Open Letter to Moose

Dear Madam or Sir,

First, please know this: We want you back. Period.

You are a great Yankee, a great pitcher and a great man. More than anything, more than our families, our careers, our homes, our flag and our dogs -- yes, even more than our beloved pooches -- WE WANT YOU BACK!

That said, what the fuck?

You still can't decide? Dude, come on. It's almost Christmas. Were you able to vote? Can you order from a drive-thru? Listen, there are times when the world demands a simple decision and, sir, your time is now.

This is like that verse in "Paradise By the Dashboard Light," when Meatloaf has a big stiffy and must make the ultimate decision.

What's it gonna be, boy?

Actually, it is beginning to concern us just an eeency-weeeency bit that you haven't decided yet. Our fear is that deep down inside, you really don't know.

Sir... we want you back so bad we can taste the dandruff shampoo in your shower run-off. But what the fuck?

If you really can't decide... maybe that's the decision. Listen, you're not going to be able to wake up January 15 and decide to start getting in shape. You're either staying in shape, because you're coming back -- or you're not.

What's it gonna be, boy?

For the record, though, once more, everybody, altogether:

WE WANT YOU BACK.