Your secret is safe with me: Mitchell Report

Dear Mitchell Report,

You must think you're a pretty big deal. I don't blame you— you're all over the news, exposing cheaters, frauds and artificially bulked up baseball players. Highly skilled millionaire athletes tremble at the mention of your name. I'm glad you're around to set the record straight and get Major League Baseball back on track.

But I can't help but notice your considerable bulk. I mean, you're pretty thick for a "report".

You've gone through some changes of your own-- I've seen pictures. A few months ago, before you were released to the public, you were what-- 110, maybe 115 pages max? Now here you are, a 400 plus page monster. Can you even find a folder that fits you anymore?

I'm sure it started innocently enough. You probably used a thesaurus to replace some small words with big words. That gave you a few extra pages, but it wasn't good enough. War and Peace still mocked you, and you knew you'd never gain the respect of Webster's Dictionary. So you became the very thing that your pages despised— a juicer.

Like a Pirates vs. Giants version of Barry Bonds, you've morphed into a behemoth. Did you think no one would notice your new size and the breakouts on your back cover?

Steroids are not your friend, Mitchell Report. You'll begin to notice some changes you hadn't planned on: your pages will become dog eared, you'll develop that distinctive old book smell and people will begin doodling on your cover— writing down the number to the pizza place, doing quick math calculations and practicing their signature. You'll slowly begin to breakdown-- you'll see.

You're not very sneaky, Mitchell Report, but your secret is safe with me.

Sincerely,

R. LeBaron