A Love Letter To Each And Every One Of The Chicago Cubs

November 03, 2016 / by / 0 Comment

Dear Joe Maddon: I love you. I love your hippie van and your hipster glasses. I love “if you think you look hot, wear it.” I love that you believe anyone can play left field at Wrigley. I love your Binny’s commercials. I love that you offered the reporters a shot and a beer. Uncle Joe, I love you.

Dear Anthony Rizzo: I love you. I love when you climb on tarps. I love when you drop to a knee to hit a home run. I love that you’re never too busy #forthekids. I love that you love David Ross. I love that you were here in the bad years. I love that you brought us the good years. Ant, I love you.

Dear Kris Bryant: I love you. I love your eyes (sorry if that’s weird, but they’re magnificent). I love how smooth your swing is. I love that you delivered from day one. I love your Express commercials. I love that you were ROY. I love that you’re my MVP. KB, I love you.

Dear Addison Russell: I love you. I love that dive-right-pop-up-throw-from-the-back-foot thing you do. I love how often you post Instas of your kids. I love vroom vroom. I love Addison Hustle and Addison Muscle. I just love that your name is Addison. I love that catch against Pittsburgh. I love that we saved you from Oakland. Addy, I love you.

Dear Javier Baez: I love you. I love your tattoo. I love the way you tag baserunners. I love when you don’t yield to Rizzo on a pop fly. I love your chains. I love your power. I still love your homer against the Cards. I love your family. I love that you can’t dance. I love that basket. Javy, I love you.

Dear Dexter Fowler: I love you. I love that you came back. I love when you snapchat your daughter. I love that you played your belt off. I love that the first Cub to play in the World Series since segregation was a black man. I love your smile. I love that we’ve got a leadoff man with some pop. Dex, I love you.

Dear Kyle Schwarber: I love you. I love that you’re living a movie. I love that you’ve got no business in the NL. I love your soul patch. I love that you never gave up. I love The Schwarbomb. I love that you’re a choir boy. Bam Bam, I love you.

Dear Jake Arrieta: I love you. I love that you do pilates. I love that you don’t know how to blink. I love that you love kale juice. I love that you added a slider for me. I love that one no-no wasn’t enough for you. I love that you rake. I love that you’re Jake from State Farm. Jake, I love you.

Dear Jon Lester: I love you. I love that you picked us. I love that you delivered. I love that you can’t throw to first. I loved your squeeze bunt. I love that you brought us David Ross. I love that you #NVRQUIT. I love your foundation. I love your cutter. Jonny, I love you.

Dear Ben Zobrist: I love you. I love that you came home. I love that you play anywhere. I love that you wife is from Mars. I love that you went back to back. I love your steady hand. I love that you feel alive. Zobes, I love you.

Dear Willson Contreras: I love you. I love that there wasn’t supposed to be room for you. I love that there are two L’s in your name but none in your heart. I love that you went deep on the first pitch you ever saw. I love game 4 in SF. I love that you spent five years in the minors. Willy, I love you.

Dear Kyle Hendricks: I love you. I love that you haven’t learned how to mimic human emotions. I love that you have learned how to place an 89mph heater. I love that you went to freaking Dartmouth. I love that you shoulda won the Cy Young. I love that we got you for Dempster. Professor, I love you.

Dear Jason Heyward: I love you. Yes, you. I love your defense. I love your flying catches. I love your hustle. I love that you kept grinding. I love that you’ve got seven years to turn it around at the plate. I love that you got out of St. Louis. JHey, I love you.

Dear David Ross: I love you. I love that you’re ending it like this. I love that you give Rizzo shit. I love that you give Lester your all. I love that your last at-bat was a homer. I love that you’ve gone gray. I love that you’re still hitting. Grandpa Rossy, I love you.

Dear Miguel Montero: I love you. I love that #youaregood. I love the Miggy Slam. I love that you don’t know how to pinch hit. I love that you go, we go. Miggy, I love you.

Dear John Lackey: I love you. I love that you’re an asshole. I love that I used to hate you. I love that stupid face. I love how much you hate losing. Lackey, I love you.

Dear Jorge Soler: I love you. I love the chain gang. I love that you’re scared of the cold. I love that you’re scared of the bricks. I love Soler Power. I love that you should be playing tight end. I love hip hip Jorge. Soler, I love you.

Dear Pedro Strop: I love you. I love the sideways hat. I love the sideways sliders. I love when you prove Bob Costas wrong. I love that you don’t flinch. I love that you high step down the line. Stropy, I love you.

Dear Hector Rondon: I love you. I love that you moved to the eighth without a problem. I love that you hit 96. I love that you use too much cologne. Hector, I love you.

Dear Trevor Cahill: I love you. I love that you grew a beard. I love that you eat up innings. I love when you eat up mashed potatoes. I love that your wife’s name is probably Murtha. I love your versatility. I love your consistency. Big Daddy, I love you.

Dear Justin Grimm: I love you. I’m not sure why, but I love you. Grimmer, I love you.

Dear Mike Montgomery: I love you. I love throwing you in for a spot start. I love asking you to go four from the pen. I love asking you to save game freaking seven. I love game three in SF. I love that you got here in time for this. Monty, I love you.

Dear Carl Edwards Jr.: I love you. I love that you’re 6’11” and 32lbs. I love that you came outta nowhere. I love that you forced your way onto the playoff roster. I love how you ran around with that W. CEJ, I love you.

Dear Jason Hammel: I love you. I love that you came back. I love that you wanna look like Jake. I love that you got us Addy. I love the way you start seasons. Hammel, I love you.

Dear Tommy La Stella: I love you. Yes, I still love you. I love 3am. I love that you prefer Jersey to Des Moines. I love that you tried to ruin it all. I love that you’re even more Italian than Rizzo. TLS, I love you.

Dear Chris Coghlan: I love you. I love that you can’t really hit. I love that you can play anywhere. I love that you were ROY. I love that you came back too. CC, I love you.

Dear Albert Almora Jr: I love you. I love when you come into a game. I love that we’re still calling up more prospects. I love that throw from the outfield. I love that you were Theo’s first pick. Almora, I love you.

Dear Matt Szczur: I love you. I love that you look like a mini Bryant. I love that you went to Nova. I love your bat. I love your underwear. I love that you donate bone marrow. I love that you played football. I love that you won a natty. I love that your name is gibberish. Szczur, I love you.

Dear Munenori Kawasaki: I love you. I love that you love karaoke. I love your goggles. I love that you’re 35??? I love that you play all over. I love that you keep everyone loose. Kawasaki, I love you.

Dear Rob Zastryzny: I love you. I love that you have as many Z’s in your name as Szczur. I love that you made it here. Zas, I love you.

Dear Theo Epstein: I love you. I just… I love you. So much. Theo, I love you.