Dearest of Theos:

Listen, sweetie, I didn’t know that you were so sensitive. That’s my fault, darling. I accept that and I apologize. I thought you’d appreciate the fact that I half-called you broody in my Hot Stove recap.

It appears, though, that you just honed in on that bored part. And the whole “Listen, that show kind of sucked, you know” bit. Which was only a FRACTION of what I wrote.

I said Gammons was good!

It appears that you aren’t the thick-skinned fellow that I thought you were, Theo (may I call you T? Or Eppy?). Because I said a few words a few weeks ago and you got all pissy with me and decided that you’re not going to let me advance from the Virtual Waiting Room of Doom to buy damn Sox tickets.

I understand being angry for a bit. You know, keeping me waiting while the first couple of games sold out.

But four and a half hours? And to make it so I’m left watching while all the games during my brother’s birthday weekend sell out?

Don’t be angry with my brother, Eppy. You’re threatening a family tradition, and that goes beyond me.

That hurts, man!

Fine, Theo. I say uncle. I give up. You were right. You were amazing and dazzling during Hot Stove and I was just a mean old bitch.

Are you happy? Will you please let me buy a ticket or two?

I await your decision and e-approval,

p.s. If I don’t get into the ticket purchase window within 30 minutes, I take it all back.

p.p.s. I am also willing to discuss our apparent discord in person. Say, April 15? Your private box? Lovely, we’ll be there.

Just remember to say happy birthday to Tom. He’ll be the one looking awed and muttering about how this is the best birthday ever. Have your people call my people.