Hello. This is Oliver Perez. Since I haven't been doing much, other than perfecting my sunflower seed spitting technique in the bullpen, I figured I'd try something new where my natural talents wouldn't be wasted. Therefore, I will be blogging for Studious Metsimus because all that time alone in the bullpen has made me pensive.
You see, I make $12 million a year. That alone should make the team want to use me. I'm young, have great "stuff" and have always been able to keep opposing hitters off-balance. So why doesn't Jerry Manuel want to bring me into a ballgame anymore?
I was considering putting my face on a "have you seen me?" flyer and passing them out near Citi Field, but on the first day I tried this, a man walked up to me, took a flyer, studied it carefully, then proceeded to use it to clean up after his dog.
I didn't have that much of a problem with that. After all, New York City law requires dog owners to clean up after their dogs or they could face a $100 fine. A hundred smackers was probably a lot of money for the man who took my flyer. (I wouldn't know since I make $12 million a year.) Therefore, he probably did the right thing by using the picture of my face as a toilet for his pup.
After that failed attempt at trying to decipher where I've been recently, I decided to enlist the military. I had heard they were hard at work trying to find Osama Bin Laden, so I figured I'd recruit them to determine my whereabouts so they could let Jerry Manuel know the next time he needed to warm up a pitcher in the bullpen.
But when I entered the recruiting location, I was immediately apprehended. When I asked why they were detaining me, they said I was carrying a Weapon of Mets Destruction. I denied their accusation vehemently, saying that it was Omar Minaya and the Wilpons they should be looking for, not me. It took many hours of convincing, but I finally got them to release me from their custody. Speaking of releasing, I passed by this sign on the way out of the recruiting center.
I would have asked what they meant by it, but I vaguely remember while I was in their custody one of them whispering softly into my ear, saying "don't ask, don't tell." After he gave me the full body cavity search, I decided that I wasn't going to do any asking for the rest of my time there. That included asking the significance of the sign.
Since ordinary citizens wouldn't help me and the ones we're counting on to protect our country wouldn't either, I decided to pose my question to a higher authority and went to church.
I went into the confessional, took one last nervous bite from the ball I had brought with me and proceeded to tell my story to the priest.
After I bared my soul to him, he told me to get out of his church and never show my face there again. He claimed I was asking for a miracle and that I had already been granted one when I signed the three-year deal with the Mets prior to the 2009 season.
Once again, I left a place where I thought I was going to get help, only to be rejected by those I had sought for guidance. I didn't even notice the sign outside the church before I entered but I couldn't help but notice it on my way out.
So there I was, at the end of my rope. My manager didn't want to use me as a starter and would rather use Manny Acosta to protect a one-run lead in the 14th inning of a road game against the Houston Astros. I hadn't pitched since August 1, when I gave up four runs in two innings of work against the Arizona Diamondbacks. The fans were treating me like I was the reincarnation of Doug Sisk. [Editor's note to Oliver Perez: Doug Sisk is still alive. Therefore, you cannot be his reincarnation. You're just another washed-up pitcher in denial that your skills have left you faster than David Caruso left NYPD Blue.]
I haven't been loved since...actually, I don't remember ever being loved at all. That makes me angry. Really angry. So angry I could...
Wait a minute. That's it!
Fellow reliever Francisco Rodriguez (a.k.a. Frankie Knuckles) has also not been seen near the mound in quite some time. He's living life just like me, as an outcast making an average of $12 million annually in the second season of a three-year contract. We have more in common than I ever thought possible!
I've been beaten down by dog-walkers, sweet-talking soldiers and Father Murphy. Maybe it's time I do some beating down of my own!
Therefore, I will proudly pump my left fist in the air, while joining forces with my teammate, beating down anyone who gets in our way. We've have it with all the abuse we've taken. Now it's time to dish out some pain of our own.
If the Mets aren't going to allow either of us to take the mound, then we'll take center stage somewhere else.
The team of Frankie Knuckles and El Perez-idente is leaving your precious overused bullpen (except when it came to us) and will next be seen in a ring near you, as members of Lucha Libre!
You have already seen Frankie put his knuckles to use last week at Citi Field when his girlfriend's father pushed him a little too far. Have you forgotten the days when I used to hop high into the air whenever I crossed the foul line? Those jumps and leg kicks weren't just for show. Now I'll be using them in the ring against all those who dare mock me.
Dog-walkers? Prepare to be kicked into submission. Fathers-in-law? You'll never escape the fists of fury.
The team of Frankie Knuckles and El Perez-idente will be coming to a town near you. You can run. You can hide. You can even go where we'd least expect to see you; at Citi Field. But no matter where you go and no matter what you do, you will never be able to escape the Masked Mets.
You've booed us, you're rejected us, you've made us feel uglier than George Foster in drag. Now you're going to get what's coming to you. Be afraid, Mets fans. Be very afraid.
Disclaimer: This blog was sponsored by the people (all one of them) who believe Oliver Perez Is an Underappreciated Met or O.P.I.U.M. for short. The views of the writer do not represent the views of Studious Metsimus. If they did, Studious Metsimus would lose a lot of its readers.