Dear Makers of MLB’06 The Show,

I write to you today as I’m experiencing significant problems with your game, Major League Baseball 2006, The Show. I’m currently two seasons deep into Career Mode with none other than the Kansas City Royals, one of the greatest franchises in the history of the mid-eighties, and I’m beginning to formulate a few questions following my first few seasons from the farm leagues to the majors. My primary concerns lie with the newest addition to the Royals, a hot rookie first baseman/shortstop named Will Weston, coincidentally. The Royals drafted Will after a decent showing at Spring Training last season, assigning him to the AA Wichita Wranglers, where he began the slow gnawing process through the ropes of minor league baseball.

Who would known it, but Weston turned out to be one hell of a hitter, amassing multiple homerun games, and baffling AA pitching to the point of near-ridicule. The manager decided it was time to bump the kid up a notch. Off to Omaha, suitcases teeming with blue socks, Weston showed up as the newest addition to an already smoking-hot Omaha Royals AAA team. Here, Weston honed his defense among part-time major leaguers, and fresh talent awaiting that special phone call to whisk them away to the big time. Not only did Omaha make the playoffs, but behind Weston’s 12HR and 58 RBI, they captured the AAA title against hated rival Roswell. Weston was even called up by the real Kansas City Royals for a few games, where he made a noteworthy impression on Royals skipper, Buddy Bell. A few hot performances in the majors, and Weston was sent back down to Omaha, where he began the next season with a tripled salary, a one year signing for $167,000 (a far cry from the $45 million, ten-year contract proposed by Weston’s agents.

Weston began splitting his time between Omaha and Kansas City over the course of the first half of the following season, amassing slews of RBI’s in both cities. When Weston was chasing biplanes in the Nebraska clouds, Bell would get on the phone and have him sent up for a few games. A few weeks. Eventually, Weston’s face was almost a regular sight at shortstop. Teammate Mark Teahen, speaking for the press, touted Weston’s abilities, saying he made first place Anaheim’s all-star pitching staff look like “batting practice” in a three game sweep. It seemed like things were really clicking. Local papers in Omaha declared Weston was gone for good, a shoe-in for the Royals’ starting lineup with his Major League- leading .613 batting average, higher than both George Brett and Bo Jackson’s career batting averages COMBINED.

As Weston became settled in his bigger shoes, the hits began to roll in with more consistency, and balls began to carry to the depths of the water fountains in Kauffman stadium. Weston was hitting homers at the professional level, and the team was heading toward 2^nd in the AL Central, behind the perennial-bastard Tigers. Fans in the Midwest were already fashioning pontoons of hope that the ol’ Royals might even make the playoffs for the first time in twenty years, with two months left on the season. It’s true, the Royals were looking good. Backed by the 28 RBI’s knocked in by Weston in less than 30 games at the professional level, the Royals were firing on all cylinders.

Enter scene, a three game road series vs. the AL Central rival Cleveland Indians, at Jacobs Field. The Royals are near topping the perennial-beef Tigers in the standings, and are 2 games ahead for the AL Wildcard, three weeks left on the season. The series is split 1-1, with the rubber game scheduled for 1pm on Sunday afternoon in sunny, grassy-green Cleveland. The boys of summer hit the field, and it’s a game to remember. Weston, for the first time, looks like a real star in the majors. He smashes a home run into the left field stands, snatching the lead early. The Indians fight back, but Weston gets two more hits, keeping the Royals in the fight into the late innings. With the score 7-5 Indians, Weston comes to bat in the bottom of the 9^th inning with two runners on base. Dave Dejesus stands at second. Joey Gathright waits at first. The count is loaded. Weston appears poised, looking for his fourth hit of the game, the stadium literally hushed in anticipation for what comes next. The pitch, and Weston sends it flying, back to the opposite field, and into the second tier, a monstrous two run homerun, his second of the game, to come from behind and lift the Royals to victory, not only for the game, but the entire series. His name is in hot ink on front pages of every paper across the country.

When Weston hits the locker room in a flurry of excitement and champagne bubbles that night, his teammates mob him, officially freeing the rookie from the confines of his initial reputation as “newbie” or “fresh meat,” and he is treated like a true brother. Mike Sweeney, captain of the Royals, hits the podium for a post-game interview. In regards to Weston’s performance, he offers the most insightful sentence to summarize the rookie sensation: “he (Weston) really helped the team today.” Weston’s phone rings, it’s his father on the line, son I’m proud of you. Thanks Dad. Weston packs up his cleats and heads for the door, when something catches his eye. He slowly approaches a yellow post-it note freshly pinned up on coach Buddy Bell’s corkboard. It reads:

You have been sent down to the AAA Royals. Your next game is 9/3.

Now, in all honesty, because I’d genuinely like to know, why the fuck would that ever happen? Are you shitting me? I just cranked not one, but two taters at Jacobs, and salvaged my team from the dregs of the American League, and you mean to tell me, MLB 2006 The Show, that after two seasons, and thousands of at-bats in hundreds of American cities, that I’m really going to be optioned down to AAA after the kind of month I’ve just had? I’m batting .670 with 6 home runs last month for Christ’s sake! Fuck you guys! What more do you want from me? If I were batting over .600 in real life, coaches would be lining up around the stadium to kiss my dick.

But no, after I plainly saved the day, perhaps the entire season, I’m back in the shitty minors. The midnight bus rides. The cheap hotels and apathetic waitresses. I’m supposed to refrain from buying games where I can run over dead hookers in a stolen jetplane, or reenact Normandy for that matter, so I can sit through three entire seasons of minor league baseball, game by game, just in hopes that an above .700 batting average impresses virtual Buddy Bell enough that he thinks about putting me on a 40-man roster for a team that can’t even get their heads out of the Minnesota Twins’ ass? What the hell is wrong with you fuckers?

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll make it a little easier to make the god damned Show, if you know what I mean. I’m basically surpassing every batting title in the history of baseball when I’m up there, and they just keep sending me down, without the option to “request more playing time” for 60 tiresome days. So don’t wonder why ratings for baseball video games are so low, because who wouldn’t go crazy listening to Matt Vasgersian’s predictable, perpetually disparaging calls against my ground balls trickling up the middle, “this could be two!” Every double play I ever hit into, that same voice coos out from behind my left ear, announcing it like a proud, adulterous lover. This could be two, my ass. I’m Will fucking Weston. You’re all dumb as hell.

Will from America, August 13^th, 2007.

1930 Hyde St. #8
San Francisco, CA 94109
(720)-480-8401