Is John Henry the Craigslist Killer (Satire)?

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Is John Henry the Craigslist Killer (Satire)?
(Photo by Mary Schwalm/Getty Images)

Disclaimer:  Readers who do not possess a strong sense of humor, along with readers who may take offense to an article which ridicules the interpersonal skills of a suspected killer in comparing them to that of Red Sox owner John Henry, should not proceed with reading this article.

With the recent news surrounding the "Craigslist Killer" engulfing the local and national news, readers undoubtedly cringed a bit when reading April 29's Boston Globe gossip column featuring some bizarre writing from Red Sox owner John Henry.

Henry has never appeared to be a "normal guy," nor someone who blue collar Bostonians could ever empathize with, which made this bizarre and freakishly strange excerpt of an email Henry sent somewhat expected.

If readers could pinpoint what an email from the Craigslist Killer would resemble, Henry hit the proverbial nail on the head.

In spite of Henry's aloof and detached demeanor, many times appearing as though he's been sent from another planet, his gushy prose attempt at winning over his then-girlfriend Linda Pizzuti is a quick and simple recipe to induce vomiting.

Without further ado, from April 29's Boston Globe:

Dear Linda,

A man needs a muse. Well, he doesn't really. He doesn't need nearly as much as he generally thinks he does. A man is greedy. Greedy for what he doesn't think he has and what he thinks he wants.

We probably wouldn't have wandered far beyond the basic necessities without that pushing us. Progress is one of its most important byproducts.

So you will ask, "Why are you writing this?" Because a brief encounter-and-a-half with you gave a cool spin to this little blue planet from my vantage point.

We feted the Celtics tonight and the skies opened. The sun emerged and created a giant rainbow between the city and the park. We were transfixed.

You only saw it if you were in the right place. I was in the right place when I noticed you.

I barely know you. I don't have any illusions about capturing your heart. But the world is brighter, better, lighter, and warmer when a man imbues a woman he knows (even tabula rasa) with the attributes that I believe reside in you. It's the small things that ultimately matter, the subtle things.

I am honest. I don't play games. And I see no reason not to say that I've been smitten by you and you've done me a great service.

You've very innocently made my world brighter, better, lighter, and warmer. So thanks.

No response is necessary because a man doesn't need nearly as much as he thinks he does.

Wow.  Just wow.  Henry cannot be serious.  A fan base which prides itself at guzzling Coors Light and shouting "Yankees suck!" all night long could surely never enjoy this read.

One can only assume that if an average, regular, yet "normal" (note: "normal," in this instance, would describe any female who is not engaged to a man 30 years her elder) female were to receive such lasagna in email form, would act quickly to delete any and all traces of this message, and would most definitely take Henry up on his offer that "no response is necessary." 

"No response is necessary"?!  Of course it's not, you scared the bleep out of any normal person with your insanity-laden rants, you whack job!

"We feted the Celtics tonight and the skies opened"...um, excuse me?  Did I miss something here?  You smoke a little too much of the funny stuff and fall off the deep end?

One can only envision what the dugout box seats at Fenway must feature on an average night for Mr. Henry and innocent Red Sox diehards seated nearby:

Fan:  "Yo, bro, you want another hot dog?"

Henry:  "You shan't bother.  After we've successfully completed feting this inning I'll go and procure us one.  Feculence is one of its most important byproducts."

As the Boston Globe article goes on to tell us, Pizzuti actually responded favorably to Henry's alien-speak email, most likely as Henry's wallet allowed for overlooking the Craigslist freak show feel to his pickup lines.

It's always been with some disdain that hard nosed Boston fans acknowledge Henry is part of their team's ownership group.  The average Red Sox follower would take Larry Lucchino's presence on the podium six ways to Sunday over the gentle, soft spoken, and casper-esque walking-ghost-of-a-man that is John Henry.

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