A little over a week ago, I penned a letter to Dayton Moore, blasting him for his refusal to do something–anything–at the July 31st MLB trade deadline. So, here we are now with the Kansas City Royals in first place in the AL Central, and Moore makes a trade for slugger, Josh Willingham.
Excuse me, Flo? I need a generous helping of crow to eat over here. Thanks, little-lady. (A little homage to my father, who used to unintentionally embarrass the hell out of me by referring to waitresses as “little-lady”. Papa York is the best.)
My mom would say, “Paul Andrew, you owe Mr. Moore an apology”. So, here it goes, and nobody can help me say it more accurately than the ever-wise Happy Gilmore (This is similar to how many of my apologies go to my wife as well):
Dear Dayton Moore,
I’m stupid, you’re smart. I was wrong, you were right. You’re the best, I’m the worst. You’re very good-looking, I’m not attractive.
In all seriousness, Dayton Moore has put quite the clown suit on me. I can accept that, and admit it. Not only was I wrong for bashing Moore for doing nothing at the trading deadline, I was obviously very wrong about the direction I wanted him to go.