Dear Matt Wieters (aka Switch-Hitting Jesus, aka Matthew the Brave, aka Wiety, aka He of the Elfin Grin and Inconsistent Hitting Abilities),

Matt, I want to start this off by admitting the fact that I know enough about hitting to know that I know absolutely nothing about hitting. What I am about to say is the product of too many nights spent downing Loose Cannon IPA's and watching MASN2 HD on my couch, having far too much of my self-worth tied up in the success of your/my/OUR baseball team, whereas your batting choices are the product of at least ten years of incessant hard work, meticulous preparation, and ongoing dialogue with professional hitting coaches. But, with that said...

...have you ever considered giving up this whole switch-hitting thing? Because, respectfully, I find myself continuously dumbfounded by your ability to roll the ball harmlessly to the second baseman from the left side, only to turn around to the right side an inning later and spank it with little to no apparent effort into the gap, or into the left-field corner, or well beyond the center field fence. From the left, your giant leg kick lands seemingly hours after the pitcher's offering has danced through the strike zone, leaving you to wave helplessly at the tail-end of its trajectory, tapping them into the eagerly-awaiting gloves of the middle infielders, particularly with runners on base. From the right, your mighty right leg comes thundering to earth mere moments before you whip the bat-head through the zone, authoring doubles and home runs with the precision and strength of which the scouting bards long hath sung to us. The difference, to my humble eye, could not be more extreme, with regard to your confidence in the batter's box.

Reasonable (and likely better-informed) baseball minds will point to the strategic advantage that your switch-hitting affords Buck Showalter as he designs his lineups. They will point to the fact that you were abysmal in May from both sides of the plate, and that your June rebound has you back on track for the best offensive season of your young career. I will--again, respectfully--point out that these realities do not make up for the fact that last year you hit .339 from the right side versus a paltry .235 from the left, and that the trajectory looks to be the same this year, as you entered the off-day today at a mighty .413 from the right and a hideous .198 from the left.

Now three and a half years in to what we all believe has the potential to be a Hall of Fame-caliber career, you have proven your ability to conduct stirring symphonies of pitch sequences, and struck fear into the hearts of even the most fleet-footed baserunners. It is widely known that attempting to score when you are blocking the plate is a fool's errand. There are so precious few holes in your game, dear Wiets, and this one seems so easy to mend. And so I ask, with humility and great respect in my heart, that you kindly renounce this skill you've spent a lifetime learning so that I may drink my IPA's with greatly-reduced heartburn.

Sincerely,
Sam