Today Is The Day

Dear Stephen Strasburg:

Hey, kid. No pressure.

All we're asking is that you go out there and do your best. That's all anyone can ask of you.

Kid, every journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Now you've got a long road ahead of you, and the journey's going to be rough sometimes.

Heck, there will be some days when you won't even make it out of the fifth inning. I know that's hard to imagine, but it's true. It happens to the best of us.

What's important, kid, is how you react to adversity. Your character, your grit, your determination. That's the true measure of a champion.

Don't try to do too much. Trust your catcher, and trust your teammates.

Don't try to strike everyone out, kid. Strikeouts are boring, they're fascist. Throw some ground balls, it's more democratic.

Remember that the best pitch in baseball is a first-pitch strike.

Remember to be tough. I know you're just a simple farmboy with dreams of makin' it here in the big leagues, kid. But you gotta be a man now, or else Albert Pujols will eat you alive.

Don't back down from nobody. That's your plate. You own it. You can't be afraid to pitch inside.

And don't ever forget where you came from, neither.

Ma and Pa back on the farm are pulling for ya, kid. Heck, Ma barely got any sleep last night. You know how she gets.

And Little Sally, JoJo McGee, Uncle Reemus with the gimpy leg, they all want to see you succeed.

It's a crazy world out there, kid. A world where Martin Prado leads the National League in hitting.

A world where an umpire can wreck a young pitcher's shot at immortality, and even if said umpire is completely and unequivocally wrong and everyone knows it, no one will do anything about it.

Heck, kid, we live in a world where the Cubs' Carlos Silva (Carlos Silva!) is 8-0.

But remember, kid, no one's asking you to single-handedly resurrect a failing franchise, to be the spark that inspires a city, or to be a savior and beacon of hope for a depressed, borderline suicidal fan base.

No, kid, we're just asking that you go out there and do your best.

Ring, ring.

Hear that, kid? It's Destiny calling...and it's for you.

Love,
Baseball

I don't understand it either.

I hope those words are inspirational and helpful to you, Stephen. I really do.

But now I have some bad news for you. Are you sitting down? Good. Here it is:

When I said that no one's asking you to single-handedly resurrect a failing franchise, to be the spark that inspires a city, or to be a savior and beacon of hope for a depressed, borderline suicidal fan base...I lied.

That is exactly what we're asking you to do.

But wait, there's more. Not only do you need to instill the light of hope into a team, city and fan base, but you also need to save the Darling Asteroids' season.

Seriously, Stephen, we're dying over here. We're free falling worse than Tom Petty...and do you have any idea how hard it is to be worse than Tom Petty?

Yeah, it's pretty bad.

We're smack-dab in the middle of a four-week losing streak, kid. We've been outscored 37-11 in that time. The childlike glint in Matt Kemp's eye is gone, kid.

And Felix Hernandez? Heck, he just sits in the corner and mumbles about finishing second in Cy Young voting last season.

We're in dire straits, Stephen, I'm not going to lie to you. We need a hero. We're holding on for a hero until the end of the night.

He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast, and he's gotta have four A+ pitches in his arsenal.

You've done all the training you can do. You've watched all the film, studied all the hitters, and now you've got that Bonnie Tyler song stuck in your head, kid.

Don't worry, it's a great song.

Now all that's left is for you to lace up your cleats, grab your mitt, head out there and be the single greatest pitcher that has ever walked the face of the Earth.

For you, for me, for the Nationals, and most importantly, for the Darling Asteroids...good luck, kid.

Seriously, though...no pressure.