Dear Joe Mauer,
I hate you. Really. This is taking way too long. I bet Mr. Smith and Mr. Pohlad agree with me (Mr. Shapiro doesn't want to comment).
I wanted to think that you loved us too, that we'd start negotiations and show you how much we loved you by bringing in all your friends to help you get that World Series trophy and then waving a bunch of cash in front of your face the likes of which could feed and house all the unemployed and homeless in Minnesota for years and years.
But that wasn't good enough for you. You continue to flirt with us and tease us but never let us take you out to dinner.
Was it Nick Punto Day? Did our focus on him upset you? Because really, he means nothing to us, it was just one day. One day. And we spend 364 other days of the year focusing on you. Most people would be happy with that. Or maybe, maybe we focus too much on you. Is that it? Are we too needy, too clingy, too co-dependent on each other? Because we'll be better, really! We'll let you eat your lunch and go to your favorite barber shop in peace (and maybe just ask for one autograph instead of a bunch of them).
But we can still photostalk you right?
Seriously though, the longer this takes the more it hurts me. I'd just like to know if you feel the same or not. I'm not used to losing sleep over men, it's just not in my chemistry. This has to stop.
And while we're at it, why do you have to go promoting MLB '10 the Show. When I see you on the cover and when I see you in those commercials, I want to buy it. But I don't have a PS3, I only have access to my roommate's silly XBox 360. And all they have is MLB2K10 with Evan Longoria on the front, and who wants that? What, you couldn't be on both covers? Or you just want to punish me for not having a PS3. All I can think about is those lucky people with Sony boxes who get to spend more time with you than I do.
You even care more about the Wii than my Xbox! Agh!
Ok, I know you don't care. And my writing this letter probably only makes things worse. So let's just pretend we never had this talk, I just needed to vent to you and didn't have a diary because I'm not a 10-year-old girl (despite what this letter might lead you to believe). It just is reassuring knowing you heard me and that maybe, maybe, you might care enough to listen and just SIGN THE DAMN CONTRACT ALREADY! What's the frickin' hold-up, you want hot and cold milk taps in the clubhouse like you've got in your frickin' cabin you've never invited me to?!?!
Alright, enough. I'm not really angry. Just anxious.
P.S. And I met this awesome guy named Wilson and he speaks Spanish and he doesn't make me feel bad about myself! So I'm sooooo over you.