In the battle against time, we are all losers, or, an open letter to Jamie Moyer

Dear Jamie Moyer,

Come on.

I'm sorry, you feel "misled?" Kind of like the way you misled the Phillies into paying you 13 million dollars over 2 years by having a halfway decent season last year and now you suck? Oh, you're "really not happy with this decision that the Phillies have made?" Well, I'm sure the Phillies aren't happy with the fact that you suck. You're "not real excited?" Kind of like the entire Philadelphia fanbase anytime you start a game? Or throw a pitch? Because you suck?

Ok, ok, I understand you're like 86 years old and that should count for something, but hear me out: No it should not. There are lots of things that 86 year olds cannot and should not do, despite their many years of accumulating wisdom, experience, and creative racial slurs.

Yeah, you lead your team in wins. I guess that's cool. You also lead them in losses, so you've got that going for you. But factor in your team providing you with an average of 8.25 runs per game, which is the 4th highest in the NL among pitchers with at least 100 IP, and you realize how little any of that actually matters. You've made 9 quality starts out of 22. J.A. Happ, the young pup who it is insinuated, via your logic, should have been bumped from the rotation in favor of Jheri curled behemoth Pedro Martinez, has made 14 starts this year, 11 of which have been quality starts.

Maybe this is a relatively new development for a man of your distinguished 134 years of age, so I will spell it out plainly: Baseball is a game of performance, and when teams field their best players, it gives them the best chance to win. I know, it's pretty "out there" and "groovy," "man," but you surprisingly do not get extra points for having the oldest dude or the youngest dude, or the fattest dude, or the dude you can't believe went out in public like that. There is no "Days Alive" stat on the back of your 567 different baseball cards.

But you know what is on the back of that last card? Here, let me pull out your invisible baseball card that I don't own. Oh here. Let me flip this bad boy over. You still with me, Jamie? What? Oh fine, you can go to the bathroom.

...

...

Hey, welcome back. No, no problem, I understand. Incontinence comes for us all. Anyways, here it is: 5.47 ERA and 1.5 WHIP. Those are 2 real live stats that are on this made up baseball card of yours. That is bad. Those are the stats of a bad pitcher. You are a bad pitcher. There is nothing about this demotion that doesn't make sense, so stop - I'm not yelling. I'm not, I'm just speaking loudly. Ok, fine, I'll lower my voice. I get it, you're sensitive to loud things because you're old. Yes, that last bit was a little on the nose. No, I don't know how this started as a fake letter and turned into a fake speech delivered in person either. Your guess is as good as mine.

It'll give you something to think about while warming up during the 6th inning.