Dear Anthony Rizzo!
As a pathological Cub fan for four-times-your-age, I welcome you to your new place in the pantheon of rookie sensations. God love you in your role as their newest ticket-seller.
Sorry if that sounds flippant, but I believe it only fair a young .342 hitter with 62 RBIs understands what he’s doing here. Playing and hitting, sure; but something more. Everyone knows it’s another June Swoon, and you can’t possibly change that 102-year-old fact of Wrigley Field life.
But here’s what you CAN do. You can, maybe for a few summer weeks, provide some buzz in the media…in the bleachers…among the cops and vendors who populate Wrigleyville…and with all those blood-sucking reporters who’ll track you down for some “angle” that can sell papers.
What sort of angle…? Well, it sure as hell isn’t your stats they want, it’s those scoops they can concoct from any old girlfriends, mentors, tattoos, oh and boyfriends if possible! So enjoy the ride until in time they turn on you. You have to understand reporters and fans love their heroes, but heroes-with-feet-of-clay even more!
Sorry, Anthony, it’s got nothing to do with baseball. Like everything else in the world of celebrity and of chewing gum, it has to do with just how long we can get some juice out of you. After that…well, there’s always another sensation [or sad-sack] coming down the pike. During a long hot summer at Wrigley, either will do just fine…
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