An open letter to Milton Bradley...

An open letter to Milton Bradley

Dear Milton:

Hi. How are you?

I've sat here for several minutes trying to find an eloquent way to say this.

And I can't.

I don't dislike you because you're black.

I want to say that first. Black, white, purple, brown, green or polkadotted with plaid eyelids, I could give a shit.

I dislike you because you do silly, uesless shit all the time. Not limited to popping up an inexplicable bunt in today's game, or grounding weakly to second with the game on the line. I won't even mention the multiple run-ins with fans/umpires/teammates over the course of your career.

Or your penchant for blaming your problems on the fact that we have a problem with your being black.

I have a problem with anybody who fails to take responsibility for their actions.

If you don't like playing in Chicago, forfeit the rest of that 8-digit paycheck you get for playing a game (badly).

Otherwise, suck it up, and shut your piehole.

Signed,

Tommy Acuff
(Who works 55-60 hours a week, 50 weeks a year, for roughly what you get in one or two plate appearances....)