it very maturely. Of course, it’s easy to take the high road when you know nothing this apocalyptic will actually happen.

Fuck you Theo.

Fuck you, fuck your preppy Ivy League background, fuck the mom jeans you wear with plaid shirts and corduroy blazers, fuck your Golden Tee machine, fuck that Starbucks you ‘accidentally’ got spotted in back in October of 2011, fuck your gorilla costume, fuck the abacus you consulted that told you that Edwin Jackson was a good idea, fuck the fact that you haven’t poisoned Crane to death yet, fuck your disregard for the genius that is Ari Kaplan, fuck your three fifth place finishes in three years, fuck your signing Carl Crawford and Adrian Gonzalez to huge contracts and then hopping a boxcar to Wrigley to get out of them, fuck giving mouthbreathing John Lackey a veteran minimum salary for 2015 so the Cardinals could end up keeping him for basically nothing, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.  Most most of all, fuck you for trading the one transcendent player you had on your team to the (insert name of unworthy acquiring franchise) for (detail the insufficient return procured for the great Luis Valbuena).  Is that really all you could get for the best all-around talent in Major League Baseball?  How could you do the deal without also getting (list names of the acquiring team’s three best players) and (list the names of that franchise’s top six prospects)?  Couldn’t you at least have had them throw in (list the name of the player on the acquiring team with the hottest wife or girlfriend)?  For Christ’s sake, man, you call your self a baseball executive?  Nick Vlahos had it right all along, you are a fraud, and a charlatan, and your haircut is dumb. There, I said it.

In your time with the Cubs you’ve made a few nice moves.  The hipster manager seems like a good get, the fat kid at first base has turned out OK, I don’t really miss the wide receiver who everybody thinks is going to become a star because of that “he has low miles on his arm” nonsense, the new balding pitcher from the Red Sox seems like he might be OK.  But really, the one move you had made that reeked of genius was when you plucked Luis Adan Valbuena off waivers from the hapless Toronto Blue Jays on April 4, 2012.

In 347 games for the Cubs, Luis posted the kinds of numbers that would make Hall of Famers blush.  Sure his slash line looks a little light .232/.330/.394 but when you factor in his HWEqBA (Hank White Equivalent Batting Average–which factors in things like hard hit balls that were turned into outs, hard hit foul balls, shitty calls from terrible umpires and pitches that most likely were spitballs) Luis’ slash line goes to .394/.507/.779.  You’re supposed to be the stat nerd that figures this shit out.  How could you let him go?

It’s not just Luis’ on field excellence that will be missed.  He’s a tremendous clubhouse leader.  I’m worried that some of the guys might lose the will to live without Luis around.  I know that seems harsh, but I’m also not sure you grasp the enormity of this situation.

Luis was a huge factor in the Chicago community.  He’s a hero to just about every kid under the age of 37.  They’ve lost a mentor, a role model, and–the word is used far too often, but is perfectly used here–a hero.  I can tell you countless tales of people who have told me Luis’ inspiration has saved their marriage, their jobs and yes, even their lives.  I don’t think I’m overstating it to say that the population of Chicago will likely drop by a third now that Luis is gone.  Cult membership will surely be on the rise.  People will lose their civic pride and move to…Milwaukee!  Holy shit, can you imagine what a fucked up mental state you have to be in to move to Milwaukee…ON PURPOSE?  Many of us will move to (include name of the city Luis has been traded to) and we’ll try to make it work, there.  Fuck you for doing this to us.  And to think, we used to think you weren’t the worst.  But you know what?  You are the worst!

Honestly, the real problem is you just made a World Series favorite out of the (team Luis has been traded to).  You’re trying to break a 107 year losing skid and you trade Luis to the (whatever team he’s been traded to)?

Allow me to set the scene, Teddy.

Wrigley Field.  Game seven of the (NLCS if Luis is traded to an NL team, World Series if it’s an AL team).  Cubs lead 3-0, two outs, bottom top (can you imagine how dumb I’d have looked if anyone had read it when it said bottom?) of the ninth.  With nobody on base, but Luis lurking just four spots away in the batting order, the Cubs closer begins to sweat and can’t find the strike zone.  Ball four.  Ball eight.  Ball twelve.  Up steps Luis as Cubs fans began to embrace their fate and weep.  Best friends begin to beg for the other to bludgeon them to death so they don’t have to see the inevitable.  Luis spits on two strikes, and then methodically takes bad pitches and spoils borderline ones to run the count full.  Women’s ovaries drop into their socks.  Men’s testes recede into their loins.  Wrigley goes silent as we all sit sickened by what we know will happen next.

As the pitch heads home we all rise, our appreciation of excellence at its highest level counterbalancing the dread and disappointment.  Luis swings hard, connects and sends a long flyball to right field, as he completes the arc of his swing, he holds the bat in just his right hand and he bends at the knees, he flips the bat, handle over barrel, high into the Wrigley sky.  The ball easily clears the mostly completed bleachers in right field and appears to still be going up as it clears the half-assed semi-Jumbotron you have in right field (it would have obliterated the big one in left).  Luis’ bat continues to rise, over the field, then over the protective netting behind home plate.  Luis begins his slow jog into even greater immortality and the bat heads towards your box.  As it bursts through the window the knob breaks off, and part of the barrel is sheared in half.  The fans are weeping with sadness and humiliation, but also cheering as true greatness demands to be appreciated.  The bat sticks into the counter in front of you, the jagged edge of the handle leaned towards you.

It is your petard, Theo.

Hoist yourself upon it.

You had greatness in your grasp and it escaped through your fingers like so many grains of sand.

You have failed us.

You have failed yourself.

You can no longer be redeemed.

You suck.

You are a big fraud who poops his pants.


Note to editor, if Luis isn’t traded by opening day, run this instead:

Good job, Theo

The best job that Theo Epstein did this offseason was a move he didn’t make.  He kept Luis Valbuena, an undervalued player who will start the season at third and transition to a superutility role once Kris Bryant is recalled from Iowa in a few weeks.  Valbuena posted a 114 OPS plus last season, and is a bargain in this, or any market.  He’ll surely be a great weapon for an innovative manager like Joe Maddon.