Dear Jeff Reed,
GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE!!!!!!!!!
What do you mean “please be quiet”? I’m sorry. Am I being too loud for your hungover self? Do you want me to go away so that I don’t remind you that you were cited last night for public drunkenness mere HOURS after the close of the game? Do you want me to just throw some cold water on your face and then walk away so that I don’t remind you that however thin the ice you were skating on already was, last night you laid a piping hot electric blanket over that ice and thinned it to such a brittle state that I’m pretty sure if you so much as flick a cigarette or a pair of the butt-floss your sluts call underwear onto it, it will send you, your sluts, and your empty bottles of Jagermeister down from your perch of “two-time Super Bowl champion kicker” and into the murky, cold, lonely depths of “Oh, weren’t you that guy that used to be somebody and haven’t I seen your pubes on the Internet recently?”
Here’s the thing, Skippy, and I’ll whisper this so as not to make you violently hurl from your hangover … standing alone, your transgressions aren’t THAT horrible. They’re not good, but they’re not the worst thing ever. Standing alone, beating up a paper towel dispenser, taking pictures of your nether regions in your bathroom and then Twit-Pic-ing them to some slut, being photographed wearing a tiara and a bib that reads “I [heart] dick”, drunk picture after drunk picture of you in night club after night club, that time I saw you do that thing you do at Diesel … Alone, those things make you a drunk frat-boy … but together, putting all of those things one by one into this giant pot I have here, well, this pot could sink the USS Hal Gill.
This fine sunny morning, and no, I won’t close the curtains, you need to understand, I mean REALLY come to understand three things as the Gospel truth.
1. Here’s the thing with the Steelers, I’m not proud of it, but it appears they will put up with lots of crap so long as you’re awesome and irreplaceable, if however your job is to kick a ball between the uprights with systematic accuracy, you’re replaceable and you my friend are staring down the barrel of the “we found ourselves another kicker” gun.
2. With your Steelers job, uniform, and paycheck, you are Jeff Reed, millionaire kicker professional athlete and the sluts will drop to their knees in front of you if you so much as wink at them (gasp!). But once that gun goes off and terminates you and your job, you become short, stocky, tired-looking, poor, out-of-a-job Jeff Reed who couldn’t get Paris Hilton to sleep with him for all the Valtrex in the world.
3. You, sir, are most likely an alcoholic. I say this, again, not based on one incident, but on all the incidents we’ve thrown into that big pot. You managed to be drunk enough to warrant citation just a few short hours after you left the stadium. And what were you celebrating? The Super Bowl? AFC Championship Game? No. You got wasted because we beat the Browns. The BROWNS. My dogs and a team of partially-trained monkeys could beat the BROWNS.
If you want to remain a Steeler, and honestly, on this morning, I’m not sure that’s even possible, your only hope is to make like Troysus. You’ve got to become a pariah. You need to get your gross, stinky self out of that bed, and make that rank slut you’ve got there go the hell home. Get up, take a shower for the love of God, and throw away your little book of sluts because need I remind you that you HAVE A GIRLFRIEND? You need to stop drinking, stop partying, stop thinking of yourself as a football God who any woman would be lucky to hit the sack with, stop thinking you’re invincible, and START facing the truth. Your time up on that pedestal you built all by yourself using rotted wood and duct tape is about to run out and you’re going to wake up one morning in the not too distant future, a morning much like this one, and you’re going to look in the mirror, see your naked self, your sad self, your old-looking self and you’re going to realize too late what you discarded like a used condom.
Don’t come crying to us when that happens and for the love of God, don’t frickin’ Twit-Pic it.
We’ve seen it already and we’re not impressed.