Jilted again? As usual, MLB about to give the shaft to its fans If you want me to be completely honest with you, I'll just come right out and say it: I'm not sure that I'm in love with you anymore. OK? Do you feel better, now that it's out there all honest and raw? Because I don't. And I'm not even sure that I mean what I'm saying. Look Baseball, it's been a while since we talked. But you know as well as I do, that's the type of relationship we've always had. We fall in love all over again each February, we're torrid from March through June, things get stagnant in July and August, and then we go all out in September and October. Then Football shows up and I hang out with her and Basketball throughout the winter. You know I'm coming back though, and each and every spring, like clockwork, we get together again. So why am I thinking of moving on? After all, we've always had good times, and you've allowed me to watch my favorite team win an unheard of 14 straight division titles. Well, to be honest, you've been acting differently lately. Not good different, strange different. I've always paid attention to you. You've always fulfilled my needs. And then I heard about this, about how you're trying to take away my Extra Innings package. After three straight summers of my being able to spend more or less unlimited time with you, you're leaving cable TV behind? For a satellite system I'm not allowed to have in my apartment building? Why? Why would you break something up that's worked so well? There was a time when I would've done practically anything for you. I rushed home from school every day to throw a tennis ball against the wall of my parent's house. I loved the summer months when it was light outside later in the afternoon, so my dad could come home from work and throw pop flies for me to catch. There was that grand slam that I hit during little league, that game-winning RBI I had playing JV in high school. My knees still crackle and pop when I walk from too many years of crouching behind the plate. I'll never forget sitting in an almost completely empty Fulton County Stadium, watching some miserable Braves teams get pounded. I won't forget Sid Bream sliding into home plate in 1992, and being with thousands of college students as we poured into downtown Athens to celebrate in the streets. I was there at Turner Field in 1999 for Game Six of the NLCS, when Kenny Rogers melted down. I saw the Braves win a World Series. You're probably not America's game any more, now that Football is hanging around, but you remain beloved. There is no way to quantify how much I look forward to coming home from work most nights and hanging out with you. I find a groove in the couch, turn down the lights, listen to old friends like Skip and Joe and Pete while I try and guess the location of the next 250 pitches. What I don't understand is why you chose now to flirt with DirecTV. I get that you're thinking about launching your own TV station down the road, and I get that DirecTV is offering you more money than cable TV did. Fine. And I understand that if you go through with this deal, all the games will still be available on your MLB.TV Web site. But as much as I love you, Baseball, there's no way I'm spending eight hours at work staring at a computer screen and then coming home and sitting down for three hours to stare at herky-jerky action on another computer screen. If you leave, I'm not sure what I'll do. I'm not allowed to have DirecTV, I don't want to look at my computer any more than I already do, and I want to watch the games, not listen to them (sorry, XM). So if you're really running off to satellite TV, I think I'll just have to break it off with you. I don't know for how long, but at least for a while. No games in person, no games on TV, maybe even not even using your sponsors anymore. I'll get Yankees and Mets games on my cable system, but I don't like either of those teams. I want to watch my Atlanta Braves. And you're telling me I'm not allowed to watch my team play? That's what you're telling me, isn't it? I get that the Braves aren't spending huge money and they probably won't be favored to even win the NL East, much less a championship. But the Braves trigger my memories and make me feel closer to home. And that makes me feel good. And now, baseball, you're saying that you don't want me to feel good. Because making a deal with a network of satellites is more important to you than my feelings. Your decision isn't final yet, I understand, and maybe there's a part of me that's hoping that this letter will make you change your mind. But I don't expect it to. You're going to make the choice that benefits you, not the choice that would benefit me or us. I know you think you're perfect, but you've made your share of mistakes. Remember the lockout, and how you had to have the players throw balls into the stands to try and generate some positive karma? Remember when you were going to put the Spider-Man 2 logo on bases? So you're not perfect. You can make bad decisions. This is one of them. This seems like just another bad choice that you're just determined to make. And you're going to leave me with no choice at all. Lang Whitaker is the online editor of SLAM magazine and writes daily at SLAMonline.com.