This Is Tough, Carlos
Dave McKellar, our resident sports hot take machine, squashes a decades-old beef with a former big leaguer.
It’s the season of giving, and self-reflection. We’re not proud of everything we’ve said about celebrities who may not have deserved it over the years. Now is our chance to set the record straight. Friend of the blog, Dave McKellar, does his best to make amends.
Dear Carlos Delgado,
Boy, that was hard to write. For years, you have been my enemy. My nemesis. The Darth Vader to my Luke Skywalker. The Patrice to my Sherbatsky. But now, it’s time to put this grudge in the past.
You may not remember me, but I have spent the last 5,000+ days cursing your name and cheering for your professional failure. I was a young kid at Fenway Park, celebrating his birthday, trying to score a baseball for his father as a way to say “thank you”. You were an opposing player who pretended to throw me a ball just to walk off the field with it in your pocket. I mean, that was harsh.
From the moment you pretended to toss me that damn ball … God … I hate you so much!
Sorry. Old habit. Last time, I promise.
Anyways, since that moment, I have followed your career with an intense focus, cheering your failures and booing your successes. Maybe I went a bit overboard. Maybe. Maybe.
But that’s all in the past. I’m a changed man, I swear it. I’m ready to own up to my immaturity here. So, let me apologize.
- I’m sorry for intensely booing you anytime we’re within 500 feet of one another.
- I’m sorry for cursing your name to any person who’d listen, and many more who tuned me out. (Editors note: this is true. We used to be coworkers and I think he brought up his grudge with this obscure, 90’s baseball player after two weeks of knowing him.)
- I’m sorry for saying you, and you alone, are responsible for the downfall of baseball. In reality, you were only a contributing factor.
- I’m sorry for tweeting BBWAA Writers near and far, encouraging them not to vote for you for the hall of fame.
- Finally, I’m sorry for the glass of scotch I drank the day you were excluded from the hall of fame ballot. It was extra harsh to drink the scotch reserved for significant moments in my life, even if it was delicious.
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I was a young kid trying to do something nice for my father, and felt like you did me wrong. I mean, you did — but still. I didn’t need to call every member of my family to celebrate the 755 times you struck out after denying me a foul ball.
Anywho, Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy many peaceful years of retirement.
P.S. The Red Sox still owned your ass.