Dear Manny Machado: Don’t let the door hit you between 1 and 3 en route to City X via City Y

July 19, 2018 | Nestor Aparicio

sandwich draft pick for the Orioles.

No wonder you’re not running out ground balls or routine fly balls any more? Like Roger Dorn, no one wants that very valuable property damaged.

You are like a walking Rolls Royce. Except they only cost a couple of hundred grand. You will be even a little more expensive than that.

Manny, you are going to a far better place. I don’t even know where the hell that is but it’ll be better. And if they ship you to Milwaukee or Arizona, just have some fun, try to win a ring and in three months, you even get to PICK where you go.

Anyone sensible on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay who would give you legitimate advice would tell you to run – and never look back. (Here in Baltimore, we call that the “Doing the Mussina.”)

As Orioles fans, you are the most beautiful girl we ever dated that we absolutely knew we were never gonna marry from the first date – but you sure were pretty to have on our arm for a few years on weekend nights in college and to take to the formal. We have great pictures. We took you to Olan Mills on our first date!

But you were gonna outgrow us, out dream us, and leave us for Mr. Big the minute you had the chance. In the year of your 27th trip around the sun, with $34 million already in your bank account, you are looking to see what the world has to offer the prettiest girl at the priciest dance in American sports.

The Yankees.

The Dodgers.

The Phillies.

The Cubs.

Who knows?

Even the Marlins – but let’s be honest – this is about the cash, not the flash, even if you are and always will be Mr. Miami.

We’ll watch you from afar and see how all of this unfolds – like an old girlfriend on Facebook. Well, unless you sign with the Yankees or the Red Sox, then it’ll be more like an ex-wife that we’re stuck seeing far too often on far too many holidays.

You’ll soon be going to City Y on your way to City X.

You’re that guy.

I’ve known Cal Ripken for 25 years and you’re no Cal Ripken.

I’ve watched Brooks Robinson since he signed Third Base Is My Home upstairs at Eastpoint Mall in 1973 and you’re no Number Five.

Instead, you’re the unlucky No. 13.

Right guy, great player, wrong time, wrong ownership, wrong composition, wrong everything.

Your jersey will not hang at Camden Yards – or wherever they’ll move the Orioles if this ownership continues to fuck around and waste time and lets guys like you “move on” for peanuts.

It’s quite the conundrum. The ladies always say: “A good man is hard to find!”

Yep. And even harder – and much more expensive – to keep…

And, in case you haven’t noticed, this Angelos group doesn’t get to date many supermodels.

All of your best looking ballplayer friends would want nothing to do with a 3-or 4-year “date” with the Baltimore Orioles. If you stay, who the hell is coming to join you? And then there’s the eternal Camden Yards question: “Who is gonna pitch?”

I can’t blame ya for leaving here.

I would, too.

Much like when Mussina rolled and never looked back, it’s hard to make you want to sign up to play in an empty stadium, in last place, with lame duck everything around you, dubious ownership, looking up at the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees every year with a water pistol and they have nuclear arms.

And unlike John and Louis Angelos, those folks in the “Evil Empires” actually have a plan and a track record and horses in the stable and powder in the keg. Ask Aaron Judge! (Or, well, maybe we shouldn’t ask him.)

So, instead, in the modern millennial vain of Lebron James or Kevin Durant, you’ll just find a bunch of rock stars to go roll with so you can breathe easily all summer en route to 98 wins and get ready to play meaningful baseball in October every year.

But beware: Mike Mussina took that deal and his ring finger is still nude 17 years later.

Oh, it won’t be THAT easy, but there’s nothing about where you’re going that’ll remind you of here other than you’ll have a glove, the grass will be green and your games will start around 7 p.m.

If you wanna win, just sign with the New York Yankees. They’ll pay you. They’ll hide you in a pasture of other targets for the fans and media. You’ve got the moves like Jagger. They’ll treat you like Keith! Or Pit Bull. Or Mister Miami.

Hey, if you can make it there you can make it anywhere!

Go chase the ghosts of Jeter and ARod! I looked it up: the number “13” is not retired in The Bronx. It is freshly available and ready for minting. You gotta go do the work!

Look, if this were a great place to work with quality parts and a chance to win, perhaps you’d have wanted to be here and they’d want you to be here and you’d be working on a statue out on the Camden Yards plaza in deep centerfield.

Apparently, that never moved you.

It didn’t move Mussina a generation ago, either, when he saw how fucked up it was and rolled out.

But you remind me much more of a modern day Reggie Jackson. You got stars in your eyes and you need to seek out the bright lights. Maybe one day I’ll be unwrapping a “Manny” candy bar or a grilling steaks on a “Manny” or buying comfortable old guy sneakers that the kids call “Mannys.”

Laugh now. Cash in later. You might win 10 rings in New York.

For some guys, that big city, bright lights thing has worked out great. For others, not so much.

You’re a $300 million talent but are you a $300 million investment?

Clearly, the Baltimore Orioles don’t think so. About eight teams will line up to argue that point in November.

You’ll be paid accordingly – well, unless they all collude again this offseason to only give you six