Dear Mr. Cobb,
My name is Allister. Please excuse eny grammur with spilling errors as I am only in grade school and you are reelly good at baseball. Also you are my faverite player and I think you are reelly good at it. I write to you to tell you that and also because a friend of mine is named Tommy he said you were meen. I told him you were not meen and he said you were meen again. You are my hero, Mr. Cobb and I hope you are not meen. Keep playing good baseball forever.
Months passed without a response. Allister grew three inches and disheartened during this long wait. A year and more passed with more disheartening and more height. Finally, Allister reached five feet and nine inches with no hope left in his heart. This, of course, was precisely the time when the letter arrived. The envelope was yellowed. Allister removed the letter inside and it read as follows:
Son, I do appreciate your patronage on my behalf. And I will say that I mean only so much disrespect towards other ballplayers. I do not necessarily want to come off as a mean old son of a bitch. But, I will tell you this. If you, young Allister, were a second baseman and you had the unfortunate circumstance of playing for the team opposing my team, I would most certainly sink my spikes into you shins. I know that you are only a young boy in grade school. But, do not be mistaken. I would still sharpen my cleats to their most heinous points for the game. Thank you again for your nice letter. It brought a smile to my face.
PS Please have your mother read this letter first, as I am not sure if a seven year old should be reading a phrase like 'son of a bitch'.