Dear MVP, David Ortiz, AKA Father Papi,

I don’t know what you said the other night in the dugout. No one without a Red Sox uniform does. That’s probably a good thing. Sometimes it’s less about wording. Sometimes it’s more about the sentiment and its delivery by a man possessed.

I went to bed last night smiling and repeating the phrase “We won the World Series. We won the World Series.” I’d like to think that was all because of a little ministering by Father Papi. So thank you. I am not going to say the city needed that. We didn’t. But we sure appreciated it. You already consoled us through some dark days this spring. And you did it in the way Bostonians appreciate – with brevity and bravado.

The other day my mom asked why you aren’t captain of the team. I couldn’t answer that. Varitek retired with the title in 2011 and before him the Sox hadn’t had a captain since Jim Rice.  I wonder if it’s because sometimes you break things in the dugout when you’re mad? Like the phone. Or perhaps it’s more simple than that. Maybe you just don’t want to do the paperwork.  Either way I am going to make a case for it to John Henry. You have given the Sox three rings. I think we can cough up a C.

Now, I know the win means you are all going to shave now. That’s fine. All I ask is that you don’t get fat. Don’t come back injured. And return hungry. Enjoy the parade boys.


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